Monkey

Sticking her head through the lathed oak posts that seperated the living room from the stairs, she pretended to be an invisible monkey. This was her favorite game. Quietly she would sneak up the faux sheetrock steps and spy on the intimate conversations of her parents.

In this small town, everyone knew everyone. This was especially the case considering her mother was a teacher and her father was the town photographer. For years to come, everywhere she went with either of her parents, one of them was bound to know someone at a distance.


"I taught him in Junior English."

"Her's was one of the best Senior Portraits I have ever taken!"


Most of the time, while living as the invisible monkey, she came up short on information. What bills needed to be paid; who was seen around town with someone other than thier spouse; just plain bickering. Anytime the monkey heard her name she was bound to the edges of her cage intently listening. Mostly these conversations pertained to the daily ongoings of her jungle, sometimes more finely tuned towards her behavior or eating habits that day. Sometimes the talk was more stressful. She couldn't quite figure out why, but when the voices became louder and higher, it made her hair stand on end.

The young monkey was in the lower jungle one afternoon playing around. She heard the elder monkeys screeching very loudly. It was her cue to quietly climb the steps that led her to her perch. The mama was quite upset. Sitting on the floor with her legs tucked under her to her right and her back arched. The papa monkey was attempting possible coersion of maybe even pleading. The child monkey couldn't tell. She just knew it wasn't good.

Strangely enough, she felt no emotion. From within her still young mind, she kind of knew it was the end. She just went back downstairs to her playground.

Later that evening, while bouncing habitually on the overstuffed fuzzy black couch, her parents came down and told her they needed to talk to her. Being four years old, this declaration didn't effect her like it should. Standing on the couch looking at both her mother and father, they told her they were getting a divorce. Somehow, she already knew what this meant. The first and only thought that came to mind was "Do I get to pick who I live with?". She said this with such innocence and seriousness that her parents were at a loss for words. It took what felt like ten minutes for her mother to respond.

"No."

That was the answer. She knew deep down that she wanted to stay with her dad. There was no doubt in her mind. Apparently that was not an option.

Not to long after that conversation, her mother had packed up the little monkey and her older brother's belongings and moved out. All the monkey wanted to do was be with her father.

For years to come the monkey still wished her father would have at least fought for her to stay. It never happened. As she grew into a girl, then a young lady, she often thought about asking her father to have her move in. She never could muster up the courage for fear of rejection. She never asked. He never asked for her to stay, what would give her the idea that he wanted her to.

Now as a 29 year old woman, looking back on all of this, I realize that it was better that I never went to live with my dad. Don't get me wrong, there were many of awful times between my mother and I, but as an adult, I couldn't imagine what my life would be like growing up in another city and without the friends I have met along the way. I have a great relationship with both my parents now. I never had a bad one with my father, but he got to be the good guy my whole life. In fact, my mother and father are the best of friends.

Before my stepfather passed away, he and my mother and my father and stepmother would hang out often. I couldn't ask for a better example of people acting like adults and stepping up to the plate for the sake of the kids. They both, my mom & dad, made a concious decision to get along for my brother and I. It has paid off well. Before my ex-husband and I got married, we made the decision that if our marriage ever failed, we would follow my parents' example. We have for the most part. Yes, we argue over stupid little things, but we get along and I get along with his girlfriend and the same goes for my boyfriend. Do we all hang out? No, and I don't think we ever will; as a group at least. But, I could go and have a beer with him.

This post started off as a writing exercise, but has since turned into proving a point, or maybe even a couple.

I would venture to say that the point would be that it is true: Time does heal all wounds. If you let it. Second, would be that it is possible to get over your hate and hurt and anger. At least enough for your children to know that they are loved by both of you and you will continue to parent as a team!