by Larry Center
“What am I going to do, Max?” I asked.
Max gazed at me for the longest time, eyes searching me. He licked me again, caught my nose, and splashed me with wetness.
“I need answers, boy. Got any?” I scratched behind his ears. Max whimpered as he licked my cheeks and my hands. I was sure he was sensing my insecurities, smelling my fears. I got up from the couch and went to my bar, perusing my stock. There was a new bottle of Glenlivet. Skyye, my usual vodka. Some reds. Yes, drown my sorrows in booze ocean.
Why not?
No. Getting drunk was not the answer. I’d watched my father go down that route through the years, all that happy hour business which started to extend to earlier and earlier in the day, as if he kept moving to different time zones. But I had no intentions of going down that same path. Not when I had Tommy to live for.
I turned on the TV instead and mindlessly flicked through about a million channels, and when that got me nowhere, I took a walk with Max. The day was gorgeous, of course. San Diego beautiful, with a slight breeze pushing a few high clouds around. Max was ecstatic, limping along. We wound our way down the island and back, the wind blowing my hair. I felt small against the view of the panoramic blue ocean that stretched before me.
When I returned, I went to my mailbox. A letter from Cheryl’s lawyer, Gloria Beaman, stared me in the face. I knew exactly what it was about: The next child support payment was due in five days. I received this letter every single month. Her attorney had no problem with sending me a letter. She had my email address, but still, the letter came, plus the email. She was that thorough. Obviously, it was worth the stamp to her to remind me that I was on her watch list: Gloria Beaman, Atty at Law. I dreaded reading that name. A payment slip was always graciously included in the envelope at no extra charge. Ha! I usually sent the money to Beaman, who forwarded it to Cheryl. In three weeks, I needed to come up with two-thousand dollars. It was a huge amount of money for me to pay. The amount had been adjudicated by the judge when I was still making a good living with all kinds of VO jobs on my calendar. I’d appealed to have it lowered, but the court had ruled against me. I was stuck in the box. The walls were closing in.
*
But not completely as it turned out; not at all. I finally received what I was hoping for—feedback from Dr. Simmons concerning our next steps.
It came two anxious weeks later as I still continued looking for jobs and coming up empty-handed. In her lengthy email, Dr. Simmons wrote that she’d led a panel discussion on the issue of my son with four of her colleagues, and reviewed the videos of Tommy and the chimps several times. What they found, she said, was “completely intriguing.” In fact, she wrote, “We have some decidedly interesting news for you and Tommy, which we are looking forward to sharing.”
She put “decidedly interesting” in bold type and when I read the words my heart pattered. I was dying to know what she was considering. I forwarded the email to Cheryl.
Then, before I knew it, it was Saturday, another perfect San Diego day, bright and beautiful, April twelfth, 11:30 a.m., when Tommy and I headed back to Weller. Cheryl had an important client to see the day I was planning to re-visit Weller, so it was just me and Tommy. She told me to report back to her whatever I found and was sorry she was going to have to miss the trip. I was, of course, a bit angry that she couldn’t make the time to come, but if that was what she needed to do, so be it.
All excited, I pulled into visitor parking, then Tommy, Radar, and I—carrying Mister Backpack, of course—stood in Weller’s administrative office, waiting for Dr. Simmons. I was so glad I’d found her. She seemed caring and understanding, the perfect person to escort us into this strange primatological world.
A short, squat man with a beard told us Dr. Simmons would be with us shortly. Waiting, I perused a photo of a large chimp in the wild laying on a desk as Tommy, standing a few feet away from me, zoomed Radar in the air. I’d decided to let him bring Radar this time for extra support. I shifted Mr. Backpack on my shoulder. When the room’s rear door opened, sunlight washed in, and it was as if Dr. Rachel Simmons appeared out of light itself. I felt a rush of adrenaline at just the sight of her.
“Well, now.” She strode up to us with a warm smile gracing her face. “Just who I’ve been wanting to see.”
She wore a white lab coat with the Weller logo on it that gave her a more professional look than she’d had when we first met. She bent down to scrutinize Tommy, who moved a step closer to her. My pulse raced.
“So how are you doing, Tommy?” she asked. I watched as her eyes glided over him, almost greedily, as if he were some kind of newly won prize. “Are you ready to have some fun again today with your friends? Obo and Mikey have been missing you a whole lot.”
“Chimpies?” Tommy inched closer to her. He handed Radar to me and I placed the stuffed pet in Mister Backpack. “Chimpies see and me see chimpies?”
Already he was opening up and I was delighted. I thought about what Cheryl had said about leading Tommy toward an obsession with the chimps. All I could say was that if this was an obsession for him, it sure seemed beneficial.
“You bet! Yes, sir!” Dr. Simmons said, smiling widely. “Are you ready?”
Tommy clapped his hands and that light of curiosity I’d seen on his face during the first day at the zoo switched on even brighter now. I was overjoyed and wished Cheryl was with us to see what was happening.
“Go. Go. Gooooo.” He reached out and grabbed Dr. Simmons’ hand, pulling on it.
“He touched you again.” I marveled at her easy way with him. “He never touches strangers like that.”
“Really?” Dr. Simmons’ voice rose in pitch. She looked surprised.
“Never. He won’t even allow me to touch him that much. But you? Right away like that? It’s some kind of breakthrough, for sure.” My breath caught in my throat. “I’m actually astounded.”
We headed toward the chimp enclosure, Tommy strutting between us. I reached for his hand, and for once, he held mine without hesitation. Then he eagerly took Dr. Simmons’s hand, and the next thing I knew, we were both swinging him back and forth between us—just like he was an average kid and we were his parents. Crazy. He giggled as we lifted him off the ground, clinging to both of us, monkey-like. I couldn’t believe we were doing this, that he was allowing us to do this. Warmth radiated through my chest and I looked over at Dr. Simmons who gave me a bright smile. It looked like she was enjoying this moment as much as I was. I was astounded.
“Fun, Daddeeeee . . .” Tommy said.
We finally let him go once we entered the courtyard.
“Thanks for letting us come again.” I meant every word of it. I felt my face flush with color. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I was so grateful to receive your e-mail.”
“Actually, there’s quite a bit of new information we need to discuss. I’d like to talk to you about some quantitative ideas we are considering,” Dr. Simmons said, her voice turning to a more professional, scientific tone. “And I’d like you to meet someone.”
When we entered the play yard, passing through the musty barn, I spotted a tall, wiry man in his fifties who wore a full salt-and-pepper beard. He was writing diligently in a notebook, lost in concentration. He was standing next to the glass wall and as soon as we entered, he turned our way.
“Chris Crutcher, I’d like to you to meet Dr. Sidney Evans,” Dr. Simmons said.
“Chimpies!” Tommy said, pointing out into the play yard, totally ignoring Dr. Evans. “Chimpies! Chimpies?”
“Dr. Evans has flown in from Portland,” Dr. Simmons explained. “He works at the WASHU Institute for Primate Studies and he too has studied the videos of your son. He’s come to help us with our research.”
“Well, that’s kind of you.” I shook his hand.
Dr. Evans cleared his throat. “I’m afraid kindness has nothing do with it.” He spoke with a sense of highbrow academia, his words all buffed and polished, trimmed and styled as neatly
as his red beard and wavy hair. “I’m here to learn all I can about your son. Primatologists all over the world are talking about what’s going on here. We find Tommy entirely fascinating.”
“All over the world?” I stepped back, shocked.
I recalled the indemnification waiver I’d signed along with Cheryl that Dr. Simmons had emailed me and remembered there was something in it about allowing distribution of research materials, photos, and videos if required. I hadn’t thought much of it until now.
Dr. Evans addressed Dr. Simmons. “Do you want to tell him, Rachel, or shall I?”
“Go ahead. You do it, Sidney. Please.” She gave him a smile.
Tommy started fidgeting and put his knuckles into his mouth. I gently guided his wet hand away.
I knelt down to his level and tried to engage him with eye contact. He looked at me for about three seconds before averting his eyes. “Just a minute, Tom-Tom. We need to hear what the doctors have to say, okay?”
“Chimpies.” Tommy pointed at the enclosure.
“In a minute, son,” I said. “In a minute, okay?”
“Son, son, son,” Tommy repeated. “’Kayyyyyy. Kayyyyy . . .” Tommy pointed at Mr. Backpack and I gave him Radar again. He rubbed the pet against his face and smoothed its back, cuddling it. “Oooouuuu . . .”
“Anyway,” Dr. Evans went on, “have you ever heard of someone named Carly Yates?”
I gulped. This was getting crazier by the minute. “Of course. You mean the tech billionaire?”
“One and the same,” Dr. Simmons said.
“As you probably know,” Dr. Evans went on, “Ms. Yates has always been interested in studying animals, but what you probably don’t know is she’s keenly focused on nonhuman primate research these days.”
“You mean chimps?” I asked, blurting the words out.
“Yes,” Dr. Simmons said. “Especially chimps.”
I’d read about Carly Yates in newspapers and seen her on TV for years. She was a childhood genius who’d bought and sold several tech companies and was worth billions. The last I heard, Yates had purchased several hundred acres outside of San Diego and had established what was known as a land-based “Noah’s Ark,” rescuing species on the verge of going extinct from all over the world and bringing them together in one place. It was just one of her many philanthropic ventures, saving rain forests, donating money to vaccinate African children against polio, animal rights, fighting against elephant poachers, the list went on and on. I totally admired her, as did millions of other people.
“Dr. Evans is good friends with Ms. Yates,” Dr. Simmons said. “In fact,” Dr. Simmons went on, “once Dr. Evans reviewed Tommy’s videos and we discussed the entire issue, he approached Ms. Yates about your son. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Really? Well . . . no. Not at all.”
“At any rate, Ms. Yates was completely impressed,” Dr. Evans said. “In fact, she’s willing to donate up to a million dollars toward our research, toward studying Tommy as a child with autism, and how he relates to the chimps at Weller. It would be a rather in-depth analysis, I can assure you that.”
“A million dollars?” I gasped as I turned my head to one side. “Really?”
Dr. Evans and Dr. Simmons both nodded jubilantly.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. Of course, I’d have to think about this, and, really, you must realize, I’m here for Tommy’s sake most of all.”
“We understand that completely, Mr. Crutcher,” Dr. Evans said. “And Ms. Yates understands that as well. We totally want to help your son. That’s why we think this could be a real win-win situation. We get to do the research on Tommy’s uncanny abilities and Tommy gets to interact with the chimps as much as he likes. We also see a real opportunity to improve his communication by directly relating to the chimps. We plan to have a psychologist on staff who specializes in autism to help with Tommy’s therapy.”
“Of course, he’d only be able to come on weekends as he goes to school during the week,” I said.
“Weekends are fine,” Dr. Evans said. “We expected as much.”
“Sure, weekends work perfectly. Mr. Crutcher,” Dr. Simmons said. She continued in her professional tone of voice. “We’ve formulated a hypothesis regarding your son, and we’ve actually created a software program that can statistically calculate the signs Tommy makes in real-time and compare those against the gestural behaviors and vocalizations of our chimps.”
“Meaning?” I asked, thinking I was getting in over my head, that I would need time to think all of this through.
“Meaning that we’ll be able to quantify any actual improvement your son makes in terms of language, plus any new developments in communication that the chimps make as well. You see, Mr. Crutcher,” Dr. Evans cleared his throat, “based on what we saw in the videos, we believe your son’s communication abilities could possibly close the gaps and fill in our understanding of the cognitive functions of chimps and other nonhuman primates.”
Dr. Simmons said, “Not only in terms of language, you see, but in terms of emotional behavior as well. How do they learn? What is the nature of a chimpanzee’s thought patterns? What is the extent of their language? How close is it to human language? And how different? What does it mean when a chimpanzee thinks? To look into all these questions using your son’s extraordinary intuitive knowledge is actually the chance of a lifetime. We just can’t afford to pass this up.”
My limbs tingled as I shifted on my feet. I looked down at Tommy. The chance of a lifetime?
“Ouuuu . . . Daddy . . . Ouuuu . . . You.” Tommy said. He gave me an extra-worried, pensive face as he bit his hands, then twirled around like a Sufi dancer. “You. You. You. You.” He moved closer to me.
“Just another minute, Tom-Tom. All right?”
“’Kay, Daddy. Grreeeee… Ouuuuu . . .”
“You see,” Dr. Evans continued, “we believe your son may actually possess the ability to cross the language barrier between chimps and humans, and for the first time in primatological science, to actually teach us what chimps are thinking and feeling. It’s a remarkable possibility. That’s the basics of it anyway.”
I was totally flustered. Breaking news was coming at me, hard and fast.
“Well, this is all a lot to get a hold of right off,” I said. “Of course, I’ll have to think this through. But all in all, it sounds tremendously exciting.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Cheryl. I had no doubt she’d be equally excited.
“Great,” said Dr. Simmons. “And now, let’s see if we can work some more magic with Tommy and the chimps.”
“Chimpies,” Tommy said and clapped his hands. He made the sign for chimp, pulling his hands up at his sides. “Chimpies.” He looked at me, his eyes lighting up.
I remained in the observation area, watching through the glass wall, as Tommy once again joined his chimp friends inside the play yard. My mind spun with all the doctors had told me.
Under the doctors’ careful supervision, Obo followed Tommy around, a shadow at his beck and call. At times the two sat on the ground and simply gazed into each other’s eyes, Tommy flicking his fingers rapidly, or swayed back and forth in sync. I folded my arms across my chest as I gazed out at him. My son looked as if he’d found his place in life, as if this was what he’d always wanted and where he’d always wanted to be. My eyes misted over just watching him. I too felt like I’d found the missing piece to the puzzle, a father-detective who’d finally put all the emotional clues together and found the answer. The chimps were the answer for him. I just knew it in my bones. An uncontrollable grin spread over my face.
“Ever since Tommy visited with him, Obo’s been eating with the gang every single day,” Dr. Simmons said as she came up to me, leaving Tommy with Dr. Evans and another assistant who entered the play yard, a lanky woman wearing the Weller t-shirt. Dr. Simmons set her clipboard and recorder down on a nearby table. “His weight’s improved, and he hardly sits in the corner anymore. It’s ba
sically a miracle.”
We watched Dr. Evans taking notes on Tommy and Obo as they played, and Marcy keeping the enclosure cameras trained on them. The other assistant stood over Tommy as well.
“Coffee?” Dr. Simmons asked.
I turned to her. “Sure. Black’s fine.”
She went into the main office and a few minutes later returned with two mugs as Tommy hugged Mikey and then chased after a ball while the other chimps engaged in a massive play session, romping all over each other, pushing and shoving. A frenetic energy filled the air. Dangerous? Hardly.
“Thanks.”
Dr. Simmons and I went up to the observation deck. There were three wooden chairs on the deck and Dr. Simmons sat down on one of them, pointing for me to sit next to her.
“So, what are you thinking about all of this?” she asked, engaging my eyes as she sipped her coffee.
“I'm just floored by it all. I honestly don’t know what to think. All I know is the chimps do seem to help him. They somehow draw him out and it’s like he’s a different kid when he’s with them. I just feel that if he can keep seeing them, he could gain so much and hopefully learn to break out of his shell.”
“I know. It’s totally exciting.” She took another sip, nodding her head.
“I’m just wondering about his safety with the chimps, though.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Crutcher,” she said, “we’ve discussed the safety factor many times. We’ve concluded that there’s no cause for concern due to Tommy’s free and easy relationship with the chimps. These are young chimps, you see, and they’ve lived in this environment all their lives. They are used to humans around them. So, all in all, we don’t believe that Tommy would be in danger being near them. All the doctors are on board.”
“That’s good to know. It’s just something I wanted to bring up.”
“Understood perfectly.”
We both looked out into the play yard. The chimp named Mikey was hugging Tommy and then Tommy followed Mikey around. They shrieked at each other, Tommy doing an excellent reproduction of a chimp shriek. I could hear it all through the speakers and microphones that had been set up around the play yard, Bluetoothed for listening on the observation deck. I had to smile. Mikey climbed up one of the trees and Tommy sat on the ground, watching him, flicking his fingers.