by Justin Olson
I watched the dog run around and sniff various things—the truck tires, the fence. Finally he ran up to me and sniffed at my shoe and bike. He acted as if he had been locked away his entire life.
I looked back to the man. “Are you moving in?”
“Yep.”
“I live there.” I pointed to the house next to his.
“I’ll be your new neighbor, then. I’m Geoffrey.”
I felt something warm on my leg, and by the time I looked down, the dog was already trotting off, acting like he hadn’t even peed on someone’s leg.
“Eww. Yuck.”
The front door to my house creaked opened, and out came my mother in jeans and a knit sweater. “Charlie, come inside and quit bothering this man.”
“His dog just peed on me,” I said, looking at my mom.
“Sorry about that,” said Geoffrey. “He’s never done such a thing before. Must like you.”
“I don’t like him.” I shook my leg to try to get some of the piss off.
“Tell you what,” Geoffrey said. “Stop by sometime, and I’ll give you some ice cream to make up for it.”
My mom smiled.
“Only if the dog isn’t around,” I replied.
Geoffrey laughed, but I was serious.
I got on my bike and rode up to the garage with one yellow sock and a sticky ankle. I really didn’t like that dog.
* * *
It’s about five thirty. I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes, and I don’t want to keep Tickles holed up in my bedroom. So I first decide to let it roam the house. But then I realize that he probably shouldn’t, since he hasn’t been around the house alone yet, and I don’t want him to freak out. So I bring him back up to my room and close the door. On my way to work I stop by a bar called The Office, which is where my dad hangs out with his friends after their shift ends.
The bar is dark and smoky. Even though smoking in buildings is illegal, it doesn’t stop certain people from doing it. And no one says anything. There’s a line of guys laughing at the bar, all with dirty clothes. My dad is sitting between a couple of bigger guys. He takes a drink of his beer as I walk up behind him. He puts the beer on the counter and swivels.
“Charlie, what are you doing?” asks my dad. “You can’t be in here.” He doesn’t even mention the grounding; he’s probably forgotten about it.
“Hey, Charlie,” says Ted, one of my dad’s friends. “Gettin’ tall.”
“It’s Geoffrey’s dog,” I say to my dad. “We need to keep him at our house for a few days.”
“Why?”
“Geoffrey had to go to the hospital and needs someone to take care of Tickles. He asked me.”
“Then go to his house and take care of the dog like you’ve basically done for a year now.” He takes another gulp of his beer. “Now get out of here before you get in trouble.”
“Please. Why can’t he just stay at our house?”
“I’m sorry to hear about Geoffrey,” says my dad. “But no dogs.” With that, my dad turns back around to face the bar. But I’m not done with this.
* * *
I’m mopping behind the counter at around seven thirty p.m. when the door dings and I look over. “John!” I have continually felt bad for brushing him off in the middle of his story the night Seth and Susan showed up. I want to make it up to him. “Glad you’re back.”
John takes off his hat, uses his hand to comb his hair over, and shuffles over to the counter. “Why, that’s mighty kind of you to say,” says John. His eyebrows and mustache are as thick as ever. I bet John would make a great grandpa. I never really knew mine. My mom’s parents live far away in Indiana, and my dad’s dad—Harold—died when I was little.
John heaves himself into a seat and says, “Coffee, cream, and eggs, pancakes and bacon.” He clears his throat and places his hat on the counter beside him. “And a cup of OJ.”
I laugh. “John, I’m still not a server.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t give a shit.
I put the mop down and say, “I’ll go tell Tammy.”
I’m back to mopping when John, putting away his cell phone, says, “Did you want me to finish that story?” I’ve actually never seen John with a cell phone. Usually he just sits at the counter eating, talking to strangers, or reading the paper. I would imagine that, being on the road, one would always want to be communicating with family somewhere. But maybe he doesn’t have many people in his life. There’s really only two people I’d even talk to if I went away. And one is a new friend and the other is in the hospital.
“Yeah, I totally do. And sorry about last time.”
John shrugs. “You had customers to take care of.”
I frown. “No excuse. And you’re a customer too.”
“Well, anyway, where was I?”
After thinking for a second, I say, “You were—”
He waves me off. “I’ll just start over sos I can get a good rhythm going.” So he talks about driving on the high mountain pass again, and the Corvette in front of him that flips. He sees this one guy—the driver—get thrown. The other guy is trapped beneath the overturned car. John was yanking on the door before realizing that it was stuck. “I would’ve known that, had I stopped to think for a second, but adrenaline and all that. Sos I went to break the window. I yelled at the guy to stay calm. And as I did, I realized that I saw this guy before—only a few hours before. At a diner. Much like this one.” John takes a second to look around the room. “Yeah, much like this one. The guy is bloody, and glass is lodged into his face, but he’s not unconscious or anything. He looks at me and gets scared, as if I’m the devil or something. He tries to escape from me, but of course he can’t. I tell him again to stay calm and—”
Tammy walks up and pous John a refill on coffee. “Food’ll be right out, John.”
He nods.
I’m done mopping, but I don’t want to leave John while he’s telling the story this time. I’m holding the mop, and Tammy glances at me with some contempt. She puts the coffeepot back on the warming pad and goes to another customer.
“What crawled up her ass?” asks John.
I shrug. “No idea.”
“Anyway, so I take a rock and smash the window. I pull him out, but he’s fighting me. He keeps shouting, ‘Get away from me! Get off me!’ But the thing that struck me was how we all have the same blood. We all have the same emotions, more or less. Fear of death. Fear of pain. Sos I go searching for the other one, and he’s lying facedown, and I rush over and turn him, and it’s not lookin’ good for him.”
John wipes his eyes.
“Order up!” calls the cook, and I know it’s John’s order. But I can’t grab his plate, or Tammy will think that I’m trying to steal her tip.
“That’s one sad story, John.” But I don’t know why he’s telling me. I don’t get the relevance it has. “How long ago?”
“Oh, ten years ago now. I just couldn’t get over how their blood was . . . just like mine.”
“Red?”
John looks at me like I’m stupid.
“Here’s the kicker—at the diner they were sitting next to each other. They were a couple . . . homosexuals. And I was so disgusted by them. I even chewed them out. Told them to get right with Jesus before it was too late.
“A few hours later they were . . . And I was trying to save . . . And I will wish till the day I die that I wasn’t an asshole to those two boys. They were boys, Charlie. Probably no older than twenty-five.” He pauses. “My idea of God changed that day. God changed. And he will never be the same.”
Tammy puts the plate of pancakes and the plate of eggs and bacon in front of John. “Anything else?” she asks.
John says, “Just be kind to people.”
Tammy looks at him, dumbfounded for a second, and then she trudges off to the kitchen, irritated.
QUICK FALL
• • • • •
I get home tired and stinky from work, and the TV, as usual when my
dad’s home, is emitting a blue light. Alcohol is wafting off him, since he was probably at the bar most of the night.
“I’m home,” I say.
My dad doesn’t respond, and I head up to my room. I almost don’t even notice that my door is wide open. My heart lurches and my eyes go wide. “Where is he?” I bolt down the stairs and into the front room and stand right in front of the TV. “Where is Tickles?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? And watch your tone with me, young man.”
“What did you do with him?”
I run to the door and hear, “Don’t you dare leave this house. The mechanical dog is fine.”
But I’m not listening to my dad. I call out, “Tickles!” It’s so dark that I can’t see anything in Geoffrey’s yard. I have my phone and turn on the flashlight. “Tickles!” I yell again.
I hear my dad yell “Charlie!” as I dart out of the house.
In the middle of Geoffrey’s yard, I stop running and yell again, “Tickles!”
From the blackness I hear a little bell, faint in the distance.
“Tickles!” I yell again.
The bell grows louder, and I hear a little yelp. I see Tickles emerge from the darkness beyond my flashlight.
He runs up to me, and I kneel down and pet him. “Oh, Tickles. So good to see you. You’re a good dog. Such a good dog.” I stand up. “Come on. Let’s go into your real house. Away from the monster that is my dad.”
Geoffrey gave me a key to the front door, in case I run out of dog food or need anything for Tickles. I unlock the door and turn around, and Tickles barks. He’s stuck at the first stair. I realize that his fake leg makes it impossible for him to climb stairs. Maybe that’s why Geoffrey put in a ramp at the back of his house. I assumed it was for Geoffrey, but maybe he did it for Tickles?
I go down the stairs and pick up Tickles. “And don’t listen to my dad. You are not mechanical. You’re the real deal, buddy.” I put him down, and he runs into the kitchen, his little legs going.
The smell in Geoffrey’s house is no longer sour and gag-inducing. It’s actually pleasant. Lemon. Judy must still be coming over to clean while Geoffrey’s in the hospital.
I check to see that Tickles has food and water, and then I am on my way out when I say, “I’ll check on you tomorrow morning.” I’m starting to close the door, when I look at my house and see that damn blue light emanating from the front room, and the shadow of my dad up and moving.
I stop myself from closing the door and instead go back into Geoffrey’s house. “Never mind,” I say to Tickles. “I think I’ll stay with you tonight.”
I’m making myself comfortable on Geoffrey’s recliner. Tickles is next to me on the ground. “This is nice, right, buddy?”
Tickles looks at me with big brown eyes. His tail wags on the ground.
I adjust myself. It’s not the most comfy chair in the world.
“This is better than seeing my dad. He isn’t even giving a good reason for not letting you stay with us.”
I close my eyes, though I think about how I’m still in my stinky work clothes. I also am thinking about how I’m no longer on the second floor with a fairly unobstructed view, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to see or hear a UFO if one comes tonight, and that’s worrying me.
I think about John’s story and how emotional he was getting from something that happened a decade ago. I could picture the scene as he was telling it. I don’t want to be someone who regrets something that large.
That large . . .
bits of . . .
the wreckage . . . the red blood . . .
My ear hurts as I’m lifted to my feet before I even know what’s happening. My eyes are barely open. “You’re coming home this minute,” says my dad.
I fell asleep.
Tickles yaps and yaps, and growls, but stays a few safe feet back.
“Oww.” My dad’s still pulling at my ear.
He lets go, and I straighten up. We head outside, and before the door closes, I whisper, “I’ll come back for you.”
The moon is out, and bright, and I don’t want to talk to my dad. We trot past barren grass and rocks, from one small house to another.
We get inside, and he says, “Get to bed. And if you decide to sneak out tonight, don’t bother coming home.”
I’m tired enough, so I don’t. Even though that’s all I want to do.
RISK IT AGAIN
• • • • •
It’s been a few days since I’ve seen Grandma. I feel bad about it, but I didn’t forget about her, and that matters to me.
I take Tickles with me to see her. I think Tickles would prefer the company to being alone, and I’m sure my grandma would enjoy the dog.
One other thing I remember to bring is a certain picture given to me. It’s black and white, and I think it’s perfect for my grandma’s room, so I framed it. Not only is it a great shot of the both of us, but maybe she won’t forget herself, or me, as quickly?
As Tickles and I walk through the halls of the nursing home, we are stopped by 98 percent of the residents and staff. The only person who doesn’t stop us to pet Tickles or remark on his leg is an older guy in a wheelchair with his head leaning to the left and his mouth wide open, snoring.
We’re almost to my grandma’s room when I see Susan at the end of the hall. It has felt like months since I last saw her. And it makes me think of Seth all over again. When she sees me, she smiles and calls out my name. She walks toward me as she pushes an old lady in a wheelchair.
Her smile seems to grow bigger the closer she walks.
Mine does too.
“Charlie, how are you doing? And who’s this little guy?”
“I’m dog-watching for a few days. His name is Tickles.”
“I’d love to pet him, but I’m allergic to dogs, sadly.”
“Oh yeah. Seth said that. I should get him away from you.”
Susan smiles. “It’s good to see you. Seth is having fun in Seattle, but I think he misses you. At least that’s my impression.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I miss him too. “When does he get back?”
“Two weeks.”
That sounds like forever. I think my face shows my disappointment, because she says, “It’ll go by quickly. He’ll be back before you know it. Well, I better get Becky to her room. What’s the picture?”
“Seth took it. Isn’t it amazing?” I show it to her.
Susan smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes, and I wonder why. “You two are beautiful together.”
I walk to my grandma’s room wondering if Susan meant me and my grandma or me and Seth. And I wonder why I think that.
I knock on the doorframe to my grandma’s room and walk in. She is sitting in her regular old recliner, her hands fidgety, as usual. “Hello, Grandma.” She turns to me and smiles upon seeing the dog.
Tickles doesn’t run up to my grandma but instead holds back behind my legs. “His name is Tickles.” I turn behind me. “Tickles, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t seem to want to see Grandma. I finally have to pick him up, and as he shivers in my arms, I bring him to my grandma so that she can pet him.
She smiles, not noticing that the dog doesn’t really want to be petted.
After a few pets, Tickles yaps.
My grandma jumps. Her face looks frightened, and I can’t help but think of her reaction as that of a child who hasn’t acquired words to express herself yet. Except, unlike a child, my grandma has lived a lifetime.
I put Tickles down, and he runs behind my leg again. I go to the blinds and open them. “Why do they never open these?” I ask her.
I describe the sky (Smooth Sailing on a Glassy Sea) and set her clock to the right time.
I grab the picture I set on her bed and hold it up to her. “Look at this. It was taken by my best friend. You remember Seth? He went on that walk with us. Where should we put it?” I look around the room, and I see she’s staring intently at the picture. I point
to her. “That’s you. Eloise Dickens.”
She is no longer smiling.
“And that’s me.” I point at myself in the picture. “Charlie. Your grandson. Remember me, Grandma?”
IF THE WORLD DOESN’T WAIT, DON’T STOP
• • • • •
I can hear the beeps of the monitors down the otherwise empty, sterile hall. Whitehall’s hospital is small, just one long hallway with only a few people ever inside. I bring Tickles to see Geoffrey, which I think will cheer them both up. When we get to his room, Geoffrey turns to me, his massive body covered by a white sheet. He has tubes hooked up to various parts of his body, which surprises me, but I pretend like nothing’s wrong.
“Charlie,” he says. “Oh, and Tickles.” He smiles at us both.
Tickles can’t jump up onto the bed, so he sits down next to it. I am about to pick up Tickles, but Geoffrey tells me not to put him on the bed.
I am glad to see Geoffrey, and relieved to see him alive. It’s an odd thought that I think he could die. He’s not even that old, but I still worry about him.
“So, what’s wrong with you?” I ask.
Geoffrey chuckles a little and coughs. “Infection. They have me on some antibiotics.”
“Oh.” I stand there.
Geoffrey lies there.
Machines occasionally beep.
I sit in a chair. Tickles lies underneath me.
The light in the room goes from brighter to darker to brighter over the course of a few minutes. A flurry of clouds rush through the sky, hurrying to get somewhere.
Geoffrey stares up at the ceiling before turning to me. “Why don’t you and I talk? You have time for that?”
I make a show of looking at my nonexistent watch. “I think I can fit you in.”
Geoffrey doesn’t seem to hear that comment, or if he does, he ignores it. “I’ve been doing a bit of thinking. Reflecting.” He brings up his ex-wife. She left him for someone else. But she recently stopped by his house, even though she’s living in Helena. Geoffrey could see her as she walked up the stairs to the front door. He didn’t move off the green couch to answer the door. It had been many years since they’d last seen each other, and Geoffrey didn’t want his ex-wife to see him at his current size.
