New Friend

One night about a week after my eighth birthday Mom introduced me to her new boyfriend, George. I liked the idea of her having a boyfriend; I knew she was lonely. But I immediately didn't like George. I couldn't very well put my feeling into words at the time, but I think that it seemed to me he made her pretend to be happy.
There was a lot about George that was obviously fake, like his smiling assurances that he and I would be good friends. He had a present for me, which even at eight I could tell was a blatant attempt at paying me to make me like him. And of course on some level I was convinced he was there to take my mother from me.
I tell you about my impression of George because it might explain the things I saw that night, even though you might argue it's irrelevant. I feverently hope that it's not irrelevant, that the episode was nothing but the distorted memory of the hallucinations concocted by an agitated child riddled with anxiety and frustration. I would prefer to believe this did not really happen. But this is how I remember it:
George gave me a plush monkey that was as big as I was, and Mom told me that it was my new friend and that I could play with it all night if I liked. The implicit suggestion was that I should play with the monkey all night in my room, and leave the adults alone. In my room, I suddenly got very angry with the monkey. I choked it and called it names, hissing between my clenched teeth, punched it in the face and threw it across the room. It was very heavy, but my room was not very big and the monkey made it all the way to the wall.
The monkey hit the wall and its long, limp limbs spread out and brushed down my collection of LEGO models from their shelf. They scattered over the floor with a noise that scared me even though I saw it coming. And the monkey's large limp body rolled over them, away from the wall, almost all the way to my feet. Its glass bead eyes stared up at me, I was sure, filled with malice and righteous anger. I ran out the door with legs that seemed like overcooked noodles.
I think I screamed. I know my face felt numb and I had a terrible fear that the gaze of the monkey had stolen my face. I could barely speak as I stepped into Mom's room. There I saw Mom and George standing in a tight embrace. It's strange, at the time I could not care less what they were doing or what they thought of me interrupting them, but still that image haunts me. It was an innocent enough scene to walk in on, they were dressed and everything, they were just holding each other, but I still can't get it out of my head.
And the two of them were, in my opinion, far too mad at me for interrupting their hug. I cannot remember what I told them, if I even said anything, but shortly I was told very firmly to go to bed and not be a pest.
So I was exiled to my room, alone with the monkey. I don't know where I found the strength to open my door. And no matter how much I think about it, I can't figure out how the door got closed. And I'm almost positive the monkey was not where I left it. It was lying on my bed, staring at me upside down.
I can remember the words "We're going to play all night", but I don't remember anything more. And nothing really happened after that. Mom broke up with George, the monkey disappeared and I went back to sleeping at night. And that's it.
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