Viola and the Monkey on a Picnic

Viola has lavish picnics in the park and it is here where she met a monkey. He'd escaped. He told her this in a hushed whisper moments after meeting. From the zoo? From the jungle? From an experimentation center full of mad scientists? Viola wasn't clear. The monkey was shifty about the whole situation. But they met, liked each other immediately and shook hands. Such a gentlemen for a monkey, is what Viola though of the dapper little creature. She had brought a lot to her picnic, but not that much food. She'd share the watermelon and the slice of pie, and she always brought an extra teacup with her, just in case. Oddly, this was the first time she'd had occasion to actually use the extra tea cup on one of her picnics. 

So after consuming the food rapidly, they dined on ideas and on music and art and on conversation. 

Viola put on her favorite record. She had gotten it in an underground club in the city. You had to walk down stairs and knock three times with two seconds between each knock. They open a little spy hole and take a look at you and decide if you had the type of face they could trust. Viola did. She was let in where she sat in the front watching shimmering ladies singing and men with rubber backs and jittering fingers bend over their instruments. She loved it all. They sold records from a suitcase at the back entrance, so she bought a few albums which she cherished as soon as the smooth record sleeve touched her fingers. 

That night after she saw her first music show at the underground venue, she'd gone back to her house and opened all her windows to let the stuffy summer heat back out into the night. She'd turned off all the lights and put on one of the albums. She laid on her bed and stretched her legs upward. The music beat and battered through her house and she moved her legs this way and that in the air, pretending she was dancing on the ceiling.

She told the monkey this. He wanted to try. So they lay down on the picnic blanket and danced upon the clouds. In the distance, Viola saw two love birds dancing. She wondered if they were dancing to her music or their own. She hoped hers. 

The monkey then told her what had happened. He'd escaped an organ grinder. Viola hadn't thought of that option. The music reminded him not all music symbolized captivity. He'd hated the song the organ grinder played, over and over and over again, without flourish and without love. He'd hated the feeling of smooth cold coins in his tiny palms. The coins he had to bring back to the grinder, who leered at him as he passed the coin over. 

'Your free now.' Viola said. She read his future in a deck of cards. 'You'll be free forever.' She said and smiled. The monkey didn't believe her. But he curled up next to her. The sun had set and now the stars were out. They watched the constellations. They told stories about the future. They smelled the flowers in the small vase that Viola had brought with her and they smelled the flowers growing wild in the park. 

'When we wake up tomorrow, let's write this all down.' Viola said sleepily. The monkey nodded his head in agreement but it was dark so Viola didn't see him. They fell asleep and shared the same dream about a place they'd never been before. They'd decide what to do next when they woke up.