Nigel

by Brendyn Schneider

My father has always loved gorillas and even at a young age, I knew that I had inherited the penchant. Throughout my childhood, I lost my mind over the opening credits of Magilla Gorilla and reenacted the ape-escape scene from The Incredible Shrinking Woman. The Bronx Zoo’s monkey house, King Kong, Donkey Kong, simian sign language – I’ve found it all hilarious and fascinating.

This all came to a head one night shortly before the close of my sophomore year of college. My parents called to tell me that I wouldn’t be “sitting around, unemployed like last summer.”

“We’ll make a deal with you,” my mother said. “You know how you’ve always wanted a gorilla suit? Your father and I will buy you one if you put an ad in the paper, advertising yourself as an entertainer for children’s birthday parties around Long Island.”

I remember shooting up from my desk, marveling at the idea. Why hadn’t I thought of that?! It was genius!

She continued. “Learn how to juggle, I’ll teach you how to make balloon animals and you’ll be a hit with all the kids.”

A few weeks later, my mom and I were walking from a Huntington costume shop, a full-body gorilla costume slung over my shoulder. The “healthy in appearance” fur glistened in the morning sun and the mask’s toothy grin snagged the attention of more than a few of the town’s innocent pedestrians.

I have to hand it to my parents. They didn’t skimp. Though an actual gorilla would, no doubt, sneer at its authenticity and probably tear me apart simply on principle, the suit was a true hit when I got it back to Copiague. My friend Rey still recounts how fast my neighbor’s kids ran the day I scaled the fence and took to the street.

For years, my mother, herself, had entertained children as a birthday party clown named Sunny Goodstreet. She weathered the “my mother’s a clown” jokes and carved out a pretty good act with face painting, slight-of-hand magic and balloon animals. While the ape paws prevented the dexterity needed for face painting and slight-of-hand, my mother taught me some of the twists and turns of making balloon animals and I slowly taught myself how to juggle.

If you had opened up Long Island’s Pennysaver newspaper in June of ‘98, you would have seen this ad in the Classifieds:

Looking for that something extra for your child’s
birthday party? We’ve got just the thing!
NIGEL THE GORILLA!
Juggling! Balloon Animals! Monkeying Around!
CALL TODAY!
Because every once in a while, it’s proper to
GO APE!

I’d show up at the kid’s party, jump around, rile everyone up, juggle, hand out balloons then split. One hour, eighty bucks. At first, it seemed too expensive but my mother assured me that the going rate was actually higher. I was new so there would be something to shoot for as the summer went on. While my friends worked supermarket check outs and the decks of Long Island’s fishing boats, all I would have to do is act like a gorilla a few times a week. The summer was going to be tremendous!

One key detail had escaped everyone’s attention. There’s a good reason why people wear shorts in the summer. Imagine wearing a winter coat over your entire body and jumping around someone’s back yard for an hour. This analogy hit me on the first hot day as I imagined a flock of unruly, ice cream cone wielding brats kicking me in the side and chanting, “Terrible Ape! Terrible Ape!” as I gasped for air, down on someone’s lawn, deep within the “healthy in appearance” fur of a full-body gorilla suit.

The renewal date of the Pennysaver ad came and went. There had been no calls for Nigel. I got a job at a golf range and the suit hung in my closet for the rest of the summer.

When I returned to Boston for junior year, the suit came with me. It was then that I began to witness Nigel’s true transformative power.

In October, there was a birthday party for my friend Donna at the now-defunct Lava Bar. Since it was at the end of the month, it would double as a costume party.

I’ll never forget the conversation lobbed between the two meatheads behind me on the subway ride over to the bar.

“It’s a monkey.”
“It’s a gorilla.”
“Monkey.”
“Dude, I’m tellin’ you. It’s a gorilla.”
“Don’t be a ‘tard. I watch Animal Planet all the time. He’s dressed as a monkey.”
“Gorilla.”
“Monkey!”

I then got the inevitable tap on the shoulder.

“Yo bro, you a monkey or a gorilla?”
“I’m an orangutan.”
“Uhh!”
“I knew it!”

I was a gorilla.

At the party, as soon as I took to the dance floor, two ladies started dancing with me closer than, say, my grandmother would have been comfortable with.

“Woo!”
“Alriiight! Monkey, yeah!”

As I’ve said, the suit can get really hot so after awhile, I walked to the bar, lifted the mask and got a drink. The ladies’ faces dropped. I suppose they weren’t expecting a lanky kid barely out of his teens. When I returned to the floor for Electric Avenue, I danced alone. I was no longer their monkey man.

Soon after graduation, Nigel decided to take a walk to his friend David’s place. As the gorilla walked down Commonwealth Avenue, a car pulled up. A very angry man leaned out the passenger-side window and yelled, “Hey Gorilla!”

Nigel looked over.
“Do you like the Yankees?”
Not waiting for an answer, the car peeled out and its passenger cried, “WELL THE YANKEES SUCK!”

If you had looked through the car’s rearview mirror, you would have seen a gorilla with its hands out in confusion.

Within minutes, a wide-eyed man walked up, pulling a camera from his pocket. He pushed his terrified daughter in front of the strolling primate and took on the vocal style of a well-greased auctioneer.

“C’mereRosaleetakeapicturewiththegorillaRosaleetakeapicturewiththegorillaRosaleesmileandtakeapicturewiththegorilla!”

Rosalee whimpered and backed away.

“Y’know, it’s no big deal, man,” Nigel said. “She seems pretty scared.”

The man smiled and replied, “Scared? She ain’t scared. She loves clowns. You’re a monkey. It’s for kids. You’re goofy. Kids love that stuff!” Teeth clenched, he addressed his daughter, “Get over here. Take a picture. With. The. Gorilla.”

Somewhere in Boston, there’s a picture of a waving gorilla and a six year-old Rosalee howling in terror.

The meatheads, frisky women and oaf with the instamatic all illustrate that transformative power I mentioned earlier. Though I stayed perfectly human on the inside, it turned the people around me into beasts! They became erratic and dangerous, vying for the attention of a nonchalant gorilla.
I was having a blast.

Now, some people just didn’t get it. They weren’t entertained. They were baffled.

On that same walk to David’s, a coworker of mine saw Nigel walking down Harvard Avenue. The following Monday, my boss came up to me, her face stern and unforgiving.

“Is it true that you were walking around Allston on Saturday, dressed in an ape costume?”
“My weekend?” I smiled. “It was fine. How was yours?”
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “Why would someone actually want to walk down the street dressed as an ape? Pretty immature.”
I laughed. “Have you ever tried it?”
He face twisted in horror as she gasped, “No.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. It’s a release, one of the true stress busters.”
She walked away. I was a lost cause.

A year later, I was still with the same company but in a different department. In the weeks leading up to the holiday party, one of my new coworkers dared me to bring Nigel along for the festivities. How could I refuse?

Right around nine, I said my goodnights, wished everyone a Merry Christmas and ducked into the bathroom. Nigel emerged and, as fate would have it, he ran right into my ex-boss. We hadn’t spoken in the past year but she knew exactly who was under the mask.

Before entering the party, Nigel leaned in close and asked her, “Remember me?”

Not waiting for an answer, the gorilla joined the festivities. My company cheered in approval, much to the chagrin of my former supervisor.

Soon after, I got on the subway, feeling pretty vindicated. The confusion continued however, this time in the form of a pale, long-haired boy in skin-tight clothing. He stumbled onto the train with his friends and though they tried to stop him (“Ethan, don’t!”), he took a wavering step forward and took the seat next to me.

“S’cuse meee,” he whined. “Monkey?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“Oh. I’m coming from a party.”
“Was it a costume party?”
“No.”
“But…” he faltered, gesturing a hand of black-painted finger nails toward me.
“What?”
“Were they all dressed like gorillas?” he asked.
“Nah. Just me.”
“But…I don’t…I mean, you’re dressed in an ape costume.”
“So?”
“So, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Man, you’re gonna find that there’s a lot in this world that doesn’t make any sense.”
He crossed his legs and dropped his chin into his hand. “Well, that’s for sure. I can’t believe you’re a monkey.”

He and his friends got off at the next stop and a little boy with a basketball got on.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello.”
“Why you dressed like that?”
“I’m coming from a party.”
“Oh. You think I can get a suit like that?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“In New York, a long time ago. My parents got it for me.”
“They must be fun,” he replied, his feet swinging above the floor.

We rode together until my stop, talking about our families, the basketball in his lap and the gorilla mask in mine.

Some people get it.

It’s been eleven years since we bought the suit. In the last year, the plastic between the mouth and nose has disintegrated. Of course, I’ll be buying a new mask. After all, there are some genes you can’t help passing on. When that day comes, Nigel will join a legacy.

***

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© 2009-2012, Brendyn Schneider, reprinted by Dadity.com with permission. Use or reprint not authorized without permission of the author.