Ignoring all his pain, Jimmy lunged for the animal on the legs of a young, healthy dog. For a brief moment, he resembled the pup he’d been all those years ago. He tried to pin the raccoon, jaws snapping like an oversized, black piranha. This was followed by a blur of fur and teeth, the ferocious exchange pumping panic through Billy’s body. It was awful—and awesome—at the same time.
“No, Jimmy!” Billy yelled again and realized his mom had echoed the same.
Evidently, the mutt had one last fight in him and he was hell bent on making it a good one. When it came to fight or flight, Jimmy was too old and tired to run away.
As fast as it had begun, it was over and the raccoon was scampering toward the shadowy wood line.
Jimmy started back toward the house, his tail held high but limping like the geriatric mess he was. When he reached the door, Billy went to both knees and hugged his panting friend. “You’re my hero, Jimmy,” he whispered, “and you just bought yourself a visit to the vet’s office.”
After receiving his rabies booster and a slew of other shots, Jimmy couldn’t even lick his wounds in his own dog bed, which was located on the living room floor. Mrs. Pringle, the family cat, would not allow it.
It was both pathetic and comical. Jimmy was clearly capable of fighting a wild animal in the backyard to protect his family, but had it been Mrs. Pringle who’d done the threatening—and challenged the barking dog—Jimmy would have turned and run for the house with his tail tucked between his legs. This was a fact Mrs. Pringle had figured out years before. And from the day Billy’s mom had bought Jimmy the red plaid dog bed, Mrs. Pringle had never allowed the good-hearted mutt to come within a foot of it.
Billy watched as this same scenario unfolded again. “You big marshmallow, you need to teach her who’s boss,” he teased, leaving it to Jimmy to deal with the feline bully on his own.
Jimmy wasn’t three feet from the stuffed oval bed when Mrs. Pringle launched her attack, ears pinned back and teeth bared, hissing and swiping at him with paws that had been clawless since she was a kitten. Jimmy back pedaled. He tried to approach a few more times, but Mrs. Pringle defended the bed with the same ferocity each time. Jimmy finally gave up and lay at the base of the recliner, which seemed to suit Mrs. Pringle just fine.
Jimmy acted tough when he needed to, but his gentle spirit was no match for Mrs. Pringle’s wrath.
Billy shook his head. The fact that Jimmy had just beat back a vicious raccoon seemed to lose some of its glory and Billy wouldn’t have it. “Come on, you big bruiser,” he told the dog. “Let’s go get some ice cream. You’ve earned it.”
Jimmy was up on his paws, strutting past Mrs. Pringle with his tail held high again—like he’d just won a second time.
As a reward for his selfless heroism, Billy took his best friend to Somerset Creamery, the best ice cream parlor in the county.
Billy ordered himself vanilla soft serve blended with a generous amount of peanut butter cups and some chocolate sauce to bind it all together, and a cone of vanilla soft serve for his drooling companion. As usual, though it looked like Jimmy really tried, he took two quick licks before he inhaled the entire cone into his mouth and gulped the whole thing down. He gagged twice, swallowed once more and then licked his chops—resting his pleading eyes directly on Billy’s ice cream.
“That’s it, Jimmy,” Billy told him, shifting his sweet dessert from one hand to the other, away from the dog’s reach. “You’ve had yours. You’re all done.”
The dog whined—either from wanting more and knowing he couldn’t have it or from a massive brain freeze.
Going for ice cream is definitely a love/hate experience for Jimmy, Billy thought and chuckled, as he ate with his back to the mutt. After a few deep breaths, along with every ounce of his commitment and determination, Billy finished his giant frozen treat—throwing the cup and its red plastic spoon into the overflowing trash receptacle. “Your celebration’s over, hero,” he told the dog. “Let’s go home. You need to get some rest so you can heal.”
As they headed back to the rusted Honda, Billy stopped and looked down at Jimmy. “Do you think I’m cut out for the military?” he asked the mutt, while considering the idea seriously, himself. As they got into the car, Billy was already shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “They brag about getting more done before nine o’clock than most people do all day.” He grinned at Jimmy. “We’re lucky if we’re even awake by nine, never mind out of bed.” He started the ignition and the beater roared to life. He shook his head again. “I can’t imagine a greater purpose than to protect my country. I just don’t want to risk my life protecting some other country that’s been at war since before the Bible was written.” Billy threw the shifter into drive. “It looks like college is still the right path for me.”
⁕
An hour later, Billy’s bedroom door flew open and his dad barged in. “I have good news and bad news,” he told Billy, grinning. “Which do you want first?”
Jimmy’s ears stood up stiffly, ready to listen.
“The good news,” Billy said, pausing his video game, “and you can keep the bad news to yourself.”
The old man laughed. “I have a friend who has a friend who can get you an interview at Four Paws for a full-time summer position.”
“The animal shelter?” Billy asked excitedly.
His dad nodded. “The same dog pound we got Sprinkles from,” he teased, looking down at Jimmy.
The dog slowly sat up, seemingly taking offense.
Billy stroked Jimmy’s neck. “And the bad news?” he asked reluctantly.
The big man grinned. “The bad news is that you might be shoveling shit for the next few months.”
Billy smiled. “I’ve heard worse news,” he said. “When’s the interview?”
His dad shrugged. “Just head down there over the next few days. They know you’re coming.”
“Will do,” Billy said, nodding. “Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it.”
His dad winked. “Don’t mention it.” As he reached the bedroom door, he pointed toward the video game. “Though it would be too bad if it cut into your play time,” he said sarcastically.
Billy nodded. “It would be,” he replied, returning to his game.
As the door closed, Billy looked at Jimmy and grinned. “What do you think about that, boy? Me working at the same dog pound we got you from?”
Jimmy lay back down, without approval or complaint.
“Well, I think it would be pretty cool,” Billy said, before returning to the land of zombie-killing and hidden treasures.
Chapter 4
The Oriental Pearl had all the class of a gaudy casino. The exterior neon sign pulsated with a giant pearl that hovered between two fire-breathing dragons that had faced off years before to claim the prize. Inside the heavy glass doors, a thick plush carpet with swirls of red and orange covered every inch of the floor, while red and gold foil—accented in jade green—papered the walls. Big belly Buddhas and tall bamboo plants complemented the décor throughout. Light fixtures were made of hand-painted rice paper or some material fabricated to resemble it. And the bamboo partitions, separating several dining stations, were covered in the same material. Paper place mats printed with the Chinese horoscope allowed folks to discover whether they were born during the year of the dog, rat, pig or snake while they waited for their bowls of steaming lo mein and crispy egg rolls. And it was always loud in the place. Adult laughter was aided by empty Mai Tai glasses and scorpion bowls for two, while most children were essentially left unattended to play and scream. Gaudy can’t even begin to describe the place, Billy thought. Yet, it was a favorite restaurant in town and a frequent stop for Billy’s family. In all his years of enjoying the flaming pupu platters and shrimp fried rice, he’d never imagined working there.
Past the front counter—its glass case featuring souvenirs
such as Geisha girl dolls, scroll calendars, Chinese fans and boxes of fortune cookies available in both chocolate and cardboard flavors—a ramp led to the kitchen. Red swinging doors opened into the bustling kitchen, where a maroon tile floor was always covered in a film of grease. Billy quickly found the obstacle to be a challenging one when putting away clean dishes and glasses.
And Billy washed those dishes for thirty dollars each Friday and Saturday night; sixty whole bucks for slaving away an entire weekend. Each night started at five o’clock and ended at two o’clock in the morning. He picked up every shift he could.
The job was Billy’s first eye opener into the real world. No matter how hard he worked—and it had to be hard to keep up—he never made progress. He busted hump to spray down the dishes, load them onto the rack and slide them through the washer. From there, he made stacks according to geographic location within the vast kitchen before scurrying around to put them away. Silverware sorting was the most time-consuming, while glassware went quickest. Then, just when he thought he’d made a breakthrough, he looked up to realize, I have to start all over again.
Billy wiped the sweat from his forehead when he looked up to see that the dirty silverware tub was overflowing. As he sorted them face down onto the faded plastic rack, Lynn—an older, attractive waitress—approached the stainless steel shelf in front of him and sighed heavily. Billy glanced up quickly and smiled. Lynn scraped food from dirty plates into a giant, bag-lined trash barrel before stacking the plates within Billy’s reach. “You haven’t had a break yet, have you?” she said.
Without looking up at her, Billy shook his head and kept plugging away at the work in front of him. “Not yet,” he said.
“And you haven’t eaten?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he repeated. “I’ll grab something when it slows down.”
“When’s that,” she asked, “at midnight?”
Billy pulled a hot rack of clean porcelain bowls from the industrial machine and laughed. “Probably,” he said and slid the silverware rack into the steaming dish washer.
Lynn grabbed her empty tray and, before turning to serve another table, she said, “You should be out having fun with your friends, not sweating your butt off in this dump.”
Billy chuckled again. “Most of my friends don’t have to worry about paying for college,” he said and looked up for a brief moment. “Unfortunately, I need this dump to get myself there.” Billy laughed to himself. Maybe that keynote speaker did have a few good points, he thought.
“Good for you. You must want to go to college really bad,” she said, before returning to her own exhausting duties.
As Lynn walked away, Billy laughed again. Yeah, really bad, he thought, mocking himself.
Oddly enough, Billy enjoyed the work, though he finally understood the complaints of those older than him. For the first time, he realized that when he used his muscles strenuously over an extended period of time, they actually started to burn. And he also enjoyed the camaraderie shared amongst the hard-working staff—which included snickers, sighs and rolling eyes exchanged when the boss wasn’t around.
Billy put away the clean bowls and silverware and grabbed a beef teriyaki to munch on. When he returned to his station, two minutes later, a mountain of work awaited him. Here we go again.
It was half past midnight when Billy put away the last rack of clean glasses and headed for the front of the restaurant. While he waited for George Chu to pay him cash, he listened to the band, SNAFU, close out the night. The front counter was the perfect place to watch the frequent bar fights or the drunken women who sometimes exposed themselves.
“You’d better keep your blouse on tonight, Tina, or you’re out of here for good,” Steve, the bouncer, warned one of the girls.
Tina staggered a few steps, nearly falling down the three steps from the bar to the foyer. “You’re no fun,” she slurred, stumbling out of the place.
Yeah, Steve, Billy thought, disappointedly, you’re no fun at all!
It was two o’clock in the morning when Billy and some of the other staff stepped out of the building to socialize in the parking lot for another hour or so.
Though crazy to some, the whole thing made good sense to Billy. While all of his friends were out partying on the weekends, he was working—or at least that’s what others called it. To him, it was merely an early peek into adulthood.
⁕
The next morning, Billy awoke to find his brand new hundred-dollar Nike sneakers infested with ants; an army of small black creepy crawlers were attracted to the film of grease provided by the Chinese restaurant. All because of some meaningless job, he thought and told Jimmy, “It’s going to take me a weekend and a half to pay for a new pair.”
Jimmy’s silhouette whimpered from the bedroom door, as if he were saying, I really gotta go!
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Billy said, picking up the rubber-soled ant hills on his way out of the room. What a waste! he thought. I really need to land that job at the dog pound.
After breakfast and Jimmy’s morning bath, Billy decided to take the mutt for a walk. At an excruciatingly slow gait, they made it to the corner and stopped. “You want to keep going?” Billy asked him.
Jimmy collapsed into a half-prone, half-seated position, his tongue dancing to the rhythm of his heavy breathing.
“Yeah, me neither. I’m still beat from last night.” He scratched Jimmy’s head. “So what do you want to do then?” he asked.
Jimmy licked his chops once and then yawned—long and hard.
Billy chuckled. “A dog after my own heart,” he said and turned back toward the house. “Let’s just be quiet when we get back to the house. I don’t want to catch any crap about us sneaking back to bed.”
At the mention of bed, Jimmy picked up the pace.
⁕
Taking a break from his menial slave job, Billy prepared to meet Charlie and Mark at the last of the many graduation parties.
On his way out of the house, his dad caught him in the front yard. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asked.
“Another graduation party,” Billy said.
As if already disappointed, the old man took a deep breath. “Just make sure you don’t drink too much,” he said, exhaling deeply. “And you’d better not drive home drunk again!”
Although he nodded, Billy nearly choked on the hypocrisy of it all. For years, his father’s drinking and gambling had taken a front seat to his own family, serious problems that took years for him to overcome.
As Billy jumped into his car, he instantly recalled a time when his self-righteous father struggled with his own addictions.
⁕
It was an ordinary Saturday when Billy’s dad took him and Jimmy for a ride in the pickup truck, its two-tone look caused by the rust patches that were eating away at its once-green fenders. A bad exhaust leak made the beater roar, though the noise was nothing compared to the nausea they suffered from the fumes that seeped in. The rear of the truck was packed with junk, trash bags filled with empty returnable beer cans. His dad was a “collector” of sorts.
Billy loved spending time with his dad. Even if it meant he’d miss out on the thrills of a neighborhood man-hunt game or a spirited snowball fight, he loved spending time with him.
Wearing a day’s worth of sweat and mud, Billy’s neck was circled in a ring of dirt.
A tattoo with two love birds carrying a banner that read MOM bulged from his dad’s forearm. For a man who grew up in the city, he loved country music and played his CDs over and over until Billy and Jimmy knew every twang. The truck was filled with smoke, both cigarette and exhaust. Billy or Jimmy didn’t dare complain. His dad could be tough and, having his wits about him, Billy minded him. The big man said it was “respect.” Billy later discovered it was actually “fear,” an emotion which could appear very similar and have the same effec
t on a young boy. In any event, if his dad gave him the look to quiet down, Billy piped down.
As Billy recalled, Jimmy smelled as musty as ever, licking the truck’s passenger window until it became one massive smudge. The old man liked having that mutt around. As a result, some of Jimmy’s early days were spent in the passenger seat of that rusty bucket.
On this particular afternoon, in the sweltering heat, they pulled into the dirt parking lot of “the club.” The old man shut off the truck, pulled the keys from the ignition and warned Billy and Jimmy, “I have choir practice with the boys, so be good and don’t move. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” While Billy and Jimmy watched from the truck, the big man opened the building’s red door and stepped in. The door closed behind him.
Billy and Jimmy sat there quietly, taking in what little surroundings were available—the cars in the lot. Those few minutes dragged into an hour and every new license plate that showed up was a real treat. Billy spent the time imagining who owned the unfamiliar car, while making up stories about their lives that he shared with his panting dog.
After at least two hours had elapsed, his dad stumbled out of “the club” with two bags of potato chips and threw them to Billy and Jimmy. “I just need to finish up,” he slurred. “I’ll be right back.” With an eerie grin, he turned and staggered back toward “the club” where he disappeared behind its red door to conclude choir practice.
That damned door. Every magical time it opened, the hoots and hollers of people having fun spilled out. Jimmy and Billy hung out the truck window to listen. There was music and laughter and the crack of pool balls, and then the red door would close and the world would turn silent again. Billy hated when the door closed. He would have done anything to get behind that crimson door. He would have given anything to get in on the yelling and the laughter. For a few long hours, that one simple desire became bigger than anything he’d ever dreamed for.
Cramped in the truck, the games Billy played with Jimmy were ingenious, lasting until Jimmy’s tongue went dry and whimpered his sorrow. Billy tried to nap, pleading with the poor animal to do the same. When that didn’t work, he sang to his furry best friend. But most of the time, Billy just tried to ignore the rumbling in both their bellies. An hour ago, the bag of chips seemed enough. But it would have been better had we been given nothing, Billy thought defiantly.
The Changing Season Page 7
