GOING BANANAS

The setting:   yesterday afternoon, out for a snack.   I was just chucking my empty cup in the bin and heading for the door when this incredibly cute guy goes, “Hey monkey,” and I look around to see who he is talking to (he is standing right in front of me, but no one has ever called me monkey before).   It takes me another three seconds to realize he means me.

Now, I normally never get chatted up these days because:   a) I'm often with my bf when I venture out, and b) I think I have this contented kind of vibe about me that says “I'm happily attached thanks very much.”   So not much on the old flirtation front, and thus a bit out of practice.   Yet, I am still able to judge that the look this guy gives me is nowhere near light hearted eye contact.   It is pure puzzlement.   I decide to smile back nevertheless.

Next scene:   The street in front of the snack place.   Cute guy running, like he just seen the biggest bug ever.   Only there is no bug.   There is only me.   Turning around, I get a glimpse of my rear end, and OH MY GOD!!! talk about long bushy tails!

Panicked, I climb up the facade.   I need to get out of this place, that much is sure.   And hailing a cab is no option.   Up and up I climb, until I reach an open window.   I peek in, the room is empty, so there I am, saved for the moment.

Next scene:   the kitchen.   I open the fridge, hoping to find something to drink.   Not so.   It is a plastic desert with some cheese and a bottle of tomato ketchup on the lower shelf.   I grab the last of the surviving oranges from the fruit bowl.

Back to the living room, into the leather armchair, which was a water buffalo when it was still alive.   At least that is what I imagine, while I zap through channels.   There is the news, but I haven’t made the headlines yet.   Maybe I never will.   In a city like this, it probably takes more than that to get the helicopters in the air.

Next scene:   the screen.   Reruns of NYPD Blue.   The police cars dashing through the roads like dragon flies, chasing bad guys around the block, bargaining with kidnappers.   A million for a life, a bullet for the wrong move.   The black box draws me inside, I am the heroine, I am the gold chained gangster.

The street is flashing in blue and red colour.   If I opened the window now, they would shoot me live.  I demand a wagonload of milk shakes and freedom for all monkeys caged in zoos.   It’s too much and not enough.   There must be a better deal, there always is.   I zap through channels for inspiration.

Next scene: a highway.   “You will really need to know how to use equations when you grow up,” they said.   Wrong they were.   All it takes is a fast car.   And a driver.

On and on we go, speeding down the road.   It leads towards the jungle.   That is what they promised.   It’s a long ride, and I get tired of holding the driver at gunpoint.   So I skip the gun and grab one of the shakes.

That’s when the driver turns to me and says, “You’re pretty trusting going into the middle of nowhere with someone you barely know, aren’t you?”   He then looks at a rope in the back of the van.   I feel a little scared, but I just make a joke of it.   “Don’t you dare touch me, or I call my big brother,” I tell him.

Next scene.   At the side of the road.   The driver didn’t want to believe.   He stopped the car and touched me.   So I call King Kong.   The driver laughs and laughs, but I can hear the steps already, coming closer.

The shadow of my brother falling on us stops his laughter.   Alas, it’s too late.   And there is no option of bargaining.   Not with my brother.   He lifts him up in the sky, to throw him as far as he can.   Like in the movies, yet better, as it happens in panorama size.

Humming a melody from an old black and white movie, my brother waits until the vultures are silent again.   Then he takes me in his hands and carries me home.