Dodger and Me

by Jordan Sonnenblick

  All of a sudden, the bag started wriggling and bouncing around in my hands. I dropped it and jumped back. When I looked down, I could see that the bag was gone, and a strange-looking teapot was lying on its side in the grass. The teapot was swaying back and forth, and I had the terrifying thought that something was trying to fight its way out.

  My terrifying thought was absolutely correct. As I watched, too scared to move, a furry blue hand shoved its way out of the pot’s spout. The fingers clawed their way along the ground, and as they moved forward, they dragged an entire furry blue arm out of the spout behind them. Next came a painfully tilted furry blue neck and head, followed by another arm. As the arms began pushing downward on the ground, a hairy blue chest and stomach squeezed out of the teapot. At this point, I was staring at what appeared to be the upper half of a full-size, furry blue chimpanzee, which had somehow emerged from a teapot—a teapot that had somehow been a fast-food bag just moments before.

  No wonder my mom always tells me the woods are bad news.

  Just then the blue chimp-thing turned its head to look at me, and I saw that it was sporting a rather alarming black patch over its left eye. It was also talking to me. “Hey, bud,” said the blue, patch-eyed chimp, “do you think I could maybe get a hand here? I’m sure this looks like a whole barrel of laughs to you but, dude, it’s hard to squeeze through this little spouty thing.”

  Another thing my mom always tells me is that I should never talk to strangers. And no matter who else I’d ever met, this blue, one-eyed, chimp-in-a-teapot guy was stranger than all of them. In fact, he was so alarming I almost found myself wishing I had taken that ride home with Lizzie.

  Almost.

  I didn’t know how to handle this situation, exactly, but my mom also always tells me I should be polite and helpful, even though it’s hard to be polite and helpful if you’re supposed to be afraid of everybody you meet. So I made my wobbly legs move until I was right in front of the chimp and reached a hand out to him. He grabbed on with one warm, rough, slimy hand and I pulled kind of gently. He looked at me like I was a wimp, which is of course true, and said, “Come on, dude, I don’t have all day. I’ve been cramped up in this bottle long enough, and I’m pretty sure I’m sitting in a pile of cold, ketchupy french fries. So PULL!”

  I pulled as hard as I could, and there was a popping noise, accompanied by a big smoky flash. The chimp let go of my hand, and I went tumbling backwards onto my butt. Then he stepped forward out of the smoke, and for the first time I could see all of him. He was about four feet tall and was wearing nothing but the eye patch and the world’s loudest pair of orange-and-white surfer shorts. He held his hand out to me. “Sorry about that, bud, my grip must have slipped a little—I think there’s some special sauce on my fingers.” He stopped and licked his thumb. “Oh, dude, it is special sauce—OLD special sauce. Yuck!”

  Great. If there’s one thing worse than grabbing the hand of a scary, blue pirate-chimp, it’s grabbing the mystery-sauce-coated hand of a scary, blue pirate-chimp. But he must have seen the disgusted look on my face, because he switched hands. This hand was dry, and he yanked me right up with no effort at all. “Hi,” he said, “you must be Willie. I’m Dodger.”

  “Um, uh, hi,” I replied. “How do you—”

  “How do I know your name? Because, dude, I’ve been waiting for you to come and pick up my lamp.” He grinned at me as he started picking what looked like little clumps of chicken nugget out of his fur and licking them off of his fingers.

  “Lamp? You mean that little teapot thing? But I didn’t pick up the teapot; I picked up a fast-food bag.”

  “I know. That was a pretty smart disguise, don’t you think? Three different kids passed through here just this morning, but not one of them even came close to picking up a soggy piece of litter. That’s because you’re the special one. You’re the one who cares. You’re the one who will be my new best friend!”

  Okay, I was unpopular. But was I so amazingly unpopular that I needed a magical blue chimp for a best friend? Quite possibly. “Me? Are you sure you have the right kid?”

  “If you’re Willie Ryan, of Seven Lamplighter Lane, I have the right kid. And I have been waiting for you here for, like, a really long time.”

  “Uh, how long? Because that bag couldn’t have been in the water for very long, or it would have fallen apart. Wouldn’t it?”

  He thought this over for a while as he stretched his long arms up over his head and twisted his waist back and forth. “I’m, uh, not really so good with time, dude. There’s no clock in my lamp. But let’s put it this way: I’ve waited ten thousand fries for you. I’ve waited nine hundred bags of ketchup. I’ve waited, like, fourteen Shamrock Shakes for you. So how long is fourteen Shamrock Shakes?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Uh, do TV’s have more than three channels yet?”

  “Oh, man, Dodger. You have been in there a long time! But anyway, why would you wait for me? Why would you want me for a best friend?” As I said this, I couldn’t help wondering, Isn’t there, like, a lonely blue surfer chimp somewhere that needs a buddy more than I do?

  “You’re the one, Willie. I know you are. Didn’t your best friend just leave you?”

  “Uh, well, my friend Tim moved to—”

  “Right, see? My best friend left me, too. And aren’t you a really special guy who just needs a chance?”

  “Well—”

  “Me, too. And don’t you like bananas?”

  I had to think about that one for a minute. “Yes, actually. Now that you mention it, I do like bananas, Dodger.”

  “See, Willie? This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Dodger reached behind him and tugged on the waistband of his shorts. Half of a sesame-seed bun rolled down his leg to the ground. Wow, I had a new best friend—a blue chimp with a burger wedgie.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Not out of the Woods Yet

  JUST A FEW MOMENTS LATER, Dodger and I were walking through the forest on a path that had magically appeared right under my feet. I was carrying the teapot thing, and a thought suddenly hit me. I had rubbed the bag, and then it had become the teapot, and then a mysterious, impossible creature had popped out of it. Plus, the creature had referred to the thing as a “lamp.” As crazy as the whole idea seemed, I had a weird hunch about my new friend.

  “Dodger,” I began, feeling like a complete idiot for even asking, “are you a, um … well … are you, by any chance, a genie?”

  Dodger looked at me like I’d said a dirty word. Not that I’d ever do that, because my mom would probably have about three heart attacks if she heard me. Then he said, “Well, Willie, the preferred term is ‘Bottled American.’”

  “Okay, sorry. Are you a, um, Bottled American?”

  Just then, Dodger waved his fingers through the air in a complicated little pattern, and all of a sudden we stepped out of the woods and into my backyard. “Hey, look,” he said, “dude—we’re home!”

  Oh, boy. What was with the “we” stuff? Did Dodger plan to come into my house? Or worse, did he intend to live with me? My mom hadn’t let me bring home the class hamster for a weekend in third grade—how was she going to react to having a talking blue surfer chimp with a vision problem in the guest room?

  Just as I was about to ask him what, exactly, he meant by “home,” he said, “Oh, man! I can’t wait to get washed up and eat some fresh fruit! And then we can play games. And then we can make our Three-Part Plan. This is going to be so great!”

  Three-Part Plan? What was he talking about? And why was he marching across my backyard toward our screen door in broad daylight? What if somebody saw him and called Animal Control? Or worse, America’s Funniest Home Videos?

  “Stop!” I shouted. “You can’t just go barging in there. What if someone sees you?”

  “Willie, has anyone ever told you that you worry too much? You need to chill or you’re going to get high blood
pressure before you hit middle school.”

  “But—”

  “Buddy, it’s all taken care of. Watch and learn, all right?” With that, Dodger turned the handle of the back door and stepped into the playroom of my house. I almost swore under my breath, but remembered just in time that I don’t swear.

  It crossed my mind that I was totally doomed. My mom was the type who would throw a fit and make me use about a gallon of hand sanitizer if I even touched anything at the petting zoo, and now I was barging into the house behind a talking blue chimp. I had no clue what to do about it, though, so I took a deep breath and followed him in.

  He was standing about three feet from the door, looking around with total glee at all of the games and toys my sister and I had lying around, plus the shelves and bins full of additional stuff. I guess there wasn’t a very wide range of leisure activities in a magic lamp. It was funny to watch—he kept hopping up and down, saying, “WOW! This is so COOL!” and then doing a little dance step. But it would have been funnier if I hadn’t been waiting for my mom to come downstairs and freak out.

  Then things got less funny in a hurry. Dodger started racing around the room touching everything and making happy chimp noises. He was juggling random objects—at one point, he had an old alphabet block, one of Amy’s ice skates, and a book of sudoku puzzles all up in the air at once—while balancing my favorite model ship on his head. I was running around after him, trying to catch the toys he was dropping and making little shushing sounds, which he totally ignored. Finally, I shouted, “STOP IT!” just as my mom came barreling into the room to see what the commotion was. I jumped sideways so that I was between her and Dodger, as though an eighty-pound fifth grader could block the view of a 125-pound chimpanzee with a tall plastic ship on his head.

  Sometimes with my mom, things go better if you don’t wait for her to speak. So I jumped right in: “Mom, this isn’t what you think! I mean, he just followed me home. He’s not, uh, moving in with us or anything. Well, uh, he might be for a little while. But just until we get this whole magic lamp thing sorted out and all. Plus, he’s much cleaner than he looks, and he has excellent taste in frien—”

  My mom and Dodger both started shouting at the same time. Mom said, “What in the world are you talking about? WHAT isn’t what I think? You should have been home half an hour ago! I’ve been worried sick—I was just about to call the police! And are you tracking ketchup all over our new rug?”

  Dodger said, “CLEANER THAN HE LOOKS? What do you mean, cleaner than I look? I don’t look clean? Dude, I am very well-groomed. Besides, YOU try being smushed up inside a stupid Happy Meal for ten years and see how spotless you come out!”

  I turned from my mom to Dodger, then back to Mom. Then back to Dodger. I had no idea what to say. Finally, Dodger calmed down and gave me some helpful info that I wished he had shared a bit earlier: “Dude, I get it! You think your mom can see me, don’t you? Oh, man! That’s hilarious! No wonder you were, like, wetting your pants just now. I told you you should just chill. Watch this!”

  I turned back to Mom, who was looking at me like I had just stepped out of a flying saucer. Dodger ran around behind her and started making weird faces at me while Mom started winding up for a big lecture: “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, William. First you refuse a ride I’d arranged with Lizzie—her father called here right after your game. Then you wander around doing God knows what, until finally, I find you running in circles around the family room shouting at yourself!”

  Dodger stood about an inch away from Mom’s shoulder, reached into his mouth with both hands, and pulled his cheeks inside out. I had to try really hard not to laugh, but I managed.

  Meanwhile, Mom was moving into high gear. “You look at me when I talk to you, young man! I don’t know where you got this crazy talk about someone moving in with us …”

  Dodger let go of his face and started pretending he was polishing Mom’s left earring. I ignored him.

  “ … but there is clearly nobody else in this house. Your father is with your sister at the dentist, and I was upstairs cleaning. So unless you have a new invisible friend, please cut out the monkey business, take off your shoes, and start cleaning up whatever you’ve just gotten all over the rug.”

  Dodger looked straight at me and mouthed, Monkey business? Then he started hopping on one foot, scratching one armpit, and puffing his cheeks out like balloons. I couldn’t help it: I burst out laughing.

  Bad move. Mom got all offended. “You think this is funny, mister? I was sick with worry. It’s bad enough that your sister is practically bleeding to death, but then I had to wonder where my little boy was, and—”

  “Bleeding to death, Mom? Amy is bleeding to death?”

  “Well, probably not, dear. But still—”

  “Didn’t she just lose a tooth—the one that she’s been wiggling around all week? And isn’t that totally normal?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “So how is that almost bleeding to death? I can’t believe you sent her to the dentist because she lost a tooth. You exaggerate everything, Mom. I just took a little walk. I was in a bad mood, so I wanted to be alone.” Just then, I noticed a little piece of twig poking my shoulder through my uniform jersey and brushed it away.

  Mom noticed. “Is that a stick? It is a stick! Did you cut through the forest, William? You did, didn’t you?”

  Dodger was frantically shaking his head NO, but Mom basically had me busted, so I confessed.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “That is IT, William Ryan. I simply can’t trust you anymore!”

  I had never, ever answered back to my mom like this. Even so, I could tell that right about here is where I should have stopped answering and just let Mom wind down. But no, instead I just had to say, “Mom, you’ve never trusted me!” So that’s why Dodger and I had to spend the rest of the day in my room.

  Two hours later, with an hour left before dinner, I was bored and starving. It didn’t help that Dodger reeked of fries, ketchup, and sesame seeds, so my whole room smelled like the drive-through lane of a fast-food joint. I was lying on my bed, fantasizing about pizza, steaks, and greasy fried chicken while Dodger blabbered on and on about my room, and how much better it was than the inside of his lamp. The actual blabbing dragged on with minor interruptions for maybe an hour, and went something like this:

  “Dude. DUDE! I can’t believe this is your room! It’s so AWESOME! Wow, you must have twenty Yankee posters in here. You know, I met the fat one with all the home runs once … . I forget his name, but boy, did he like hot dogs. Anyway, this poster of the shortstop guy is so cool. And hey, I like this Yankee Stadium snow globe, too. Can I shake it? Oops. Sorry, man. But trust me—with a little water and some glue, that won’t even be noticeable. Whoa! Are these your baseball cards? Hey, you forgot to open this pack from 1978 to get the gum out. May I? No? Whoopsie, too late. Man, don’t get all bummed about it, I’ll give you your half. What? Your mom doesn’t let you chew gum? No wonder people think you’re a wimp. I mean, well, you know. I don’t think you’re a wimp. But then again, I’m not a people, I’m a blue chimp.

  “This room is just so great! Seriously. Did you know I once spent three decades in a Chinese takeout container? It was terrible—all the pork fried rice I could eat, for thirty thousand meals straight. Brutal, especially since I really prefer banana fried rice. All that salt made my fingers get bloated, too. Plus, all I had to read were the same four fortune-cookie fortunes over and over. When I got out, I smelled like duck sauce for a month, and all I could say for the first week was, ‘Don’t cry over spilt milk. Your lucky numbers are five, twelve, seventeen, thirty-one, forty-four, and forty-nine.’ The kid who found me that time around played those numbers and won the lottery, though, which was kind of cool.

  “And then there was the time I lived in a box of doughnut holes. I had a ball in there. Get it? A ball? Because a doughnut hole is shaped like a ball. Oh, man, am I funny … . Are you even listeni
ng to me, dude? Yeah, sure you are. Anyway, living with the doughnut holes was sweet … get it? Sweet? Hey, are you falling asleep? Oh, man, I can’t believe this. I think the little dude is asleep! Geez, maybe I can just wake him up with a little of the water from this snow globe … .”

  You could say it was turning into a long afternoon. I had already blown a baseball game, and maybe my team’s whole season. And now I was being followed by Dodger, who had already gotten me in big trouble with my mom and messed up my house. I was totally exhausted. But then I had an idea that gave me a burst of energy: “Hey, Dodger! When do we start with my wishes? I mean, I do get three wishes, right? Isn’t that the deal?” Three wishes sounded like a good thing. Plus, and I hate to admit this, the sooner I made my wishes, the sooner the grease-soaked blue chimp would be gone. And maybe that could happen before my room got totally destroyed and my mom evicted me.

  “Dude! You’re awake! We can’t, uh, do the wishes yet. In fact, if the Three-Part Plan works out the way it should, you won’t even NEED wishes. That is the magic of ancient chimp wisdom.”

  “Um, you mentioned the Three-Part Plan before. But what is it?”

  “Don’t rush, buddy. Rushing around gives you indigestion. Plus, if we start in on the plan right away, we won’t get to spend as much time just being pals. Right, pal?” He punched me playfully in the arm. I flew across the room, smashed into my 2000 World Series commemorative mirror, and slid to the floor amid a shower of glass shards. Great! Seven years of bad luck. I had a weird feeling my seven years had started earlier in the day, though.

  Mom yelled from downstairs, “William Bennett Ryan, what was that crash?”

  As Dodger mouthed Bennett? at me and giggled, I answered, “Nothing, Mom. Just getting thrown across the room by a blue chimp, that’s all.”