Rock Star….

Every time I look at an onion, I think of him.  He had this funny habit of sitting on his haunches, head up proudly, massive shoulders back, hairy chest thrown out like a proud peacock and the first time I saw him he was biting into a large raw onion like you or I might enjoy an apple.  His small brown eyes searched the horizon and his coarse black hair shielded his face from the sun. Autograph seekers crowded up like groupies at a rock concert, hoping to get a picture.  His smug expression rarely broke into a grin.  He walked with a brawny self-confidence that showed all what he thought about his position in life.  He owned this stage.  As I got closer to him, his menacing eyes avoided contact with mine. But I was captivated.  He was a rock star. And I could not wait to meet him.

Before beginning my job today, I had to visit with my department chairman.  His bearded assistant escorted me through a double-locked door marked ‘Employees Only’ and ‘Keep Out’ in red letters, and pointed down a long narrow hallway to an unassuming door at its end.  As the backstage door quietly shut, the crowd noise outside silenced.

“You will need to check in with him first thing every day.” his assistant said flatly, then added.  “Don’t worry about the smell.  You get used to it.”  

Handing me my security code and ID badge, he motioned me down the hallway.  

“Don’t look at his eyes.  He hates that.”  And he abruptly left.

I hadn’t noticed the smell until then.  A mixture of onions, ripe fruit and old wet towels tickled my palate like a trained sommelier.  My eyes reflexively teared up.  The door beckoned.  I studied the hallway.  Its cold cinder block wall on the right side rose fifteen feet to a brightly lit ceiling.  To the left was a complicated line of shiny rigid metal rods interlaced with strong wire leaving only two-inch spaces between and extending all the way from me to the door thirty feet away.  Puddles of water and wet spots dotted the concrete floor. Gripping my backpack a bit more tightly and taking a slow, deep breath, I held my nose and started down the corridor.

After two steps I could hear him breathing and my own breathing quickened.  The smell of onions intensified.  I felt his heart beating and sensed him studying me, knowing that at any minute we would finally meet.  I quickened my pace.  My shoes splashed along a puddle. 

“Don’t look.” I reminded myself.  “Don’t run.  Don’t slip.”

The cold metal bars shined to my left, and my right shoulder brushed the cinder block wall as the passage seemed to narrow.  The tiny hairs on my neck stood up.  My ears tingled.  I knew he was closer now.  My gait stiffened.  I could feel him.

The air thickened, like it gets as a big thunderstorm approaches.  The ground rumbled.  A deafening growl filled the hallway, echoing off the tight space and stunning my ears.  Still many steps from the door, but no turning back now, I hurried forward. Another primal roar sliced through the air, then a rush of black as I glimpsed him charging from behind the metal bars.  His body slammed against the shiny grill like a truck colliding with a train, but the bars held.  I felt his warm breath inches from my face and the smell of onions ripped through my nostrils.  

Opening my eyes just long enough to peek at him, I looked into his eyes.  Then, I ran. Thick droplets of spit dripped from my hair and face down my left ear as I fought to catch my breath.  I have to do this every day?

Responding to my frantic knock, my department chair opened his door.  

“So you met him?” he grinned cheerily.  “He doesn’t like males.”  

Too stunned to talk, I just stood there.

He handed me a towel.  “Next time you might want to cover up." 

He was a 400 pound silver back gorilla named Tomoka.  He was a rock star.  

And I met him.

**Tomoka was only the second gorilla born into captivity in the world, in 1961, about when I was born, at The Ape House @ The National Zoo, Washington, D.C.  After his severe arthritis was cured and his life saved by doctors there, Tomoka, a vegetarian,  looked like this in his prime, when I met him in 1982.