Jingles is Bustin' Out

Jingles sat in his cage, looking out between the bars with beady eyes at the people walking by. Sometimes they would go right past, other times they would stop to gawk at him in his little metal prison. Occasionally a small girl or boy would smile at him and throw food into the cage, where Jingles would merely look at it with disgust until the child went away disappointed.

Jingles.

That was the name his captors had given him, had inscribed on the flimsy metal sign that was planted in the ground outside his enclosure. He knew he had another name, a true name…but that had been forgotten.

He moved on his branch uncomfortably and scratched himself. Jingles was a huge ape, abducted by poachers from his home in western Africa. They came upon the unsuspecting young gorilla one day as he was poking around in the brush looking for a coconut one of his friends had carelessly thrown over his head. He fought, but the nets were on him and soon he was dragged into the back of a truck. He got one final glimpse of the deep greens of the mountains before the doors were shut.

That was the last he saw of Mother Africa.

Now Jingles occupied a sad and miniature simulation of his former home. It was a somewhat shabby enclosure, furnished with a few plants, a half dead old tree, and a tiny man-made waterfall. It was probably one of the nicest pens at the zoo, but Jingles had no concept of that. He spent his days with an undercurrent of rage building up inside him. Sometimes it would nearly boil over at the sight of some tourist snapping pictures of him with a flash bulb.

But he could never break out of those bars. Although he worked out every day, doing chin-ups on the branches of the stunted tree, he was just not strong enough.

The ape’s nights were spent much more peacefully. If it was very clear he could look up and see a few stars through the smog of the city. He would be carried back momentarily to his old life, when he would run through the fields at night under a sky with so many stars. So many he couldn’t even count them, and Jingles considered himself very good at math. He would go to sleep dreaming of another time and place, where he would splash in the rivers and hang from the trees.

At least he had an escape inside his own mind.

Usually Jingles would sleep in. He didn’t really see a point in being up early - that would only prolong the frustrating and enraging day before him. His morning routine involved waking up around eleven thirty and lazily dragging himself over to the little pool at the base of the tiny waterfall. There he would find a breakfast of oats and bananas one of the zookeepers had left. He didn’t like bananas and thought what an ignorant stereotype it was to assume all primates automatically loved them. When he finished eating he would lounge around the water for a few hours, brushing his hair into place and thinking of obscene and grotesque gestures to make at the people walking past his enclosure.

One morning, the sun shone so brightly on his face that Jingles awoke early. He opened his eyes into little slits to screen out the blinding light and looked around his cage. His gaze landed near the pool at the base of the waterfall, where the zookeeper was still laying out his breakfast. What excellent service, he thought bitterly. Then he sat up slowly, hope creeping over the horizon of his apish mind.

The zookeeper had carelessly left the door ajar behind him. He probably did this every day, assuming that Jingles would be asleep and that there was no need to secure the door for the few seconds it took to slosh out breakfast for the ape.

Soon the worker finished his task and quickly left the enclosure, bolting the gate behind him. But it was too late. Jingles had seen his future. This was it. The way to freedom.

Jingles spent the remainder of his day in a silent reverie, feeling the return of his spirit. He didn’t want to think about what he would do once outside the cage. He only focused on getting out, running, being free. He sat long into the night, picturing a thousand possibilities and holding them close to him, precious. He would run away.

Jingles was bustin’ out.

The next day dawned bright and filled with sunshine, much like the fateful day before it. Jingles had carefully arranged himself into a mound near the door to the cage, pretending to be asleep. He had been awake almost the entire night, plotting and planning and dreaming. His eyes opened imperceptibly when he heard the footsteps of the zookeeper. The man opened the gate carefully, trying not to awaken the sleeping beast who was dozing unusually close to the door, and padded softly to the feeding tray to distribute the hated bananas.

Once the man’s back was turned, Jingles arose slowly and moved closer to the door. Open, waiting.

He shifted one leg outside the cage before he heard yelling.

The man running the hot dog stand across from Jingles’ cage had seen what he was trying to do. He continued to scream until Jingles felt the familiar sensation of deep psychotic rage brimming inside him. In one swift motion, he grabbed the gate and tore it from its rusty hinges, flinging it straight at the little noisy man, who ducked just in time. Instead, the door hit the umbrella above the cart, bending it and knocking it out of its slot. Jingles had hoped for a quiet getaway, but now that was impossible. His eyes darted around, aware of the advancing zoo staff all around him.

There was nothing for it now but to run and fight, and howl and smash.

As he dashed along the wide pathways of the zoo, Jingles heard the men following close behind him. They were coming, chasing him with gray plastic things in their hands. He heard loud sounds as the men fired them.

Jingles didn’t stop. Adrenaline filled his veins and flowed through his body until he was shaking and bursting with an energy he didn’t know he had. He had somehow made it to the main entrance of the park and hurtled through the gate, people fleeing in every direction to avoid him. Out on the street, he tried desperately to hail a cab, but no one would stop for him. He noticed a low hanging rooftop about half a block away and ran for it, leaping to grab the edge of the tiles and vaulting himself upward. He clattered across the roof, wondering what to do next.

It was hard to think clearly with so much yelling coming from all around him. He let out a cry of defiance and anger. One of the men from the zoo was climbing up after him now. In one bound he met the man and grabbed the gun from him, swinging it around in the air and smacking his opponent until he backed down, terrified.

The family who inhabited the house Jingles had selected as his battle ground had rushed upstairs to see what all the noise was, and were now looking out the window to see an angry, screaming, heavily armed ape. Jingles was unaware of his audience as he flailed his arms menacingly at the crowd that was growing on the ground below.

There seemed to be nowhere to go. If he jumped off the house they would swarm over him. It would be impossible to outrun them and he had no idea what direction to take. All he could do was lash out in anger at those around him and try to scare them off.

Suddenly he felt a sharp sting in his side, then another in his leg. He looked down to see little darts sticking out of him and noticed that he suddenly felt very tired. Another dart hit him near the neck and he closed his eyes.

A sweet green smell filled his nostrils and a gentle breeze lifted the hair on his face. He felt soft grass beneath him and sat up. It was early evening and he could just make out the familiar peaks of the mountains in the purple distance. Leaves rustled in the wind and a single star had come out in the western sky. Home. He lay back down again, half knowing it was a dream and hoping it wasn’t.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw only concrete.