Anne
17
The sun rose and everything fell. Everything: the sun rose, the tea rose, the bourbon rose, and the miniature roses all went flying and water splattered everywhere as the glass vases crashed to the floor. Alex lunged for the monkey, who was now swinging by his tail to reach the shelf of rare orchids. (Why, oh why, did I ever agree to watch a hyperactive monkey?)
Easily eluding Alex, the monkey clambered onto the cash register. One well-placed swipe, and the cash drawer popped open with a ka-ching!, revealing the glittering treasure inside; the monkey’s eyes widened with greed. Scooping up the jingling loot, the monkey paused pensively, before it dawned on him just how much fun throwing it would be.
Coins sailed through the air, musically bouncing off of the floor and the furniture, delighting the monkey as he was flinging handfuls wildly around the store … and out the door, which Alex had carelessly left ajar. (Oh no! People will pick up my aunt’s money!) Alex dashed out to the street, scrambling frantically to collect the scattered change. As he bent over the gutter, his cap tumbled off, falling upside down onto the pavement.
Alex heard the door slam behind him.
With a hopeless feeling of dread, Alex spun around, just in time to see the monkey leering through the window as the deadbolt locked into place. Supremely satisfied, the monkey turned away, leaving Alex banging on the door furiously. Disdainfully ignoring the now-empty cash register drawer, the monkey raced around the store seeking further amusement. Alex watched helplessly as the monkey shimmied up onto the chandelier and began swinging to and fro.
“Meth!” Alex bawled out. (What kind of an idiot names a pet monkey Methuselah, anyway?) “METH!” Alex smacked at the window pane, infuriated by the sight of his keys lying forlornly on the counter. “Hey! You better let me in! You better! GET OVER HERE METH!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young mother pushing a stroller, now nervously crossing to the other side of the street and quickening her pace.
Methuselah next ventured over to the window with an inquisitive stare. Engrossed by Alex’s antics, he innocently pressed his face right up against the window. “Come on,” begged Alex desperately. Unconvinced, the monkey resumed his exploration of the store.
“GET BACK HERE!” Alex screamed. (Maybe I can force the door open.) “METH! When I get ahold of you …” Alex violently rattled the door. Hearing the gentle clink of coins, Alex whirled around to see a charitable passerby tossing change into his upturned cap.
From the other direction, someone incoherently mumbled “Meth?” in a strung-out stupor. Alex turned around again, this time to be greeted by a toothless grin and pungent aroma.
“Drugs, man? Gimme some meth, yeah?”
“No, no, no,” Alex tried to explain. “It’s the monkey, see, and …”
“Your monkey got the drugs?” Alex’s new friend inquired earnestly. But he was backing away as the wailing of sirens approached. He vanished in a flash. As the police cruiser screeched to a halt at the curb, Alex noticed that his cap was gone.
“He went that way, Officer,” Alex explained, gesticulating vigorously. “Hurry up, and you might catch him!”
The policeman looked at Alex skeptically. “You tryin’ ta put one over on me or somethin’?”
“But I thought that you were …” Alex’s voice trailed off in resigned dismay.
“I got a call that some kid was tryin’ ta break in here, and doin’ a drug deal. Wanna tell me about it?”
“Drugs? Me? No, it’s not like that! ‘Meth’ is short for Methuselah—that’s the name of the monkey!”
“Oh, sure. The monkey,” sighed the policeman patronizingly. “Whaddar you on today, anyhow?”
“No, look, really!” Alex pointed through the window into the shop, where the monkey was happily carrying on. “See that monkey? It belongs to my friend Chester, but he’s out of town and I promised to monkey-sit.”
“And the store?”
“It belongs to my aunt, the florist, who’s on an exotic flower tour this week, so she asked me to check up on her shop every day … you know, refresh the displays and whatnot. And today, I had to bring along Meth…uselah …” Alex added lamely. “But he went bananas, and he locked me out, and he made a mess, only I can’t even get in there to clean it up, so Auntie won’t ever trust me again, and what’ll Chester do with the monkey stuck in a flower shop?”
Now the policeman was laughing heartily. “Seems that you’ve had a tough time of it. But don’t be too hard on that monkey; he’s burnt out, too,” he said, nodding towards the angelically sleeping Methuselah sprawled out in the middle of the wreckage. “I’ll call you a locksmith, so you can tidy up in there. Only don’t you wake that monkey!”
It was dusk by the time the locksmith finished, but the monkey was still sleeping peacefully. (If I’m very quiet and careful … ) Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.
