In his earliest memories Robert Giovanni knew he was meant to be different. Special. Though he never knew why. His uncle Julius would stop by, hug dad in an overly enthusiastic way, mom would dodge a hug because ‘your hugs hurt’ before calling him a big animal of some sort. An ox, usually. Finally, he’d tousle little Bobby’s scruffy head of overly thick hair. This was sometimes in a different order, sometimes with Julius ambushing mom before she knew what was happening, sometimes he’d bring presents, but it was over and over and every time it was a big deal. Julius was there for every sports game, every special event, even when nobody else would show, Julius was there. Mom and dad both called him “Julie”, he’d laugh about that being ‘a girl’s name’ but he owned it anyway. He was Julie Giovanni, Jujo sometimes. While events tended to repeat it was the little differences in each visit, breaking the pattern, that stuck out, making unique memories out of repetition. When Julius would get to him, the youngest member of the family, from before he could remember to about age five, he’d tousle that scruffy dome and say to little Bobby “you’re a different kind of cat, ain’tcha?”.
Somehow, in spite of the typical American experience, emphasizing feelings over analysis, style and surface over substance, Robert had become an unusually introspective young man. On this day he remembered that, weeks later, he’d have to start attending kindergarten. The idea frightened him as, for whatever reason, his parents had always kept him home. No babysitters, few friends, and he was pretty sure the ones he had were cousins. There were kids in the neighborhood but he didn’t talk to them, wasn’t allowed, and the privacy fence in the back yard made it easy to keep it that way. One day uncle Julie showed up without calling in advance and it was mom who answered the door. Mom dodged, shouting out just one word “cooking!” to the gregarious uncle.
Instead of being last in line for uncular (yes, that is a word) affection he was first, got his dome tousled and his special greeting right after. As Julie made for the living room to find daddy Bobby finally thought to ask for clarity. “Mom?” Bobby had said, looking up at his mother, still in the prime of her beauty. “What’s different kind of cat mean? I’m not a cat. I’m a boy.” In that moment two of the three most present people in his life froze. Dad could be heard upstairs, noisily finishing up in the restroom after work, aware that company had come. Mom was the first to speak. “Well? Julie? Explain … explain yourself. Anh?”
“C’mon, Mona, it’s just what I say.”
“Yeah, so? You opened this can of fish. Tell ‘im what you mean.”
“Sonofa… How is this even an issue? You keepin’ him in the dark or somethin’? I’m the uncle. I do the fun shit!” Julie turned to little Bobby. “Sorry, slugger, I don’t mean to cuss.”
“Shit!” blurted Bobby, instinctively slapping hands over his mouth, knowing it was a bad word.
“Jesus! Julie, are you serious right now!?”
“It ain’t my place, dammit. Where is my brother. Tony! Dude, seriously, you gotta get down here!”
Nerves forgotten, Bobby laughed beneath his hands. He wasn’t one to stir the pot but when the grown-ups started sparring verbally it brought that out of him. Daddy, the giant black-haired Italian who couldn’t keep his 5-O’clock shadow under control, had entered the fray, his stink following him from the bathroom and filling the dining room. “What the hell’s going on out here!?”
“Christ, Tony! What did you do!?” mom feigned gagging, retreating from the situation, and continuing to cook in preparation for dinner. Even though she hadn’t been told that Julius would be there she was cooking for far more than three people. She always did. Even if nobody showed mom’s leftovers made a great breakfast and no doubt daddy would take some to work tomorrow.
“I was on the shitter and someone declared Armageddon on the ground floor, Mona. I didn’t do nothin’ that wasn’t natural so how about you fill me in on the hubbub, anh?”
“Shit!” blurted Bobby again.
“Bobby!” shouted both parents as he retreated, laughing more openly, ducking behind a corner as the adults engaged.
“It’s nothin’ really, bro’.” He heard Julius say, quietly, assuming he couldn’t be heard. “Just you ain’t had a little talk with your kid that really needs to be had.”
“What? The birds and the bees? We Giovannis got early puberty but the kid’s five, Julie.”
“No, Tony. Dude. Listen, the kid’s askin’ questions.”
“Your idiot brother’s made our boy uncomfortable, Tony. Now you gotta deal with it.”
“Don’t insult, Mona. This ain’t high school, okay?” An attempt at deflection.
“What’d you say to my kid, Julie?” daddy asked, near a whisper, but not quiet enough for tiny, sharp ears.
“I greeted him the same way I always do, Tony.”
“What? What’s that?” daddy really wasn’t all that observant, especially in the midst of a chaotic family greeting.
“I said he was a different kind of cat.”
“What? Oh … oh shit!” the whisper scream really carried as it occurred to dad what might have happened.
“Dude, I’ve said the same thing a hundred times, easy! In front of you I said it!”
“Great! Yeah, okay, same thing, when he can’t talk you can do that, Julie, but he’s fuckin’ five!”
“Fuck … k…” blurted Bobby, head poking out around the corner, looking up at daddy. Like many boys Bobby had a fear of his father, a need for his approval, but also Daddy really was a huge man. Julie’s head only came up to daddy’s nose and sometimes daddy would hit his head on the tops of doors. Turning towards his boy, he looked down, and in spite of daddy’s quiet calm, or perhaps because of it, Bobby was scared.
“Bobby…” and the kid was gone. “Dammit, Julie.”
“If Mona hadn’t made a big deal we could’a played it off!”
“Don’t put it on Mona.”
“Well don’t blame me because you ain’t explained to your kid what he is, Tony! I accepted him. The whole family has, dammit. It ain’t gotta be weird!”
“You don’t know what this world has in store for him, Jules. People hate anything different!”
“You don’t know what’ll happen, bro’, and puttin’ off explainin’ the situation to the kid doesn’t do him any favors. You want him resentin’ you forever? Keep your mouth shut. I’d tell him where he come from myself but it ain’t my. Damned. Place!”
After that angry exclamation Bobby couldn’t hear them any more. Freshly hidden but close, he tried, but they kept their conversation too quiet. Finally daddy and uncle Julie hugged and, maybe for the first time ever, Julie left before dinner. Daddy sat down on the big kitchen chair at the head of the table, the one with the fancy designs carved in, that they got from grandma, the one with arms. It was the only one he could sit in comfortably. Mom hugged him from behind and he held her hands where they clasped in front of him. Slowly, seeing this, Bobby crept out from his hiding spot.
“Oh! Bobby. Hey.” Then, to dad. “Uh … Tony, you got this?”
Eyes closed, patting his wife’s hands, dad started to rise then thought better of it. “Yeah, yeah baby. You do your thing in the kitchen. It, uh, it smells great, okay?” Looking over to his son, the sneaky, cursing little creature whose questions had led to all this chaos, all this emotion, who was still skittish and afraid to cause more uproar. Bobby saw in that moment something he’d never seen before; daddy had been crying. “Hey, slugger, come sit down by your old man, huh?”
Obediently, Bobby walked over, hustling on all fours before bounding up into the seat next to daddy. They barely fit there side-by-side. Bobby dared not say anything. He knew that there was something he did not know and knew too little to even ask what it was.
“Hey, all right. Look at you. Did you get spooked by all the cussin’?”
Sniffling, Bobby was more upset than he realized. “Maybe a little? I’m sorry I said the bad words.”
“Nah, nah it’s human … y’know? Normal. It’s somethin’ people do, y’know? That stuff slips out. The trick is to only do it when it makes sense, y’know? Never in church, right? Only with family and good friends. Anybody else, they’d figure you’re bad, y’know? Like an enemy.”
“Oh. So I’m not in trouble?”
“Not from me kid. No. Uh … hold on. Let me see … here we go.” And daddy pulled up a large, polished silver platter engraved to portray a hummingbird in the sunlight, drinking nectar from a flower, but it also worked like a mirror. “See here?”
“Hummingbird!” it was actually Bobby’s favorite platter. Normally it had baskets on it filled with rolls or breadsticks.
“No, silly. It’s … it’s us. See? In the reflection.”
“Oh yeah!”
“Bobby … you ever wonder why you don’t look much like your mommy and me?”
It actually had occurred to him. He was oddly prepared for this, or at least he thought. “I know. I’m adopted…”
At this daddy sputtered, spraying spit a little. “Sorry!” and he started to laugh out loud, struggling to regain composure.
“What is this?” mom had burst back into the room, confused at the racket. “What’s so freakin’ funny?”
“Oh, Mona, honey … our boy here thinks he’s adopted. What you think? Is he adopted?”
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Laughing herself mom had trouble maintaining composure. “Oh no, you little rugrat, you’re all ours. Mostly. Definitely. I got the stretch-marks to prove it!” This was especially confusing, especially the phrasing! Mom ducked back out and Bobby turned back to his father.
“Bobby, focus, okay? Where’s daddy work?”
“The zoo” said Bobby. This was easy!
“Right. Okay. Now … what do you know about where babies come from?”
Bobby looked around. All he knew was what the other kids, the ones he was pretty sure were his cousins, told him. He was really, really unsure, but why not? Daddy would correct anything he had wrong for sure. “Well, when a boy puts his pe—”
“Whoa! Okay, crap, you do know!? Who told you that?”
“You didn’t let me finish!”
“Sorry, sorry son. You’re just so young.”
“Boy puts his penis in the girl’s vagina and nine months later a baby pops out!”
“Wow. I can’t wait for my next confessional now. Shi…”
“Is it bad that I know?” Bobby asked, very concerned about his own behavior.
“No, kiddo, you have never been anything but a little angel. The thing is … sometimes, now, it’s not as simple as boy parts and girl parts. It used to be, yeah. But, uh, see … and we don’t really know why this is now, but sometimes something else can get in there.”
“What? Like two penises?”
“Jesus! Now you need a confessional! I, no, no … Bobby, okay, I still say you’re too young for this talk but … listen. Most kids got two parents. Shit…” Abruptly daddy stood up. “Mona, I can’t do this here. I gotta show the kid.”
“You sure, honey?”
“It’s ten minutes back to work. They’re closed so nobody’s gonna be around, y’know? Better this way. Easier.”
“Okay. Hurry back.” Called mom.
“It’s meatloaf, right? I got at least an hour. C’mon, boy. Get somethin’ on your feet. Time for you to see where daddy works.”
It really was a thrill. Usually his parents layered him in clothing far too hot for comfort when he left the house. Today, for whatever reason, Bobby got to feel the wind on his face. He sat in the back, in the seat that made him taller, open window blowing fresh air, flowers. It felt like freedom. He’d never been to the zoo, even though his daddy worked there, even though he spent forty hours there every week, Bobby’d never gotten to see it. Now he got to go with nobody else there. Just him and daddy.
The walk in from the parking lot felt less like freedom. It was oddly quiet, the empty parking spaces stretching a quarter mile to the road, all checkpoints shut down and the employee parking area had only about a dozen cars. “Stay close to me, okay? The night crew ain’t gonna expect to see you. Or anybody. Let’s just say they like workin’ three-to-eleven. Uh, they, y’know, lack people skills.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” Daddy snatched his little man up on his hip and Bobby clung instinctively. “You kiddin’? And the guys workin’ eleven-to-seven? More fingers than teeth and the fingers ain’t all there neither!” and daddy laughed. Bobby laughed along, not sure what was funny, but he was happy that daddy seemed happy.
Inside, daddy showed his lanyard to anybody he saw, making sure anybody he saw knew he was there “to show my kid somethin’”. They seemed ready to ask a question but stopped short on seeing Bobby. Bobby was vaguely aware of his father’s force of personality. Something about Antonio Giovanni made people fall in line. It’s why he kept getting promoted. Bobby wasn’t sure how many times but he knew that daddy had employees under him and talked all the time about running the whole place some day.
This was probably the longest daddy had ever carried Bobby and the boy had already clambered from the hip to his back. He clung, hands and feet, to daddy’s back. His sandals had long since fallen off, now just another thing for daddy to carry, so this was definitely easier. Down a long flight of stairs, in a building mostly darkened, track lighting showing you where to step, they descended. “It’s scary in here.” Muttered Bobby.
“The dark ain’t scary, kiddo. You can hide in the dark. Light. That’s what’s scary. Exposed, visible, everybody pickin’ out your flaws. No thank you.”
Reaching the floor, daddy set Bobby on the floor. His eyes had adjusted a little so he wasn’t so scared any more. “Where are we?” he asked. On one side there was an open space, the other, a wall of glass.
“Hold on. Just gotta hit the lights.” With a ‘thunk’ daddy hit a breaker, causing a cascade of lights to come alive, illuminating both sides of the glass. “There we go.” And daddy came jogging back.
At first there wasn’t anything of note. On the other side of the glass was vegetation arranged into a pile, like a nest, but huge. Behind that there was a tire on a rope, a few hammocks and what seemed to be a rock tunnel with dim sunlight bouncing around the corner.
Daddy came to knee down beside Bobby. “Just wait a second, okay? No way she didn’t hear that.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see.” The wait felt instantly endless and painful in the way that only a child can experience. “Yeah, here she comes now.”
A dark figure, stooped, arms disproportionately long and legs short, top-heavy and muscular, loped into view.
“Hey Imani. Hi, girl.” Daddy greeted the creature as a friend. Bobby’d never seen anything like her. A lowland gorilla. Somehow, though, she seemed immediately familiar.
Head cocked to one side Imani approached the glass, an oddly human face surrounded by fur. She stared at Bobby as daddy cooed comforting sounds. “See, Bobby, this is why we had to be here. You’re not adopted, okay? Your mom’s your mom, I’m your dad, we made you. But, geez, I want to say about twenty years ago, because of something that got into the water, or the air, something, it’s not that simple any more.”
“I don’t understand.” Bobby was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
“Yeah, ‘course not, couldn’t be that easy, right? Look. When your mom and I got married I had this job. I worked with Imani every day, teachin’ her sign language, cleaning her enclosure, helpin’ the vet give her medicine. Hell, it got to the point where she’d grab onto me a lot like your uncle Julie. Like I was family. At first the other guys thought she was gonna kill me but … she knew. She knew how strong she was. I treated her right. With dignity. So she was sweet to me. Anyway… Somehow, something from Imani got into me, through my skin or somethin’. Soon after that your mom and I made you and…”
Daddy searched for the words. Imani focused on Bobby, raising a hand to the glass, eyes wide, and she began to vocalize while moving her free hand. Bobby approached her, raising a hand, touching where her hand was on the glass.
“Well, kid, part of me went into making you, part of your mom went into making you … and part of Imani got in there too.” Moving his head about, fighting his own reflection, struggling to see beyond it Bobby realized that many of his own facial features lined up. His nose protruded a little more, his head wasn’t so pointy on top and his brow wasn’t so thick but the resemblance was strong.
“So … so I’m a monkey?” the word was wrong but, for whatever reason, perhaps to avoid this moment, monkeys were the only other primates Bobby had seen or even heard of. Even in cartoons!
“No, kid. Like your uncle said. ‘You’re a different kind of cat.’ More importantly, you’re a Giovanni. To your family that’s all that matters. Don’t you ever forget that.”
——-
Sixteen years seemed like a blink in time for Bobby, now better known as Bogo. Like his uncle Julie before him he really had three names; Robert to some, Bobby to family, and Bogo when he was working. Looking at the big screens in the electronics store window he saw his reflection and remembered the day he learned what made him different. Made him unique. A lot had happened since then. Knowing where he came from, the terror of school had been erased, and Bobby had excelled. This owed mostly to a persistent attitude that he had something to prove. Athletics, unfortunately, had proven more difficult. He was too big, too strong and his attempts at participation had been met with protests. Men and women with signs reading “protect our children” screamed about the dangers of Fursonas being allowed on the field and in the locker room with other kids. Because of these and other, similar events in his youth Bogo, at age twenty-one, still felt the need to prove himself. To prove he was every bit the person that anybody else was. He felt the need to do this because, looking in that store window, he saw himself; an ape-slash-human hybrid, and an unusually large example of one. Like his father he pushed seven feet, but unlike dear old daddy, he was more than three feet wide at the shoulder and able to touch his knees without bending. So where does the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sit? The answer, it turns out, isn’t as easy as they claim.
But someone was calling out his name, very near, and slapping him on the shoulder. Looking down at the bottom of the reflection in the window he spotted a weird, suited man with a top hat and cane, silver from head to toe. This was a street performer he called friend; Common Cents. “Bogo, hey Bogo, you in there anywhere big guy?”
“Oh, hey, Cents! What’s going on?”
“Well, the Kid and I were getting set up and we asked ourselves ‘hey, where’s that big guy we like having around?’ Y’know, the one who guarantees that nobody’s gonna take our party bowl of cash when the tourists get generous?”
“What? I’m … just thinkin’ about stuff. Not like you guys pay me. Hell, with your song and dance routine, it’s a wonder my act gets a dime.” Cents and Kid Capital were always taking advantage. They lived their capitalist gimmick while making fun of it, that’s for certain. Bogo slapped down one mugger and now they acted entitled to free protection.
“Now that sounds like haggling right there and I respect it! Tell you what; here’s a twenty for when you helped us out last time. If your expert services as muscle prove necessary once again there’s another President Jackson waiting in the wings.”
“Geez. Thanks.” Need over pride, Bogo snatched up the bill. “Maybe dancing for my supper ain’t the way to go after all. Maybe I should get a security job. Y’know, I hear most guys what can deadlift a pickup truck score about five-K chuckin’ drunks and perverts out the bars.”
“Whoa! Whoa-ho, K? Thousands. Tell me you’re not still haggling because that’s shark-jumping right there my friend and, last I checked, you’re not a shark-man.”
“Careful…” Bogo glared.
“Listen, listen listen, Bogo, you’re the best. I know it, Kid Capital knows it, but we’re street guys just like you!”
“Can you just say your brother? You’re twin brothers.”
“Not out here we’re not! Respect the gimmick, man.” Cents shot a look back at his brother, still pulling in the tourists. “Listen! We got somethin’ big comin’ up, right? I want you in on it. Not just because you’re the biggest, baddest guy out here not wearin’ a mask, right? We’re talkin’ a role in the act.”
“Really!?” Bogo raised up in surprise, towering over the smaller man. That glittering party bowl would sometimes start to buckle under the weight of coins and there were always tons of bills mixed in. “A spot in your gig? Seriously? Why would you share?”
Cents shook his head slightly, shrugging. “It ain’t sharin’, man. Singin’ about money, the act, it’s flat now. That’s why we need a foil. A rival. A … an antagonist in our story.”
Bogo curled his lip, scratching at his blue-black hair. “What? Like … a bad guy? For your song and dance routine?”
“Yeah. Yes. That is right. Our bit, it comes off flat because there’s no conflict. That’s why I said to Kid, ‘hey, how’s about we get our pal Bogo to be … the Communist Guerrilla!?’ Hanh? Anh? Anything?”
“Gorilla. So … we’re just sayin’ what I am now? That’s my whole role?”
“No, man, not that kind. Like, y’know, that Pinochet guy in South America.”
“Uh-huh.” Bogo grunted assent but he’d already stopped listening. Off, in the distance, near the subway entrance off Times Square, there was a little girl in a sullied sundress. Bald, she had seams between her body parts. She looked like a doll.
“So I figure we get you a military uniform, right?Maybe a cigar? Plus, okay, yes, you’re literally a gorilla guy, so it’s a play on words. This makes you marketable, big guy! And it makes the team so much more interesting to a bored public, y’know?”
“Yeah, Cents. So … I’d be like a general?” It was so strange. Two-hundred feet at least from Bogo, he noticed her staring, and when they locked eyes, she beckoned him over to her. Then, a bus settled in place, dropping passengers and more getting on. “Shit, wait a…”
“Bogo? You okay, bud?” asked Common Cents.
He stared in silence for a moment, stunned by the strange appearance of the girl, somehow horrified as she seemed to disappear. “No, I’m … I’m good.” As the bus pulled away, he saw her again, this time at the top of the stairs leading down to the subway. Raising a finger to her lips she turned and slid down the guardrail. It was surreal and Bogo had trouble processing the experience. “I just remembered. Gotta make a phone call.”