Childhood Defender

I was crying, even though I promised myself I would not. I had known this conversation was coming, but here I was, snot and the shakes and everything.
“Why?” I asked. “Was it something I did?”
She got up shaking her head and went to the kitchen. I was alone with my feelings of unmanliness and total defeat. When, all of a sudden, I heard:
“Hey. Hey, don’t worry. Hey, up here.”
The voice seeked disembodied until I was able to locate the source. It was an old plastic monkey, one of the few items I saved from the house I grew up in. I carried all of them in a small Office Depot box and put them in the basement.  She must have taken the monkey out and put it with her tiny angels and other knickknacks. That was before, when we were better together. Picnics in the park and birthday blowjobs.
“Don’t worry,  Tommy,” the monkey said. “Things will be alright again. We will live in the fort and take your bike to the old can factory, like we used to. I will ride in you pocket and make sure you don’t lose hour money. My monkey brain will process the world in unexpected ways and I will share it all with you. There wil be no end to underground oceans we can swim in to get our hands on pieces of dolphin treasure.”
I dried my tears with my hand and smiled. “I guess this is better than booze. Cleaner.”

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