Pinky-Swear

This is my retelling of a story I first heard in January of 1980 in the back of a Suburban as I was trying to get some sleep. We were just setting out on our Yankton College choir tour heading to Gackle, North Dakota. The Dakotas, January, 331 miles, five & a half hours—you’ve got the picture, right? I didn’t get any sleep.

This is one of those perfect stories for whiling away the time waiting in line for the newest roller coaster at your favorite theme park. You can stretch or shrink it to whatever suits your needs. It’s great for torturing your friends. (More than once, I might add. I never cease to be amazed at how frequently someone who has just heard the story will immediately drag one of their friends over & listen to the whole thing again, just to see their reaction.)

If you want the best oral version I’ve yet heard, you’ll have to catch up with my youngest brother, Rod. His is amazing. But for now, let me tell the story.

It begins, as these stories often do, in the middle of nowhere.

I’m a moped salesman & my territory is the great state of Montana. I know you’re thinkin’, “Mopeds in Montana? Aren’t those for city folk? Are there any cities in Montana?” Let’s just say, I’m good at my job.

I’m nearin’ my next destination, a small 5,000-acre ranch between Billings & Butte, when my car starts makin’ a funny noise & jerkin’ all over the place, like there’s somethin’ wrong with the engine. I barely make it into the drive before the old girl dies completely.

The rancher steps out from the back door & asks me, “What’s the matter?”

“My car just died,” I respond. “Know any good mechanics around here?”

“There’s one in the next town, about twenty miles back up the road.”

“Nah, that’s no good. I drove past them on the way here. They’re closed today for a funeral or somethin’.”

“Well, the best I know is all the way over in Big Timber, another fifty miles up the road. I know a fella there, studied auto mechanics together over in Butte. But he’s mighty busy. Why don’t you let me take a look at it?”

It sounds good to me. His name’s Larry & it takes him ‘til sundown, but by then he’s got it purrin’ like a kitten. Doesn’t charge a thin’ for it, neither.

He gets out of the car & says, “It’s late & you haven’t had a thing to eat. Why don’t you stay here with me for the night? I’ll whip up somethin’ quick & get the guest room ready. I’d enjoy the company. It gets awful lonely out here by myself.”

That sounds good, too. We go inside where he fixes up some pork & bean sandwiches (open-face, bacon & cheese on top, broiled, don’t add the cheese ‘til the bacon’s done—try it, they’re good!). I barely manage two of them. He wolves down three. Then we head into the livin’ room.

There’s no tv. Don’t play cards. We’ve already talked about everythin’ we can think to talk about. I even sold him two mopeds.

I ask, “Is there anythin’ to do around here for fun?”

“Not much,” he answers. “Pretty much everthin’ closes up after five o’clock in these parts.”

“But…,” he leans forward & looks around as though someone might be listenin’ in, “…can you keep a secret?” His voice is like a raspy whisper.

I think for a moment before I shrug & nod.

“I have somethin’ in the basement, somethin’ real special. Somethin’ the likes of which you ain’t never seen before.”

He pauses as though waitin’ for a response. I furrow my eyebrows & wave my hands as if to say, “Okay? Go on?”

“It’s a pink gorilla,” he almost squeals with glee as he bounces back into his chair.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” I say with disappointment.

“No, it’s true! She’s right downstairs. Wanna see?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Why not? Lead the way.”

He gets up & pulls aside the area rug that sets on the floor between us, revealin’ a cellar door. He pulls it open, allowin’ it to lean on his chair. I see stairs, where they start, not where they end. It’s dark down there. He grabs a keyring the size of Wyoming & a bunch of bananas from another room, then takes a lantern, lights it, trims the wick & motions to me with his head, “C’mon, let’s go.”

“This isn’t just a flight of stairs,” I think to myself as we begin our descent. “It’s gotta be at least two, if not three.” It’s a long while before I can see the cellar floor below us. When we get there, I find we’re confronted with a huge door at least fifteen feet high—& it’s covered with padlocks!

He sets the lantern on the floor, keepin’ the bananas tucked under his arm, hunts for the right key, then begins unlockin’ everythin’. He’s real fast at it. The “ku-chinks” of each lock bein’ opened are comin’ rapid fire. When he’s finished, he grabs the handle & begins to pull. I swear, it takes longer to open the door than it did all the padlocks! The hinges creak & groan in protest. I do what I can to help ‘til there’s enough space for each of us to slide through.

We’re in another room, but I don’t see a pink gorilla. What I see is another door with even more padlocks than the first! So, we go through the whole thing again.

…& again, & again, & again. Except that this last door is smaller, only has one lock, & swings open both quietly & easily. I see an oil can on the floor off to the side. Apparently, it’s important to keep this one quiet. I wonder why.

I follow him into the room which is cavernous. It’s filled with thin’s like you’d see in a monkeys’ cage at the zoo, only bigger. Somehow the room is illuminated from outside. It’s like a starry night with a full moon. And over on the far side, sittin’ on a mattress in the shadows, I see somethin’…, somethin’ big…, & pink…, that to all my senses looks just like…

…a cute, ginormous, pink gorilla! Not like King Kong, but big, at least twenty feet tall. She’s sittin’ with a bunch of bananas, peelin’ them open & eatin’ them ever so delicately, one by one.

Her hair looks styled, with a polka dot bow fastened on top. Her lashes are so long they look fake, & she’s wearin’ not just eyeliner & rouge but lipstick as well!

Larry sets the bunch of bananas to the side, takes me by the hand & leads me across the room, tiptoein’ with a kind of prance that can barely conceal his glee.

“Her name’s Elyce. I got her momma from the circus when it closed. Her momma was normal—'cept for the fact she really liked cotton candy—but she died givin’ birth. Elyce was real big when she was born & ever since, she’s just kept growin’ & growin’. Say hello, Elyce!”

I can’t believe my eyes. My mouth is hangin’ open & all I can do is stare. Elyce looks at me &…, is that a smile? …did she just wave?

My head’s beginnin’ to spin, & the room with it, like some sort of hallucination. Her hair looks so soft & warm…, I want to touch it…, I see my hand reachin’….

“Noooooooo!” Larry screams, snappin’ me back to reality.

He takes me by both arms & says, “You must never touch Elyce. You have to promise. Pinky-swear!”

He holds out his pinky to me. I’m dumbfounded, but I hook his pinky with mine & swear.

And then we go back upstairs to bed. (Yes, lockin’ all five doors behind us—you get how you could stretch this story, don’t you? “Ku-chink, ku-chink, ku-chink,” as many times as you want.)

Now I gotta tell ya, I’m not the best at keepin’ my promises, ‘specially when I can’t sleep. Larry’s sleepin’ fine. He’s snorin’ away in the next room. But I can’t quit thinkin’ about Elyce. Why can’t I touch her?

After ponderin’ this for about half an hour, I decide I’m gonna have to go back down there. Either that or go crazy.

I tiptoe to the livin’ room, pull back the rug, open the door, prepare the lantern, grab some bananas, fetch the keys & head on down.

I’m not as fast with the keys, but I get it figured out. Eventually, I make it through all five doors.

I set the lantern, bananas & keys down & walk over to Elyce.

I look at her, just sittin’ there, still eatin’, not a care in the world. She’s just so cute!

It takes me a bit, but finally I reach out my hand, stretchin’ my finger toward the sweetest, softest, most cuddly pink fur….

…& touch her.

You don’t wanna know what happens next. You really don’t. You do? Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Elyce’s head snaps around, her eyes suddenly ablaze with murderous intent.

Where did that sweet little ginormous thing go?

She stands, looking up & grunting solemnly as she beats her chest, as though cryin’ out to her gods for strength. Then, she hunches over & moves toward me, snarlin’.

So, maybe I shouldn’t have touched her. Who knew?

I take two steps back, slowly, then turn around & run as fast as I can toward the door.

The keys’re on the floor. I don’t care.

The lantern’s off to the side. No time.

I squeeze through each of the doors. Elyce doesn’t bother. She just blows right through them.

Up the stairs, out the door, to the car. She tears through them like they’re paper. I see Larry shakin’ his fist at me.

“Sorry, Larry. Gotta go!”

I drive all the way to Bozeman, pedal to the metal. She’s still there in my rearview mirror.

I see a stoplight. “Please, please, please stay green,” I pray to the god of stoplights. “But just for me!” I tack on as the light turns yellow. Elyce doesn’t care. She bounds right through.

“Hey, that’s a red light! You broke the law!” I scream, shakin’ my fist out the window. “Sorry, person with the dented car roof. Don’t have time to check on ya.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” I scream as my engine sputters & coughs. “I can’t be outta gas!”

Fortunately, I’ve a moped in my trunk with just enough juice to get to the airport. Elyce is still hot on my tail.

I rush through, grab a ticket & get on the plane. Elyce’s held up by security just long enough for us to get in the air.

“Sweet jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! This can’t be happenin’! Gorillas can’t fly!” But there she is, just off our wing, starin’ directly at me through the window.

All the way to Rapid City, into a rental car, up to Mount Rushmore. I can’t shake her! I’m out of the car again, runnin’ up trails as fast as I can go, hearin’ Elyce crashin’ through the pines behind me.

I suddenly find myself atop George Washington’s head, peerin’ down at his nose, usin’ every bit of strength I have left to keep from fallin’.

I turn around to see Elyce walkin’ toward me, gruntin’ & snarlin’. I have no where to go. This is it.

She reaches with one of her massive paws, ready to crush me. I close my eyes. I feel a singular claw touch my shoulder as I hear…,

“You’re it.”

The guys who were focused on the story in the back of that Suburban were ready to lynch the storyteller. I laughed the rest of the way into Gackle.