and slippery. Bubbles flowed from her lips. She squeezed my fingers. Her rear was puffy with padding. Her legs bowed like bent twigs.
I made a face. She made a face. I grunted. She grunted.
I was so afraid she would fall that I squeezed her tightly, and her mother yanked her away.
I wonder if my mother ever worried about dropping us. We always held on, but thatâs easier to do when your mother is furry.
Human babies are an ugly lot. But their eyes are like our babiesâ eyes.
Too big for their faces, and for the world.
beds
One day, after many weeks of loud talking, Helen packed a bag and slammed the front door and never came back.
I donât know why. I never know the why of humans.
That night, I slept with Mack in his bed.
My old nests were woven of leaves and sticks and shaped like his bathtub, cool green cocoons.
Mackâs bed, like mine, was flat, hot, without sticks or stars.
Still, he made a sleeping sound like the rumble my father used to make when all was well, a sound from deep inside his belly.
my place
Mack grew sullen. I grew bigger. I became what I was meant to be, too large for chairs, too strong for hugs, too big for human life.
I tried to stay calm, to move with dignity. I did my best to eat daintily. But human ways are hard to learn, especially when youâre not a human.
When I saw my new domain, I was thrilled, and who wouldnât have been? It had no furniture to break. No glasses to smash. No toilets to drop Mackâs keys into.
It even had a tire swing.
I was relieved to have my own place.
Somehow, I didnât realize Iâd be here quite so long.
Now I drink Pepsi, eat old apples, watch reruns on TV.
But many days I forget what I am supposed to be. Am I a human? Am I a gorilla?
Humans have so many words, more than they truly need.
Still, they have no name for what I am.
nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six days
Ruby is finally asleep. I watch her chest rise and fall. Bob, too, is snoring.
But my mind is still racing. For perhaps the first time ever, Iâve been remembering.
Itâs an odd story to remember, I have to admit. My story has a strange shape: a stunted beginning, an endless middle.
I count all the days Iâve lived with humans. Gorillas count as well as anyone, although itâs not a particularly useful skill to have in the wild.
Iâve forgotten so many things, and yet I always know precisely how many days Iâve been in my domain.
I take one of the Magic Markers Julia gave me. I make an X, a small one, on my painted jungle wall.
I make more Xâs, and more. I make an X for every day of my life with humans.
My marks look like this:
The rest of the night, I mark the days, and when I am done, my wall looks like this:
And so on, until there are nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six Xâs marching across my wall like a parade of ugly insects.
a visit
Itâs almost morning when I hear steps. Itâs Mack. He has a sharp smell. He weaves as he walks.
He stands next to my domain. His eyes are red. He is staring out the window at the empty parking lot.
âIvan, my man,â he mumbles. âIvan.â He presses his forehead against the glass. âWeâve been through a lot, you and me.â
a new beginning
We donât see Mack for two days. When he returns, he doesnât talk about Stella.
Mack says he is anxious to teach Ruby some tricks. He says the billboard is bringing in more visitors. He says itâs time for a new beginning.
All afternoon and into the evening Mack works with Ruby. Rubyâs feet are looped with rope so that she cannot run. A heavy chain hangs off her neck. Mack shows her Stellaâs ball, her pedestal, her stool. He introduces her to Snickers.
When Ruby obeys Mack, he gives her a cube of sugar or a bit of dried apple. When she doesnât, he yells and kicks at the sawdust.
When George and Julia arrive, Mack is still training Ruby. Julia sits on a
I made a face. She made a face. I grunted. She grunted.
I was so afraid she would fall that I squeezed her tightly, and her mother yanked her away.
I wonder if my mother ever worried about dropping us. We always held on, but thatâs easier to do when your mother is furry.
Human babies are an ugly lot. But their eyes are like our babiesâ eyes.
Too big for their faces, and for the world.
beds
One day, after many weeks of loud talking, Helen packed a bag and slammed the front door and never came back.
I donât know why. I never know the why of humans.
That night, I slept with Mack in his bed.
My old nests were woven of leaves and sticks and shaped like his bathtub, cool green cocoons.
Mackâs bed, like mine, was flat, hot, without sticks or stars.
Still, he made a sleeping sound like the rumble my father used to make when all was well, a sound from deep inside his belly.
my place
Mack grew sullen. I grew bigger. I became what I was meant to be, too large for chairs, too strong for hugs, too big for human life.
I tried to stay calm, to move with dignity. I did my best to eat daintily. But human ways are hard to learn, especially when youâre not a human.
When I saw my new domain, I was thrilled, and who wouldnât have been? It had no furniture to break. No glasses to smash. No toilets to drop Mackâs keys into.
It even had a tire swing.
I was relieved to have my own place.
Somehow, I didnât realize Iâd be here quite so long.
Now I drink Pepsi, eat old apples, watch reruns on TV.
But many days I forget what I am supposed to be. Am I a human? Am I a gorilla?
Humans have so many words, more than they truly need.
Still, they have no name for what I am.
nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six days
Ruby is finally asleep. I watch her chest rise and fall. Bob, too, is snoring.
But my mind is still racing. For perhaps the first time ever, Iâve been remembering.
Itâs an odd story to remember, I have to admit. My story has a strange shape: a stunted beginning, an endless middle.
I count all the days Iâve lived with humans. Gorillas count as well as anyone, although itâs not a particularly useful skill to have in the wild.
Iâve forgotten so many things, and yet I always know precisely how many days Iâve been in my domain.
I take one of the Magic Markers Julia gave me. I make an X, a small one, on my painted jungle wall.
I make more Xâs, and more. I make an X for every day of my life with humans.
My marks look like this:
The rest of the night, I mark the days, and when I am done, my wall looks like this:
And so on, until there are nine thousand eight hundred and seventy-six Xâs marching across my wall like a parade of ugly insects.
a visit
Itâs almost morning when I hear steps. Itâs Mack. He has a sharp smell. He weaves as he walks.
He stands next to my domain. His eyes are red. He is staring out the window at the empty parking lot.
âIvan, my man,â he mumbles. âIvan.â He presses his forehead against the glass. âWeâve been through a lot, you and me.â
a new beginning
We donât see Mack for two days. When he returns, he doesnât talk about Stella.
Mack says he is anxious to teach Ruby some tricks. He says the billboard is bringing in more visitors. He says itâs time for a new beginning.
All afternoon and into the evening Mack works with Ruby. Rubyâs feet are looped with rope so that she cannot run. A heavy chain hangs off her neck. Mack shows her Stellaâs ball, her pedestal, her stool. He introduces her to Snickers.
When Ruby obeys Mack, he gives her a cube of sugar or a bit of dried apple. When she doesnât, he yells and kicks at the sawdust.
When George and Julia arrive, Mack is still training Ruby. Julia sits on a
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