That monkey...

When I was 11 years old, my parents took me to a craft show on a Saturday afternoon. Boredom from hell is the only way to describe it. I wanted to leave. I shuffled my feet and looked at the floor, only glancing up ever so often. We turned the corner and there was a booth with handmade items, mostly stuffed animals. 

I saw him instantly. A monkey. His face, his eyes, they all called out to me. 

Running over, I picked him up and realized he was a puppet. EVEN BETTER! Instantly, my eyes teared up. There was something special about this handmade monkey and my heart nearly burst with excitement. I was 100% in love!

"Mom, Can I have him?" Somehow, I knew this monkey was a boy. 
"Please, please, please," I begged, but this wasn't your normal "Can I have this candy bar" begging. I don't ever remember feeling so desperate for anything. He cost $20. In 1988, that was a little more than my parents wanted to pay.

"No." 
I was stunned. "Mom, you don't understand. This is THE thing I want. PLEASE!"

"No, sweetie. I'm not buying you that monkey," she was kind, but firm.

I put him down and tears pushed over my eyes. I walked away, but continued to ask over and over. 

We went home. I continued to ask over and over. I couldn't stop thinking about this monkey. I would've done anything to get him and I offered. Clean the bathroom, wash the dishes, what can I do to earn him?

"No, April. Stop asking." That didn't work. I kept asking.

The next morning getting ready for church, I felt so sad. That monkey needed me. I needed him. But my parents hadn't budged one bit. I sat quiet on the ride to church...until we drove past the building with the craft show. "Please, Mom. I can't explain it. Please..." We kept driving. 

All through church, I was quiet. My parents told me later they kept glancing at each other. My dad finally whispered to my mom "Get the monkey after church if the show is still open," he told her. 
Leaning over to me, my mom stated "We will go to the craft show for the monkey after church."

While excitement whirled through my body, so did fear. What if they close? What if they are sold out? What if he's not there? Church couldn't end fast enough. The drive to the building was torture. 

I walked up the steps, too scared to be hopeful. Once inside, I took off like a flash. 

There he was, still sitting. Still looking at me. Still asking for a home. 

I named him Scooter and we quickly became best friends. Scooter never had a voice, but he whispered to me and I would interpret what he said, but even without a voice, Scooter was lively. Animated. Fun. An entirely loveable character all on his own. 
I spent hours and hours perfecting my puppet skills. He went on vacation with us. I was in the back seat, holding him up to the window and almost every car that passed us, let out a long honk as they waved and pointed. It took my parents a half hour to notice me in the back, moving Scooter around. Drivers thought he was real. Even in the restaurants, Scooter was on my hand and he interacted with the wait staff. He went on the amusement park rides with me. He really was my best friend. 

My parents grew to love him as if he was real and Scooter was at just about every family function. 
"Best 20 bucks we ever spent," they said often. 

I grew up and Scooter didn't come around as often, but I always knew exactly where he was. Even my husband loved him. 
"How do you do that? He has such a personality."

When I had my daughter, Scooter met her within weeks and made an appearance at her bedtime routine pretty often. She loved and adored him and, in true Scooter fashion, he always had a crush on her. From the first time he was placed on my hand, Scooter was pretty girl crazy. 

In 2011, I tried to give Scooter to my daughter as a Christmas gift. When I put him in the box to wrap him, I burst into tears and jerked him out of the box. Nope. Can't do it. Back to the closet he goes.

The next year, I did manage to give Scooter a new owner. Wrapped in a gift bag, Scooter waited to be opened. The last gift she opened that year, I had my husband film it. 
She opened the bag, jumped, let out a yelp I've not heard since then, and started crying. 

"Oh, MOMMA!" I cried with her, hugged her and told her Scooter was hers. 

For weeks, she played with him... but her excitement for him didn't match mine. She loved him, but he didn't capture her attention too often. Still, I asked her almost weekly about him. Was he ok, did she keep him in safe place? 

By the time Keirsey was 14, we moved to a new house. She put keepsakes, including Scooter, in some boxes. Somehow, those keepsake boxes ended up in the shed behind our house, but no one realized Scooter was inside. 

Scooter waited in the cold, dark shed, hoping to be found. I knew he was missing. So did Keirsey. We had a very difficult discussion once we knew he was gone. I looked for him often. She looked for him. We couldn't find him and I cried.

Four years went by. I often thought of Scooter and I wasn't afraid to tell my daughter how heartbroken I was that she misplaced such a precious gift. At 44 years old, I still missed him. 

Then Enzo died, a significant event on it's own, but also after his death, I decided to clean out the shed and make it into a "bitch barn." 

In those dusty boxes, home to spiders and musty, gross things, Scooter waited. 

I opened the box and saw his fluff peeking out from under a blanket. Jerking him out, I was reunited with my childhood best friend after years of wondering where he was. I wept hard tears in that shed; some of them because the death of my son was still so raw and fresh. Other tears because Enzo would never meet Scooter. Not that he would want to, but this handmade puppet was such a huge part of my life and so was Enzo... and the two of them would never know each other. 

I took him inside and washed him- that was difficult, too. I was afraid after so long in the cold and heat, he would fall apart. Then I texted Keirsey; I found Scooter.

Requesting that he return to me, she agreed that she had not earned the right to have him and gave him back to me. "Keep him until I can earn your trust to have him again." 

Today, Scooter sits beside my chair. He's the same old girl crazy monkey he's always been. No lasting effects from the shed, thank god. And he makes me smile again, something I thought I could never do again after February 28, 2022.

That monkey, my best friend for the last 33 years.