Stuffed Monkey

By Juda Maha 😜

The first thing I remembered was my journey in a box. It was pitch black in the packaging. Loud noises of people shouting. It felt like an eternity, in constant motion. Then, I finally saw the bright lights. An elderly man. His hulking hands picked me up, and I found myself in a large house. Back at the factory, I and the other residents would always talk about the joy of children. Meeting other toys. We were all the same type of monkey, so we all longed for a more interesting sight than a worker and a newly created monkey. The man took me out of the box, only to put me in another one. I was very confused. Was he going to ship me back to my factory? After all the darkness I went through to get here, I dreaded going back. If I could’ve cried, I would have. And so, I greeted the darkness again. But this time it was much shorter. When my box opened again, I was greeted with something different. Young parents. A backyard decorated with colorful blue balloons. I looked around. This is when I met my first companion. A wooden train. He was in a brightly colored box, with a clear window to see it. I had never seen anything like it. “What are you?” He asked. “A monkey,” I responded. I was very much in awe at the sight at such a strange toy. Suddenly, a small girl picked me up by my leg. She swung me around violently, launching me through the air and into a toy fort. This is where I met the patchwork bear. She was much older than me. She claimed to belong to the boy’s great-grandmother and had been in the family for centuries. She had a thick Russian accent, but I could still understand what she was saying. She told me that she had been in this fort for at least 6 months. “I’m excited to play with the boy!” I said, breaking the silence. “Trust me, boy, you vill not last long in this family. I have seen ze rise and fall of many toys. Do not get your hopes up,” she said, in a harsh tone. I looked towards the party. None of them were paying attention to the fort. I slowly descended the fort’s walls. “Vat are you doing?!” the patchwork bear shouted. “Returning to the boy,” I said. I really just wanted to leave her. She cursed something in Russian, before giving up and looking away from me.

            About halfway up the wall, I lost my balance. I plummeted down the fort, falling on a fence. I hit the dull wood, bounced off, and thumped on the wet grass. I faced the blue sky. It was partially blocked by the wooden fort. I picked myself up and looked at the party. All the children were running around, playing violently with the toys. One of them had a party hat and was sitting near a cake. I presumed him to be the birthday boy. Soon enough, another kid picked me up and launched me toward the cake. It was almost perfect. I landed right next to the birthday boy. After that, I remember being picked up by him. I would say it was one of the best moments of my life. After so much of my life spent sitting in a factory, it felt good to finally be played with and held by someone who wasn’t a factory worker. After the party, everything was a blur. I hardly remember what happened, besides meeting some other toys for the first time. I was formally introduced to the wooden train and the action figure. The train was bright blue, and probably the most fortunate of us at the time. The train had a large wooden railroad to run on, with multiple lines and destinations to explore. The action figure had a small sword that fitted perfectly in its hand. After the party, we were taken to the boy’s bedroom. I didn’t know it at the time, though, as I had only known the factory. I was left in front of the small crib, with the boy from the party inside it. I had heard of a crib from the other toys at the factory, but this was not at all how I expected it to look. I climbed up the small bars, before tumbling onto the boy’s stomach. He quickly grabbed me, bringing me close to his face. I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that this was what I wanted. This was what all the toys in the factory yearned for. I made it out. With heavy eyelids, I fell asleep.

 

Fast forward about three years, and the boy was four. He was getting ready to go on a trip to Australia. I remembered this trip vividly. It was one of the only memories I could clearly remember. It started the day before. The boy’s family was all stressed out about the trip. The boy had only three options to bring to Australia. He chose me, and to my shock the action figure. He had gotten many more toys since his first birthday. I was surprised he still wanted to choose us.  With more toys came the abandonment of old ones. The original toy train got lost. The boy took him to a park, and he never came home. The boy didn’t seem to care. He had so many other trains; the wooden railroad was practically full. What happened to the blue train set a deep fear in all of us. No toy wanted to be forgotten. But I think we all knew it would happen sooner or later. Unfortunately, nobody cared for the train. He was quiet and hardly talked to anyone. The train’s abandonment at the park was a few months before the trip to Australia. Or was it a year? I couldn’t recall. After so many toys were forgotten, they started to blur in my mind. The boy stuffed us in a bright blue bag on the day we were supposed to depart on the trip. There was hardly any room for us or the other stuff in the small bag.  

My face was squished against the ground, reminding me of my time in the box. But it would’ve been worse if I didn’t have the action figure. I still remember what he said. “I know what you feel. I was trapped in a box too. I was completely trapped in the plastic casing for years. I didn’t even know how to walk,” he said, in a reassuring tone. “Thanks,” I said. I don’t think he heard me though. We were trapped between a layer of clothing.

The rest of the trip was painful. It was mostly me panicking about being trapped with no light again. But then the boy would take one of us out of the bag. It only happened once, but it was better than none. It was the highlight of the trip to Australia. It was beautiful. He propped me up in his lap and pointed my head toward the window. Of course, now I know I was simply looking at clouds, but it was truly amazing at the time. The clouds completely covered the sky, not so different from the stuffing I saw so often at the factory. But the sun. Oh, the sun. The beautiful bright orange sky was the best thing I had seen up until that point. It and the clouds created the perfect sight. But that made it even worse when I had to enter the bag again. I was kicking and screaming, practically begging him to let me stay. But I was tossed back into the bag. And he didn’t take me out again. The boy had fallen asleep. The rest of the flight was a blur. Mostly trying not to suffocate while trapped underneath the heavy pile of clothing. The action figure tried his best to comfort me, but it didn’t help. Eventually, the plane landed. I found this out when my ears were greeted with a loud barrage of clapping. Then, the boy picked the bag up. The bag bounced up and down and I could have vomited. But eventually, the bag was dropped on a soft, pillowy surface. I recognized the fabric of a crib anywhere. “Open the bag!” I shouted to the action figure. He did, and I finally saw the light after about 12 hours of sitting in the dark. I eagerly climbed over the clothing and out of the bag, falling on the soft canvas of the crib. “Yes!” I screamed excitedly.

 I eagerly climbed out of the crib, falling to the floor. Unlike the hardwood floors at home, the floor of the hotel was carpeted. The room was big, complete with a kitchen, a bathroom, a queen bed, and a crib. The father of the boy continued to unpack their things, while the mother changed the boy on the counter. I quickly fell limp to not arouse suspicion. “Christine, who brought the monkey? I thought we left it at home.” I remember at the time I was quite mad at the boy’s father for referring to me as “it.” “The Jacksons gave it to us for Danny’s first birthday, remember?”  The father nodded. Maybe a few hours afterward, we left the hotel. I don’t remember where to, but I do remember going to a gift shop. This is where I met my greatest companion. The boy held me by my hand. I didn’t have the greatest view of the gift shop. “Oh! Can we get the Koala? We can give Monkey a friend!” the boy shouted. I guess he forgot about the action figure. I was excited to meet this koala. They were small and grey, with a small Australian flag. I didn’t know at the time, though. I looked over at the Koala, who was in the boy’s other hand. We exchanged a glance, and they smiled.

After that, we returned to the hotel. The action figure was left at the hotel, so he was shocked to meet the koala. “Who is this?” he asked. “I’m a koala,” they responded. “What’s that flag?” I asked. “I don’t know. I was made with it,” they responded. “Well, what do you think of the boy?” I asked. “I like him. But I have to admit, life outside of the gift shop is a lot different than I anticipated. Everyone always said it was the best thing ever. Being with a child. I guess I don’t feel much of anything. But it’s cool to see outside of the store,” they said. Maybe a few minutes later, the boy ran into the room. He picked the koala up and flew them through the sky. He made loud whooshing noises. “Just a normal day!” the boy said, making an awful high-pitched voice as he did so. He then picked the action figure up. To my shock at the time, he wiggled himself out of the boy’s hand, plummeting to the floor. He then crawled underneath the crib, far enough inside that the boy could not possibly reach him. The boy stopped for a second, then picked me up instead. His grip was tight on my stomach, and I felt as if I would burst. The boy told an overarching story, spanning multiple playtimes. It was about a superhero saving the world. Quite basic, but impressive for a four-year-old. I played the hero, super-monkey. Most of the time he would have a battle. Usually, the battles were between me and a supervillain toy. He was much smaller than me, so most of the battles involved me mercilessly beating him until the boy was satisfied. I always made sure to apologize to him after our fights. It seemed like this playtime would go the same. But to my surprise, I played the villain.  The fight was grandiose and long, with lots of loud shouts and hard punches. But it ended when the boy swung the koala at me. The boy threw me right as the koala hit me, sending me flying into a coat rack. It pierced my fabric, making a large rip in my fur.

Stuffed animals don’t feel pain like humans do. The rip felt more like a small sting. As if I was bit by an ant. The boy ran over to me and cried. After that, the mom temporarily used tape to keep me together. But there was one more important thing that happened in Australia. After getting taped up, I went back to the crib and talked to the action figure. It had just started to rain outside. “Why’d you do that?” I asked. I tried to keep my tone calm. “You wouldn’t get it,” he said. I crawled under the crib. “Come on, I’m sure I’ll get it,” I said. “I don’t just want to be some puppet. Our job is to make kids happy by letting them play with us. They don’t recognize us as having free will. We’re just objects to them. Then the kid grows tired of us and throws us out. Don’t you think that’s messed up? I mean, I don’t just want to be some toy. I want to do things with my life,” he said. I sat in silence. At the time, all I wanted was to be played with. I had no other goals. The concept that I was more than just a toy was something I’d never thought of. “You don’t get it,” he said. The action figure walked out from under the crib. He walked until he reached the door to the balcony. He gave me one last look. Then he opened the door and leaped off.

 

6 years later, the boy was 10. Life had changed dramatically. I was no longer the favorite. At that time, I was more of an afterthought. I still slept in the boy’s bed, but most of the time I was shoved between pillows or the bedframe itself. All the boy cared for at the time were racing cars. He hardly played with me.  What the action figure said so long ago always stuck with me. I never truly agreed with it, but I always kept it in the back of my brain. And now that I’ve spent 10 years with this boy, I can say confidently that being a toy was awful. Maybe it would have been better if I took the action figures’ advice. Maybe it would have been less painful. But now it was too late. I had spent so many years as the favorite, and to have it all ripped away hurt like hell. The only good thing I had in my life at the time was the koala. I still remember one night vividly. Whenever it rained, we would look out the window and talk. This was one of those nights. I never told the koala about what the action figure said to me that night in Australia. Not until that day. “What do you think about this?” I asked. “About what?” they replied. “Being a toy,” I said. “It’s fine. It’s not at all what I had in mind when I was stuck in that store,” they said. “I think it’s awful. You spend your first few years in a dingy factory, and all you want is to play with a kid. In the first year with a kid, everything is fine. But after a while, the kid abandons you. He moves on to some other toy, leaving you behind. And this pillar of your life is gone. This thing that you’ve had for so long, something that was so good is gone. And it’s not quick, either. It’s a slow and horrible process. The number of playtimes goes down. You find yourself being left in odd places more often. At first, you shrug it off. But it gets worse. Soon, you’re completely forgotten. All this over the course of years,” I replied. After that, they hugged me. “Hey. At least we have each other, right?” they asked. “Yeah. You’re a great friend,” I said. The next day, we had a yard sale. A yard sale is the worst thing that can happen to a toy. It means separation to a toy.  I’ve heard many tales of toys being separated by yard sales. I was scared it would happen to me and the koala. We were stuffed inside a bin when the boy’s mom came into the room. “Here’s a box. Put anything you don’t want into it.” She threw a box on the floor. Our hearts were heavy, and we prayed that he wouldn’t pick us. But he did. Specifically the koala. I still remember it well. They didn’t scream. They didn’t thrash. They just looked at me. And that was the last time I saw them. That moment cemented my feelings about being a toy. That night I went to the wooden house. The old patchwork bear was still there. She was on her last legs. “Hey,” I said, climbing up the ladder. “Vhat do you want?” she asked, in her typical harsh tone. “My friend is going to be sold in the yard sale,” I said. “I told you zez would happen,” she responded. “But I do not blame you. I had a friend once. A stuffed cow. He was sold to a thrift store, a long time ago. Only real friend I’ve ever had,” she said. Her voice was weary.

Over the next few years, I kept this same mindset. And now it’s the present day. The boy is older, and hardly has time for any toy. I never had a better friend than that koala.  And here I am now. Sad, and alone. I have to say, it’s not what I had in mind when I was in the factory.