Author’s Note: This is a true story! Infinity Monkey continues to be an invaluable member of Ollie’s Monkey Kingdom (as he calls it). Here he is with Birthday Monkey and Red Monkey, his closest friends.
As I will be leaving for college in just under a year, I wanted to write a piece inspired by each of my brothers—Sebastian, Ollie, and Max—centered around an important life lesson they taught me. This is Ollie’s. When I first brought Ollie the monkey, I was worried that he wouldn’t take to him, that he’d be put off by his shabby appearance. However, Ollie fell in love with him instantly. Though Infinity Monkey had some scars, it only made Ollie love him more.
I view this piece as a cross between a short story and a personal essay. This story represents a philosophy I strive to live by, not only as a writer, but also as a person: the art of noticing (which happens to be one of the central themes of this blog!) I learned the true power of this practice when I brought Infinity Monkey home that day—though it was a small gesture, the happiness it brought Ollie and me was endless.
I also learned how kindness can transcend fear. At this time, I was suffering from social anxiety, so much so that I’d hide out in different parts of my middle and high school to avoid social interactions. The only reprieve I found was when I focused on others rather than myself. Then and only then was my fear quelled and happiness restored. So whether it be a ladybug on the windowsill or someone sitting alone in a restaurant, take this story as a reminder to lift your head and look around, to follow the instinct in your chest that tells you to help another. As I once learned, in recognizing the worth of others, we affirm the worth in ourselves.
…
Hiding in the history classroom during recess had become less of a habit and more of a necessity. As always, just as the bell rang for recess, I’d told my friends I felt unwell and needed to go to the nurse—a white lie, of course. Sitting in the corner of the darkened room, knees folded to my chest, tears long since spent, I wondered when this excuse would run thin.
A loud crash jerked me from my self reflections, which was quickly followed by a cacophony of muffled laughter and spirited conversation.
Recess was over.
I knew I needed to time my escape, or else face the barrage of questions that would surely come with my sudden emergence from a darkened classroom. When the noise died down and the shadows disappeared from behind the blinds, I scrambled to my feet and made for the door. In my haste, I tripped on something hard and stumbled, flying forwards. Angered, I turned back to see an overturned waste bin, with garbage spilling from it like intestines from a gutted fish. But it wasn’t the mess that made me stop short.
There’s a monkey in that trash can.
I blinked.
Sure enough, ragged and one-eyed, curled up in the classroom bin amidst mounds of wadded paper and half-chewed bubblegum, was Curious George. Completely forgetting my plan of escape, I plunged my hand into the garbage without a second thought. Stuffing spilled from his chest as I cradled him in my arms. “Who did this to you?” I wondered.
He came home with me that day. I thought he might be cold, so I dressed him in a plush pajama onesie. Then, with my mom’s help, I stitched up his chest and face. “I don’t mind your eye,” I reassured him. “It makes you special.”
When he was fixed, I brought him to my brother, Ollie. “Ollie loves monkeys,” I whispered, holding him out for my brother to see. Needless to say, Ollie took to him immediately, hugging him close.
“Infinity Monkey,” he sang, “because we’ll love him forever.”
For all the memories of my life, this was the one I always returned to when I was at my lowest. At first, I couldn’t place what it was about it that stuck so strongly in my mind, but as I grew older, I began to realize: it wasn’t just their Infinity monkey’s call for help I was answering—it was my own.
Though I was a generally sunny girl, I lived my life in perpetual fear. This fear resided in the most mundane situations: walking down the sidewalk, checking out at a supermarket, even finding a table at lunch in the cafeteria. I couldn’t explain what it was I was feeling, nor could I find the courage to tell anyone else, so I suffered in silence. There was simply nothing to do but live with it.
And so I did, for years. However, it was on one particularly bad day, where I was hiding out in the biology bathrooms before school, that something shifted. I was counting down the minutes until the first bell when I caught sight of a tiny ant tracing circles in the bathroom sink. Curious, I watched as it tried to scale the walls of the basin, only to slide right back down. Hurriedly, I stuck out my finger for the ant to climb onto. “Don’t worry,” I whispered, rushing out of the bathroom, “I’ll get you outside.”
Crouching in the grass outside the library, I watched the ant disappear beneath a bed of clover. It was only when the bell rang that I realized where I was—outside the bathroom. I’d been so focused on saving the ant that I’d forgotten to be afraid. Looking around, I noticed that I was in the very place I’d been hiding from—the quad, where all my classmates hung out before class. Behind me, someone cleared their throat.
“Is that an ant?”
I nodded.
“Cool.”
I waited for the pang of fear, for the urge to run and hide away—but it never came. And suddenly, I felt as if I could float away. Even though it was the ant who had been freed, in my mind, I was equally as liberated.
That moment reframed how I thought about my fear. Now, whenever I feel the familiar pangs of fright in my chest, I look around for something I can do—however small or large—to help someone (or something!) else. I choose not to run from fear, but to chase kindness, letting love guide my actions instead of panic.
But sometimes, the fear gets the best of me—that’s when I go to Ollie’s room. Mounted against the wall, amongst a sea of happy monkeys, is Infinity Monkey. “Hey buddy,” I whisper, squeezing his tiny hand. The reminder is enough:
One small gesture. A love for infinity.
Photo Credits: Anjali Lokhande, Unsplash