by R C Barnes
“Echo,” I said. I added a firm tone to my voice to get her attention. “There are no orange kitties, got it. No orange kitties.”
Echo went silent. Then she said, “Okay,” and ended the call.
I was pretty sure she understood what I was saying.
Back when our mother had destroyed Echo’s drawing and torn out the section depicting Luther holding an orange kitten, Echo and I used that image to convey happiness. Echo had created the picture to be a depiction of her contentment. Whenever we did things together and I saw her smiling, I would say “Orange kitty?” and she would answer “yes, orange kitty.” When we sent her to Luther’s while I was in Monterey, I had said “orange kitty,” and she cheerfully clapped her hands, knowing she would be staying with Luther. I hoped by saying “no orange kitty”, she understood not to talk about seeing Luther.
Fifteen minutes later, the Kelly’s brought Echo home. The woman went outside and spoke briefly with Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. I could see Maisie in the backseat of the car. The Kelly’s were the type of people who know how to handle bureaucracy. They had two car seats in the back, indicating my sister had been securely and properly fastened in. I noted the woman peeked and saw the extra car seat as she waved at Maisie.
I had Echo alone for a second. I crouched down and looked her square in the eye. “No orange kitty,” I said again.
“No orange kitty,” she whispered back. There was sadness in her expression. She got it.
The woman entered the house and closed the front door. I felt a shiver as we were alone with her in the house – even though it was our house. The way she closed the door it was like a sinister individual shutting the door between you and the last possible means of escape. Echo and I took seats on the couch while the woman sat in the chair across from us.
“Well this is lovely,” she stated. “I have the two Wynters daughters sitting here together.” She spoke with a wide smile as if she was going to interview us for a gossip magazine. “What is your full name and birthdate?” She said to the both of us.
I answered and then began to do Echo, but the woman stopped me. “I’d like to hear her say it” What is your full name, dearie?” she said to my sister.
“Echo Wynters,” my sister responded.
“Your full name,” the woman said.
I leaned in and whispered to Echo. “The long name,” I said.
“Echo Haydn Wynters,” my sister responded.
The woman appeared puzzled. “Who is Eleanora?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Echo, and she shrugged her shoulders.
“No one calls her that,” I explained.
The woman made a noise with her teeth and moved on.
“And what is your birthdate…Echo is it?” You could tell she didn’t think highly of the nickname.
“August 22nd,” my sister responded. “I’ll be seven.”
The woman made a notation which I found odd. She had to have this basic information in the file. Was she writing down the child didn’t know her proper name, but knows her birthdate?
“So, what have you been doing since your mother has been in the hospital?” she asked.
“Going to school and playing with Maisie,” Echo replied.
“Have you had a chance to see your mother at all?”
Echo looked at me and I jumped in to intervene. “I visit our mother a number of times a week,” I offered. “And I bring pictures and drawings completed by my sister, and I describe them to her.”
The woman looked at me sternly. “Your sister has not been in to see your mother?”
“Have you seen our mother?” I responded. “Do you know how she looks? Do you know she can’t respond or move?”
The woman opened one of her files and began flipping through the pages. “What I have here is she is in a coma, but it says it was an induced coma brought on by her doctors.”
I leaned in so Echo would not hear what I was saying. “She’s in a coma because she was beaten. The swelling was so bad on her brain the doctors placed her in a coma. Do you know what a person looks like when they have been kicked repeatedly in the skull? We are sparing my sister from that image and I would appreciate it, if you didn’t mention the injuries our mother is suffering. All Echo knows is that Terry is sick and in the hospital.”
Thankfully, the tension was interrupted by the arrival of Ollie coming in through the back porch. “Who is here?” he shouted.
“We’re in the living room,” I answered.
Ollie flounced out of the kitchen. “Who is we?” he demanded, but then he saw. There was no mistaking the woman’s attire. She was clearly bureaucracy. Ollie straightened his shoulders and tightened his hips as he continued to move.
“Hello,” he said, extending his right hand. “I’m Olliver DeMatteo.”
The woman gave her name and handed Ollie her business card. “Do you mind if I check this?” Ollie asked. “I’ll just call the number on the bottom.”
The woman smirked. “I’m not at my office,” she said. “No one will answer.”
“I’m not calling you,” Ollie replied with a laugh. “But someone will answer the line before I am sent to your extension, and I can verify your position. Excuse me for a moment.” He gave me a knowing look before heading back into the kitchen.
Damn. Why didn’t I think of checking her credentials? That was a smart move on Ollie’s part. Not that I didn’t believe this woman wasn’t from Child Protective Services, but it was smart to show you were checking up.
Ollie came back in the living room and sat in the love seat. “Thanks, Mrs. Woodman,” he said. “You never can be too careful. Especially since I return home and find you here alone with the two minors of the household without an adult’s permission or knowledge.”
“Are you a tenant of the house?” Mrs. Woodman asked.
“Yes, I am the legal tenant,” Ollie replied.
“You have a lovely arrangement upstairs.”
“Oh, you saw my room.”
“I must view the entire premises,” she replied.
“Did you view the basement?” he asked.
“I didn’t realize there was a basement.”
“Mostly storage, but it’s still a basement.”
“May I ask what your rent is?”
Ollie smiled. “You can ask, but I won’t answer. That’s between me and Theresa Wynters.”
I had never seen this side of Ollie. I liked it.
“Why don’t I show you the basement and then you can be on your way,” said Ollie.
“I’m not finished talking to the girls,” Mrs. Woodman replied.
“Oh, go right ahead,” said Ollie, gesturing grandly to my sister and me with his arms.
Mrs. Woodman had lost her intimidating edge. When she tried to ask a question that went beyond our daily activities of school, meals, and sleep, Ollie would lean forward and ask her the purpose of the inquiry. He was really nailing this woman whose nosiness was going far and beyond professional necessity. Ollie made sure Mrs. Woodman’s questions stayed within the parameters. He didn’t cross the line and answer for us, but he made it clear to her, who was in charge.
Ten more minutes past, and then he stood up declaring it was time for her to see the basement. He needed to get dinner started so Echo and I could remain on our schedules. Mrs. Woodman was shown the door leading to the basement. The basement was really a large dirt space under the house, but one side had been leveled and concrete was poured to create a secure storage area for the rainy season. There were stairs heading down to the space from the hallway. Mrs. Woodman peeked down, and then withdrew. I can’t blame her. The space smelled like wet musty boots and acrylic paints.
She thanked us for the visit and then headed out the front door which Ollie was holding, wide open.
Ollie shut the door, and then melted to the floor. “Omigod,” he exclaimed. “That was exhausting. What a witch.”
“Maybe we should have thrown water on her,” Echo added.
Ollie and I burst into laughter.
HOWL
Nikko’s Story
When Nikko first heard the siren, he panicked. He was doing the driving, and even though he was handling the road okay, there were the four beers he had drunk less than an hour ago. Nikko didn’t think he could pass any type of road test. Plus, this was Mike’s car, and Mike was in the backseat passed out along with Gates. Blue lights blinded him in the rearview mirror, and Nikko had to remind himself to breathe and see if he was being pulled over. Count to five and see. Every fiber of Nikko’s being wanted to yank the steering wheel to the right and make a run for it over the flat terrain. Maybe a wilder person would have followed through with that instinct, but not Nikko. He was the steady, reliable one, even after four beers.
This had been one crazy night. Actually, it had been a crazy weekend. They were on their second day of celebrating, and it took Nikko a full minute to remember what had prompted the partying. Gates’ girlfriend had broken up with him, that was it, and both Mike and Nikko had hated that stuck-up female ball of toxic gas. To counter the droopy expression on Gates’ face, Mike had whipped out his bong and a new stash of Dragon’s Grass or whatever the hell the weed had been called, and the weekend was launched.
Getting high with Mike was always an adventure because he wasn’t a guy who liked to stay inside while he was tripping. In less than an hour, the trio entered the Oakland zoo, acting foolishly in front of the animal pens and the families with strollers. That had been fun, Nikko smiled to himself. He rarely got to let loose and do crazy shit with the guys. He was the nerd of the group. Mike was the king, and Gates was the lover boy.
The blue lights were not for him, and after a minute, the patrol car zoomed on. Bigger fish to fry Nikko thought, and Mike must be paid up on his parking tickets.
As if on cue, Nikko could hear the big guy stirring in the backseat.
“That was a cop!” There was a slight moan in Mike’s voice as if regaining consciousness was not an easy task.
“He didn’t want us,” Nikko said, feeling the tension ease away. The cop was only taillights up ahead.
“You okay to drive?” Mike asked.
“Well, I don’t have much choice,” Nikko responded. “Gates is out, and I had less alcohol than you did.”
“True. True.” Mike replied, nodding his head at the same time. He winced at the head bopping. “Oh man, I need another beer.”
“There’s still two left from the six-pack Gates bought this afternoon.” Nikko had found himself keeping track of how much everyone was consuming. That’s why he felt confident about taking the wheel.
Mike found the beer and pulled the tab. “There’s aspirin in the glove compartment. Toss it back, will ya.”
Nikko lobbed the bottle and listened as Mike swallowed a handful of pills and drained the can of beer in a single swallow. Never in his lifetime would Nikko ever be able to do that.
“So, where we at, Einstein? What’s the plan?”
Nikko was at a loss. He had been heading home or at least in the general direction of home.
“I was heading back to Oakland.”
“Where we at now?”
“Stockton. Just passed.”
Mike winced and looked out the car window. “How’d we get all the way out here?” he asked.
“We were driving around Lodi looking for those sausages you wanted.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Did we get ‘em?”
“Cooler is in the trunk,” Nikko responded.
“Those are damn good sausages,” Mike muttered. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes again.
They better be Nikko thought. They had spent an entire day trying to find the butcher because Mike couldn’t remember the name of the place. “There’s a giant cow in front. You can’t miss it,” he insisted. But then he changed his mind wondering if it was a giant pig and not a giant cow. The munchies were hitting them hard, and hot Cheetos and Takis and beer weren’t cutting it. The idea of biting into a juicy sausage slathered with mustard was enough to get Gates and Nikko to agree to the hunt.
Mike insisted the place was legendary, and he was sort of right. After they drove through Stockton and entered Lodi, all they had to say was the meat place with a giant cow or pig out front, and people told them where to go. Gates was having a grand time approaching hot looking girls and asking them where he could find the place with the legendary sausages. One girl told him there would be a line. Gates had some cheeky retort about sausages and being worth the wait, and the girls howled with laughter. Nikko wished he could interact with girls that way. Only Gates could use searching for a meat market to pick up girls, he didn’t have to be in one. By the time they reached Lockeford meat and sausage services, Gates had three new numbers in his mobile phone, and the problem of the stuck-up toxic bitch who had dumped him was gone.
However, a new problem quickly surfaced. The guys were starving, and Lockeford sold the sausages uncooked. Mike had forgotten about that detail, but it didn’t keep them from buying almost 10 pounds of meat apiece.
“We need a cooler,” Mike growled.
The next stop was Walmart, where they purchased a giant cooler, two bags of ice, and more hot Cheetos and Takis.
“I need real food,” Gates complained.
They were all in agreement and found a place serving greasy burgers and fries. Gates was texting the girls who had given him their numbers. The guys were high again on Dragon Grass, and Nikko and Mike had assisted with the text responses. But Gates was a master with the way he flipped words and made everything sound like he was talking about sex. Nikko couldn’t stop laughing, and Mike was hooting so hard he was on the ground holding his stomach. The seductive wordplay worked, and the guys were invited to a party in Lodi later in the evening.
One of the girls had said they should dress up, so it was back to Walmart.
“What should we dress up as?” Gate asked.
Nikko kept saying he didn’t think that is what the girl meant, but Gates was on a roll, and Walmart had a clearance bin of Halloween costumes. That’s how a werewolf, a vampire, and the mummy showed up at the house party at ten o’clock. Gates saw the surprised faces taking in their attire and threw out his arms, exclaiming, “You told us to dress up!” Everyone laughed, and they were through the door. Gates could sell anything.
Gates was the mummy, and he wrapped himself with dozens of rolls of gauze tape. He kept insisting on adding fake blood to his ensemble even though Nikko had argued blood was more for the vampire and the werewolf, but Gates didn’t care. Nikko had to admit he had gotten the more comfortable costume. As the werewolf, he had fake chest hair spouting out of his jacket, hairy gloves, and a mask. The mask had been removed and was now lying on the passenger seat. Mike was the vampire with a tuxedo T-shirt, a black cape and fangs, which he kept pulling out so he could guzzle beer.
Early Sunday morning and the party was still roaring, but Gates suddenly announced he had to get back home. He was singing in the church choir at eight AM, and his grandmother would kill him if he were late. Mike kept screaming, “You’re unbelievable. You’re unbelievable.” Neither one of them had been in any condition to drive, and home was at least two hours away. Nikko grabbed a coke from the refrigerator and loaded his buddies into the back of Mike’s car. The minute their heads hit the upholstery, the two of them were asleep.
Gates started snoring. Mike rolled him a bit to get him to stop. “You know, we should just leave him on his grandmother’s doorstep looking like this. Freak her out with all the fake bandages and blood.”
Nikko laughed. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Pull over, dude, I gotta take a piss”.
Nikko was on a stretch of highway that was dark enough for Mike to do his business and not have anyone see. Besides, there weren’t many cars out at three in the morning. The moon was high and full, and it seemed like you could see forever into the distance. The area was so quiet Nikko could hear Mike’s piss hitting the tall g
rass.
Mike finished relieving himself, and Nikko heard him running a distance away, his shoes hitting the gravel of the road. Curious, he looked in the side mirror and saw Mike pull out an abandoned shopping cart. The cart’s wheels were wobbly, and Mike struggled to get it behind the car.
Nikko got out of the vehicle and stood beside his friend. “What are you doing?’
“I’ve got an idea,” said Mike. “I really want some of those sausages.” He pointed at the closed trunk. “Open her up. I’m going to cook a few and use this cart as a grill.”
Nikko nodded with approval. Besides, he needed something to boost his weariness for the last leg of the trip, and he was sick of Cheetos.
Mike cleared an area a few yards from the car, and they pushed the shopping cart out and placed it on its side. It was easy to get a fire going thanks to Nikko’s days as a Boy Scout. They kept the flame low and controllable. It took some time, but eventually, the sausages were sizzling and ready to eat. Using a stick, Mike skewered the jalapeno flavored one and handed it to Nikko.
“Get ready for heaven, buddy.”
Nikko bit into the meat and drooled in delight. Without a doubt, this was the best damn sausage he ever had. This was the best damn night of his life, and he was with the best damn friend he could ask for.
Nikko threw back his head and howled in glory at the moon. He was the wolfman, after all.
***
Nikko looked at me in expectation. His tattoo was a werewolf done in my mother’s signature animal series of steampunk and elegance. The wolfman bore a resemblance to Nikko, which made me think my mother had heard portions of the story when he chose this creature to be inked on his forearm.
Nikko agreed to meet me at the UC Berkeley campus after talking to me on the phone. We were at a coffee shop near the Doe Library. It seemed like a safe enough spot to meet a stranger. Joanie and Rueben hovered over by the counter where pastries were on display. I could see Rueben buying a couple of treats.
After my stunt in Monterey, Joanie was not letting me meet with men by myself.
