This little monkey belonged to my mother when she was a kid. He is made of chin...

This little monkey belonged to my mother when she was a kid. He is made of china. His arms and legs are hinged and he can stand on his own. He is half the size of my thumb.
He is at least ninety years old, and so when I hold him in the palm of my hand, it is impossible for me to not to think about everything that he has seen and heard.
He knew my mother when she was a child. What secrets did she tell him?
This, for me, is always how a story starts, with some strange combination of ache ...