Like No Other Boy

by Larry Center

  “Cool,” I replied. I’d worked with sound systems for forever, and this was a slick setup indeed, with Bluetooth to boot.

  Except for the smallest one, who still remained alone in a corner of the play yard, the chimps loped toward Dr. Simmons, all arms and legs, bumping and shoving each other out of the way, a motley crew indeed. They reminded me of school-age children, called in from recess by their teacher. Dr. Simmons patted them all, then gingerly gathered two chimps in her arms, hugging one and stroking the other’s head. They all puckered their lips, blinked their eyes at her, looking happily nurtured.

  “They’re so social,” Cheryl said. “I never realized monkeys bonded like that. Did you?”

  “They’re chimps, not monkeys,” I said.

  “What’s the difference?” Cheryl asked.

  “There’s a big difference,” said a husky female voice behind us. “Most monkeys have tails. Chimps don’t.”

  We turned to find a tall, thin woman also wearing the Weller T-shirt standing behind us. The observation deck connected to an office near the play yard and evidently, she’d entered onto the deck without our noticing. Her big brown eyes exuded intelligence. She had her hands in the pockets of her khakis, but thrust a right arm out to meet us. We shook her hand. “Hi, I’m Marcy Davenport, Dr. Simmons’ assistant. I’ve heard a lot about your son and I saw the video. I must say, it was something to see.” Her warm, thin-lipped smile reminded me of a hostess’s smile at a party. “Actually,” she went on, “just for your info, a monkey’s tail serves as an appendage, like another hand. And chimps have a much larger brain-to-body ratio and use tools far more frequently. Chimps are way smarter than monkeys.”

  “I see.” Cheryl laughed. She put a hand to her chest. “My ignorance.”

  “No problem,” Marcy said. “It’s amazing how many people don’t know the difference.”

  “Play, Daddy.” Tommy said. “Me . . . plaaaaaay tooooo . . . Play chimpies toooooo.”

  I didn’t know if it was his voice, which they obviously heard through the play yard’s speakers, or if it was his jumping up and down, but suddenly Tommy caught the chimps’ attention. They all stopped and stared up at us on the observation deck. Dr. Simmons turned our way.

  “Can we take him down in front of the glass?” I asked Marcy.

  “Sure. Of course.” She nodded, ushering us down the stairs. “Absolutely.”

  We walked down the stairs, Tommy between me and Cheryl. As we stood in front of the glass, Marcy joined us. The observation deck I realized held a good vantage point for an overall perspective, but wasn’t going to allow us that up front and personal look, and that’s what we’d come for.

  Tommy immediately pressed his nose against the thick glass wall. He made a few flicking gestures. I caught Marcy’s confused expression as she watched his gestures. Dr. Simmons surveyed the scene, rubbing her chin, as the three chimps shambled up to the glass, pushing and shoving each other, then just stood there in front of the glass, their heads bobbing up and down, studying this new boy-creature. A minute passed, then suddenly, the chimps started screeching louder than ever, and thumping their chests.

  Then the screeching stopped. A thick silence ensued. A chimp with a narrow face and moist brown eyes stared at Tommy with a playful expression as he scratched the top of his head. He stuck out his tongue. The largest one stuck out his tongue too, then shook his head mightily left and right, while the third, who appeared to be the most jittery, shook his head and pouted his lips, jumping up and down, bouncing into the other two. Then, as if on cue, the three musketeers placed their hands against the glass, and then shrieked and screeched almost in unison.

  Just as he’d done at the zoo, the connections began: Tommy put his hand up next to each chimp’s hand one at a time. Taking a minute with each chimp. He shook his head slowly, right, left. The chimps couldn’t take their eyes off him. They seemed mesmerized. They beat their hands against the glass, then glanced back at Dr. Simmons as if they were seeking her acknowledgement. Again, they touched hands to hands against the glass, then Tommy made the flicking gestures and the chimps just stared, their mouths gaping open, eyes blinking. He signed “chimps,” and one of the chimps signed the same gesture back. Then Tommy signed “play,” and all of the chimps signed back. Tommy shook his head and the three chimps shook their heads as well. Tommy placed his first finger against the glass and the largest one responded by putting just one of his fingers against the glass as well. Cheryl and I looked on, confused, amazed, our mouths gaping open. I suddenly realized our shoulders were touching, parents, together, looking on. We were divorced, but a strong connection remained. This pleased me and felt good. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the dynamics between Tommy and the chimps. I wondered if the primatologists could help us out.

  “Incredible,” Marcy said. “I’ve never seen anyone command their attention like this. It just doesn’t happen.”

  “They certainly seem glad to see him.” Dr. Simmons adjusted the microphone on her lapel. “It’s just like the video you sent.”

  “He seems to get along with them so well,” Cheryl said. “I mean, it’s as if they’re friends already. I can’t get over it. It’s almost like he’s talking to them in some incomprehensible way.”

  “Is it possible to actually bring Tommy into the play yard?” I asked.

  “We don't generally allow anyone other than employees into the enclosure,” Dr. Simmons said. “But we do have a plan of action for this possibility, which we drew up before your son arrived.”

  “Chimpies.” Tommy said, pointing out into the play yard. “Want chimpies now.” He hugged himself, then jumped up and down and clapped his hands.

  The chimps shrieked and made gestures, thrusting hands and arms out, whirling them around. I had no idea what they were saying if they were saying anything at all. Then, as if on another kind of invisible cue, the chimps started lunging themselves against the glass, banging against it. The glass shook with their powerful thrusts. Boom! Bang! Boom! I was amazed by their power.

  “They’re expressing their dominance,” Marcy said, pointing at them.

  Tommy faced the largest chimp, pressed both of his hands against the glass, and shook his head again slowly right, then left. The chimps stopped banging the glass, just stood there, and then the largest chimp turned his head right, and then left. They both opened their mouths wide, stretching their lips, and held each other’s gaze, just like at the zoo.

  “Interesting,” Dr. Simmons said. She spoke like a scientific observer, completely nonjudgmental. “They’re giving us play responses, as evidenced by the minimal tooth exposure.” She cupped an elbow with one hand, while tapping her lips with the other.

  “Chimpies . . . happy.” Tommy pointed at the chimps, then turned and looked at me. Then at Cheryl. “Happy here.” He flashed us a smile that reached out and touched my heart. This wasn’t the robotic, puppet-like imitation of a smile that he usually exhibited.

  When Dr. Simmons stepped out of the enclosure, giving a command to keep the chimps away from her as she walked through the door, she stood in front of Tommy. She gazed down at him, head tilted to one side, as he bit the backs of his hands.

  “Well, Mister Tommy,” she said. “You certainly have their attention. They don’t do this with just anyone, you know.”

  Tommy put his hands in his mouth. “Oooouuuu . . .”

  Cheryl gently guided Tommy’s hands away from his mouth.

  “Oooouuuu . . .”

  “So, what do you make of it all, Dr. Simmons?” I asked.

  “Well.” She took a long breath and furrowed her brow. She stood next to Marcy, who had a look of wonder on her flushed face. “I really would have to study these interactions more closely to come to any real conclusion. Right now, I can’t say I have any explanation at all, but if it’s okay with you. . .” She paused, framing her thoughts. “I’d be willing to allow Tommy in with the chimps under extremely close supervision for a short time.”


  “Really?” Cheryl asked.

  Dr. Simmons nodded. “I’ll be right with him.”

  “Chimpies. Chimpies. Me chimpeeeees.”

  Tommy jumped up and down, his shining eyes leaping from me to his mother and back again. To see him so willing and eager to engage the outside world instead of living his normally abnormal interior life was remarkable. It was as if the wall was coming down and a new child of mine was stepping out, the boy that I knew was in there, somewhere, if only I could reach him. Suddenly, I felt that same old ache in my chest for this son of mine.

  “What we’ve planned,” Dr. Simmons said, “is using a mini-barrier, which will keep the chimps enclosed, barricaded behind thick glass. But it will allow Tommy greater firsthand access.”

  “A mini-barrier?” I asked.

  “Yes, you’ll see. It’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “All right,” Cheryl said. “Let’s go for it. I think he really wants it. And he does seem to have this instinct, though I have no idea where he got it from.” She laughed, turning to me. “Chris, you don’t have any chimp in you, do you?”

  “Actually, we all descend from these nonhuman primates,” Dr. Simmons said seriously, not finding the humor in Cheryl’s comment. “P. Troglodytes are our next of kin. They’re part of the Homininae subfamily, just like us. Genetically, humans and chimps are 99.9% identical.” She turned to Marcy. “Marcy, will you please text Jack to bring in the mini-barrier?”

  A minute later, a thin man with a full beard entered the play yard from the opposite side and brought with him the mini-barrier, into which he gently ushered the three chimps, plying them with grapes in the process. It was basically a large, walled-in box made of steel surrounded by thick glass walls, portable, on rollers. The top was meshed for air flow. Each chimp was placed in his own unit inside the mini-barrier. The smallest one still remained in his corner, withdrawn from the rest. I assumed that this one was safe where he was. This chimp seemed completely into himself, isolated, hardly noticing anything, putting his fingers in his mouth.

  Once the barrier was in place and the chimps were inside, Dr. Simmons tried to take Tommy’s hand.

  “Come on, Tommy,” she said with a smile.

  This time, amazingly enough, Tommy not only accepted her outstretched hand, he did so eagerly, took hold of it without reservation and walked quickly by her side, as if he was leading her on. He didn’t even panic or back away. Blinking rapidly, I savored the moment and couldn’t believe it. My shell-of-a-son was actually reaching out and taking hold of a stranger’s hand? Impossible, but there it was. He stood close by Dr. Simmons’ side.

  “Did you see that?” I said with a throaty laughter, turning to Cheryl. “Did you see him take her hand?” Surely this was a confirmation, a sign pointing in the right direction.

  “Yes,” Cheryl said. “I can’t believe it.”

  A flush of excitement ran through me.

  Standing close to him, Dr. Simmons escorted Tommy through the door and led him toward the three chimps in the center of the enclosure. Tommy strode purposefully, a little boy on a mission. He actually stood taller, his back straight, and he walked with a more flowing stride, less like a pelican.

  “Marcy, do you mind recording this?” Dr. Simmons asked.

  “Sure.” Marcy nodded, then went to a computer panel next to us and clicked a few buttons. The three rotating cameras set up in the play yard emitted a red light, signaling that they were on. “This should be interesting,” Marcy said, grinning.

  As soon as Tommy entered the play yard, the chimps froze, peering cautiously at Tommy. Had they even seen a human child before? Dr. Simmons led Tommy to meet and greet the tallest chimp. The chimp and Tommy both sat down, face-to-face, new pals, new playmates, across a glass wall. I had to suppress a giggle. This chimp’s big liquid eyes seemed more intelligent and curious than those of some people I knew.

  “This one’s name is Mikey,” Dr. Simmons said. “Of all the chimps, he’s the most interested in humans. He’s a real character.” She laughed. “Sometimes I forget he’s a chimp, and sometimes I think he forgets he’s a chimp, too.”

  Tommy started swaying and Mikey froze. Even the forgotten chimp in the corner turned to see what was going on, taking his hands from his face and eyes.

  Tommy signed: “Boy. Like. Chimp. See. Run.”

  Then, Mikey made a sign. “Play.” I could definitely read it, the first finger of one hand locked around the first finger of the other hand. It was incredible, seeing an animal make a sign that a human could understand, reaching across barriers. What could we learn from chimps? What did they want to say to us? I could only marvel at what was happening. Then the chimp made another sign, wiggling his fingers and placing one palm against the other, but I wasn’t sure what he was saying.

  “That’s the sign for ‘tickle’,” Dr. Simmons explained. “It’s their fun sign. Mikey’s our best signer.”

  “They’re communicating,” I said. “It’s amazing.”

  “Incredible,” Cheryl said.

  Mikey again signed: “Play. Tickle.” Then shook his head right and left, then shrieked loudly.

  “I must say, they’re incredibly responsive to him,” Dr. Simmons said. “These chimps typically treat visitors very warily. But with your son, it’s totally different. They rarely want anything to do with humans, except the people they already know well.”

  “That’s just how they were at the zoo,” I said.

  “Chris, you don’t think he’s going to get obsessed over them, do you?” Cheryl asked, touching my shoulder. “You know how children with autism can get obsessed so easily.”

  “I know. I know. But I don’t think this could become an obsession.”

  I recalled one of Tommy’s classmates, William, a child with Asperger’s, the one Tommy had gotten in the fight with. William was obsessed with turtles. That day in the classroom he’d lectured me in length on why turtles sun themselves and the differences between turtles and tortoises. But surely, this was different. Wasn’t it? Tommy was communicating with the chimps, becoming alive in their presence. Surely, chimps were way higher on the evolutionary scale than turtles. There was no comparison. No, this was more than obsession. It had to be.

  Tommy and Mikey, still facing each other, continued swaying, right and left, back and forth. They became pendulums in perfect sync, the back-and-forth motion of their bodies slightly hypnotic.

  “I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t seeing it,” Dr. Simmons said. “Completely spontaneous. Completely untrained.”

  The pendulum swinging stopped, and Tommy and the chimp now sat motionless.

  “Ball . . . tree . . . home,” Tommy said all of a sudden, words dropping from his mouth, one at a time. And then he signed the words that he spoke. My jaw fell. “Ball . . . chimpie . . . home . . . trees . . .”

  What?

  “He’s talking, Cher. Did you hear that?” I said.

  “Yes. I’m not sure talking is what I’d call it. But, God. At least he’s expressing himself.”

  “I really think it’s because he feels so comfortable with them. He’s able to tone down all that extraneous noise in his mind.”

  Tommy stared at Mikey for a long while, then swung around and eyed the small chimpanzee sitting in the corner. The small chimp was still rocking quietly back and forth, eyes closed, biting himself every so often.

  “Chimpie hurt, Mommy,” Tommy called, pointing to the withdrawn chimp. “Chimpie, he hurt bad bad.”

  “Oh, no,” Cheryl said, playing along. “Really?”

  “That’s Obo,” Marcy explained, walking back over to us after tending to the cameras. “He’s our toughest case.” She frowned as she curled some wisps of hair around her ears. “He was born at another facility where his mother completely rejected him. She wouldn’t nurse him at all, and so he was bottle-fed by attendants. She abused him, bit him. They had to remove him from her or he would have been killed.”

  “How did he end up here?” Cheryl a
sked.

  “He was donated to our program about six months ago. We’ve been utilizing several intervention techniques to attempt to get through to him, but unfortunately, so far, no luck yet.” Marcy crinkled her brow. “He has a toy he plays with, but most of the day he just sits and rocks.”

  I felt sorry for the little guy. Biting himself? Completely withdrawn? He seemed like a chimp with autism, if such a thing was possible. Holding Dr. Simmons’s hand, Tommy headed toward Obo, walking quickly, with long, purposeful strides, pulling Dr. Simmons along. I’d never seen him walk like that. Head up, posture straight, eyes focused and alert. The robotic movement that matched his robotic speech was gone. When Tommy stood less than a foot away from him, the chimpanzee looked up, blinking his eyes at Tommy. Now there was no barrier at all between boy and chimp.

  “Chris,” Cheryl said, grabbing my arm. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Huh?” I hardly heard her. I was too engrossed by Tommy’s antics.

  “I said, are you sure about this?”

  I turned to her and put a hand on her shoulder. I looked out through the glass. “Of course, I’m sure. It’s going to be all right, Cher. Let’s just trust him. He seems to know what he’s doing.”

  “Okay. You know?” she said. “I really think you’re right.”

  The meeting of the minds continued. Obo scratched a toe. He quickened his rocking back and forth, bit his toes, and then covered his face with his hands. He looked like he just wanted to hide from life itself. I felt so sorry for him.

  Tommy drew even closer. Dr. Simmons loomed over them.

  Obo glanced at Tommy shyly and then grunted and snorted.

  Tommy grunted and snorted right back. Then he let out a cry. “Euuuu . . . Uuuuu . . . uuuurrreeeee . . .” It was incredibly chimp-like, similar to a chimp-shriek.

  The next thing I knew, Tommy was sitting down facing Obo, legs crossed. Obo bit his toes and rocked back and forth even more dramatically. Tommy let out another cry and then slowly and carefully reached out both hands and rested them on Obo’s shoulders. The chimp allowed the embrace for a moment, but soon squirmed out of Tommy’s reach and ran to the other side of the play yard and sat down again, rocking back and forth.