Flood

I was skeptical that the meeting I was on my way to attend was not canceled because I’d heard that the community had recently experienced some severe flooding. I was not surprised to find the house we were staying at mostly empty, except for a few suitcases and backpacks left there by other early attendees. Everyone seemed to have gone down to the river to help out, check out the extent of the damage or watch the rescue operations underway. Naturally, I followed suit and wandered toward the low ground and row of trees lining the river to see what was happening.

At the river, I was surprised to see that few people were actually helping. Most were just standing around watching from the sidelines. The waters had risen to just below the rooftops of the houses. Most of the local people were safe on high ground, but another concern quickly became apparent, namely, the lack of food for the refugees.

Seeing the lack of resourcefulness, with most people just standing around doing nothing, I decided to jump right in, literally, and do what I could. I leaped from the bank and grabbed onto a large tree limb that hung out over the water. I swung far out over the river. The branch broke, but I continued to soar, making a wide circle around the flooded houses, getting a bird’s eye view of the flooded community.

I looked for the most likely places food and survival gear might be located. I selected an area and circled back around, coming in low over the water and scudding along the surface like a rider on a jet ski. As I pulled up to the spot that I’d selected during my reconnaissance flight, I sank back into the water to about chest height and then swam over.

Earlier I had been watching a short assembly line of rescue workers ineffectually carting odds-and-ends of things from some of the swamped homes. Hoping that I’d have better luck, I took a deep breath and dove beneath the water and swam for the door of the submerged house. The door was unlocked so I opened it and went inside. There, I found a large cache of food and began bringing it to the surface. Others soon joined me in helping carry the supplies to dry ground.

Parking Meter Monkey

“Hey, look over there!” I pointed down the street. We were taking a walk in a small, quaint town to stretch our legs after having driven in Aliza's RV for several hours.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It looks like a monkey.”

“What would a monkey be doing here?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go take a look.” We quickened our pace before the monkey got spooked and ran off. To my surprise, however, as we neared the animal, it remained calm, clinging to a parking meter cemented into the sidewalk. “Wow! This is really weird. It looks to me like it’s replacing the parking meters in this section of downtown. Talk about smart monkeys!” I motioned to the row of parking meters that continued down the sidewalk. All of them had the heads removed.

“I guess that goes to show just how smart you need to be to work for the city,” Aliza laughed.

“But these meters are strange. They don’t look like any parking meters I’ve ever seen before.” I looked down at the monkey who seemed to be watching me with mild curiosity. I held out my arms. “Come here girl.” To my surprise, she reached out and hopped right into my arms like a young child might. “She’s sure friendly.”

“Boy, I’ll say,” Aliza said, nodding her head.

“How are you sweet girl?” I asked, smiling at my new friend’s furry, gray-black face.” She looked up at me with soft, brown intelligent eyes. I could feel the warmth of her body against mine. Her body language told me that she was quite content cradled in my arms. “Wow, she’s really sweet.” I glanced over at Aliza who was watching transfixed. “I wonder what she’s doing out here all alone.”

I bent closer to examine the parking meters. Then I looked back at my new little friend again. “I think she’s a she; and I think she’s a bonobo, not a chimp. She’s built more lightly than a chimp, and she seems to have a straighter build.” I tuned back to the parking meter. “What kind of meters are these anyway?” I said, talking mostly to myself. “Hmm… You know what I think? I think these are artificial nests.”

“You do?” Aliza said, sounding as if I’d lost my mind once and for all.

“I’m serious. I think this is a monkey nest.” I pointed to the ‘head’ of the meter, which was divided in half, with top and bottom halves that pivoted in the middle. “See here, she backs up to this hole in the side and has the baby by pushing it directly into this hole.”

“You’re nuts.”

“No, really, I think this is a monkey nest. The baby stays inside where she is safe while the mother goes to eat and then brings back food for the baby or to nurse it. Then when the baby is big enough, the top is opened so that the baby can get out. It’s really quite clever.”

“Uh-huh.” Aliza rolled her eyes.

It was clear to me that she didn’t buy my artificial monkey nest idea. To be honest, I thought it was a little far-fetched myself. But that’s what it looked like to me. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to leave the monkey there by itself. She seemed so content. I felt a strong attachment to her already, like she was already a part of the family. She was so soft and warm, cuddled into my arms like a baby.

Inspiration!

Inspiration struck. I could hardly get the words down on paper fast enough. Then I would stop and rearrange the books on my shelf and go back to writing. Each time I re-read what I wrote I made changes that (I felt) substantially improved upon my phrasing. I was excited and thrilled feeling the creative juices flowing again.

Here’s how my new novel began:

The driver angled around a dog sleeping in the middle of the road. Like a drunk that couldn’t find his way home after a drinking binge, the mutt barely wrinkled its nose at the passing big block hemi rumbling down the hard-packed dirt street during the pre-dawn sultry African morning.

The muscle car reminded one of the American movie Dukes of Hazard, where a pair of long-haired local pretty boys from the 1970s were constantly getting into trouble with the law while they raced around in their hot rod saving all the maidens in distress, young and old alike. The color of the vintage hotrod was the same as the one in the movie, but in place of the two large yellow numbers ‘01’ painted on the side was a comic strip roadrunner. The incongruity of the scene would not be lost on anyone seeing the jacked-up hardtop painted bright orange as it passed by the extreme poverty and third world filth in the remote village.

The driver sat hunched over the steering wheel sipping steaming hot coffee from a ceramic mug as he tooled slowly up the dusty street. He kept the RPMs low so as not to disturb anyone as he made his way to a one-room mud hut that he’d converted into a garage. There, he kept the towns people’s battered Toyota Land Rovers and Chinese-made Shanghais and Feng Huangs running with skilled hands.