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Magilla Gorilla

It was a New York balmy 67 degrees. Inside the monkey suit was a high 75. To stay cool meant to continue moving. Tiny holes built in the suit allowed city air to flow through the interior and mix with perspiration keeping the wearer from overheating.

He watched people from all over the world walk the streets and sidewalks going to and fro in a sea of jackets and overcoats. As he passed by, heads turned, children squealed and tourists aimed their phones.

Some stopped for selfies, office workers chuckled, and a street performer included him in their juggling routine. Each interaction felt like family, a well-played performance in which he didn’t have to reveal the debilitating social anxiety he experienced each day.

His desire to connect with everyone was strong, but not enough to shed his protection.

For Marcus, the suit wasn’t a costume, it was a shield. His crippling anxiety to fit in caused him to use the suit as a barrier. He was convinced people were more comfortable with Magilla the Gorilla than Marcus the Man.

“Hey cool costume,” a young girl said. Her eyes were bright and wide with wonder. Her father waved to him and spoke in German. Not knowing how to respond, Marcus offered a gorilla grunt and thumbs up.

After waving goodbye to the family, he focused on a heavy walk, feet pounding against the pavement. A New York City symphony of honks and sirens drowned out the pace of his movements. Marcus reached his safe spot, under a towering Oak tree in a quiet corner of Central Park. The metal bench he sat on provided a modicum of privacy. Here he shed the monkey suit. Marcus took in a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs. He remembered the performer, the father, the little girl and smiled. The suit may have been a shield, but within its confines Marcus found a sliver of confidence.

He left the suit on the bench and headed back toward the city. He would face the crowds, not as a gorilla, but as a man.