Billy put the gear shifter into park and tried to start it again. “Damn it!” It was no use. He looked at Jimmy. “Looks like we need to call Triple A,” he said and pulled out his cell phone to dial his father.
The phone rang twice before his dad’s baritone voice answered. “Hello?”
“Dad, it’s Billy. I took Jimmy for a ride and we broke down.”
“Where are you?” the old man asked.
“Main Road,” Billy said, looking out his window, “between the Apothecary and Lees.”
“I’ll be there in ten,” his dad said and hung up the phone.
Billy tossed his cell phone onto the dashboard and grinned. His father wasn’t perfect by any stretch—but if I called him from the moon, Billy thought, he’d still come and get me.
Jimmy pulled his head back into the car and looked at Billy, as if awaiting an explanation for the delay.
“Sorry, buddy. We tried,” Billy told him. “We’ll have to go to the beach another day.”
Jimmy whimpered softly before sticking his head back out of the window and licking at the salty air. As he did, Billy noticed that the car’s inspection sticker had expired a month before. Oh no…
⁕
Billy waited up late that night but Sophie never came home. He turned into bed, wondering where she was and cursing his junk car. “The last thing I can afford right now is a new water pump,” he told Jimmy, “but it doesn’t look like I have a choice. Either that or I buy new sneakers and start walking everywhere.” He thought about it and shook his head. “The inspection sticker’s going to have to wait though.”
Jimmy sat right beside him in the bed. He turned once, twice, three times—scratching frantically before finally lying down. It was as if the dog was burrowing, creating a nocturnal nest. Jimmy then curled both his head and tail under his chest, while he cuddled up against Billy.
Billy stroked the mutt’s coat, noticing that the older Jimmy got, the more he sought out body heat. On the upside, Billy thought, at least he doesn’t squirm or wiggle around half the night like he did when he was young.
“Sorry again about the beach, Jimmy,” he whispered. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Jimmy nuzzled closer to him.
Billy closed his eyes and prepared to drift off with his best friend. Suddenly, a simple thought crossed his mind: The scholarship presentation is in two days! His eyes flew open and a wave of panic rushed through his body.
Jimmy sprang up and looked at him, whimpering once.
“It’s okay,” Billy said, breathing deeply, “I’m just really freaked out about having to speak in front of an audience.”
Jimmy licked his cheek, before lying back down and nuzzling close to Billy again.
“At least that’s one thing you’ll never have to worry about,” Billy told the considerate dog, trying to calm his negative thinking.
Jimmy nuzzled even closer, until they could feel each other’s heartbeats; he turned his head and kissed Billy’s cheek again.
Billy closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around the big oaf. He took a few deep breaths. “Thanks, buddy,” he whispered. “I appreciate the support.”
⁕
There were maybe two-dozen people in attendance—an elderly audience that looked harmless and kind. But somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. Billy’s short, shallow breaths quickly turned to hyperventilating. His extremities tingled with an overload of oxygen, while his mind raced back and forth like a hyperactive child without direction—or medication. His face felt numb and, each time he swallowed, he realized his mouth was empty of saliva—which he knew was desperately needed to deliver his presentation. He was sweating profusely and kept mopping his forehead with the white wash cloth he’d concealed in his pocket. Pure fear and jolts of panic rocked him to the core. He tried to affirm to himself, You’re going to do fine. This is nothing…just a couple of rows of nice old guys waiting to be thanked. But feelings of doom and gloom immediately contradicted those thoughts. This isn’t worth five thousand dollars, never mind five hundred, he thought. He was fighting his own war—logical mind versus pounding heart, and his feelings felt so much stronger than the lies he kept telling himself.
When he finally stepped up to the podium—having to tell both of his legs to move—he took a deep breath and felt like he was going to vomit. There was no decision now. Backing out is no longer an option, he told himself. Then, somewhere in the terrifying haze, he pictured Jimmy licking his cheek, followed by a small voice in his head that whispered, Screw it.
He unfolded his speech and cleared his throat. “Give More Than You Take by William Baker,” Billy read and couldn’t believe it when he heard his own voice speaking. “Since I was a young boy, my grandfather taught me that freedom never comes free and that patriotism matters very much. Without it, the United States of America would not be the greatest country on earth.”
One silver head after the next nodded in staunch agreement.
“Grandpa said that patriotism is the glue that has held us together since the original New England patriots stood up against the British and fought for our liberty. Patriotism is what kept us strong during the Great Depression, each World War, the Civil Rights Movement and other times when we were challenged to show our true character. And no matter how sad or tragic things get in the world, it is still the glue that binds Americans together today. Whether it’s standing up to show your respect during the National Anthem or standing up like my grandpa did to protect the weak from the strong, I believe that patriotism is the spark that inspires Americans to stand up for their beliefs and their rights. I also think that patriotism and pride are what keep people standing, even when they get scared or tired of fighting.”
The nods grew more pronounced.
“I’m so blessed for the lessons my grandfather taught me.”
Several men applauded, throwing Billy off a bit.
He took a breath and continued. “My grandfather’s death was one of the toughest experiences I’ve ever endured,” he said. “Sitting in the funeral home, surrounded by my family and others who knew him, I did not hear one word spoken of the wealth he’d accumulated throughout his life. Instead, people spoke about his service and the great sacrifices he’d made for our country in Vietnam. They also talked about the role he played in their lives and about some of the generous things he did for them. As I sat there pondering his life, I thought about the things that should truly matter and I continually asked myself, ‘How much is enough?’”
As Billy read his essay aloud, the entire experience felt surreal—like he was watching himself speak from the safety of some invisible window.
“The dollar sign and the value we’ve given it has hypnotized our society into thinking that quantity is much more precious than quality. We’ve looked past what used to be important to become a greedy and selfish nation. As I drive through certain neighborhoods, I see large mansions with a fleet of fifty-thousand-dollar cars parked in their driveways. Not even ten minutes later in another town, you can find a single, homeless mother standing outside of a liquor store, begging for enough money to feed her children. It amazes me how people within the higher class of our society are so blinded by the gleam of their shiny new cars that they can’t see their fellow Americans suffering each and every day.
“You cannot buy true love with a dollar bill and there is no cost for real friendship, so why is it that we all strive to make as much money as we can when the things that truly matter in life hold no price tag? As early as I can remember, I’ve always been told, ‘Give more than you take.’ As I’ve grown and matured, this phrase continues to ring even truer for me with every step I take. I realize I haven’t been around a long time, but I also know that this is one of the most important things that we, as human beings, can do—give more than we take. And according to my grandfather, ‘It is in that act of giving that we can build an extraordinar
y life.’
“Years from now, when I’ve drawn my final breath, I want people to say the same things about me that they said about my grandfather, the patriotic veteran. I want to be remembered for the good I’ve done and for the positive roles I’ve played in others’ lives. I don’t want people to talk about my awards or my possessions because in the end, those things aren’t important. I want to leave this earth with a set of bonds that I’ve forged with people who have meant the world to me—bonds I can carry with me wherever I may go. Ultimately, that’s the most important possession in any human being’s life.”
Billy paused and took a deep breath.
“My grandfather lived his life within the we society, where most people thought of others before themselves, building America into the great country that it is today. His generation faced difficult times and overcame many challenges to prove its true character. I, on the other hand, have been born and raised within the me society, where most people consider themselves before others and value the accumulation of material objects over building human relationships. I’d very much like to help change that.”
There was more applause, much more.
Billy paused to offer a smile of gratitude. “Since my earliest memories, I can remember my grandpa saying, ‘To be truly happy, you have to serve a purpose higher than yourself.’ I think my grandfather would be proud that I have confirmed my values and that I intend to spend my life making a positive difference in the lives of others, rather than just feeding some greed for material wealth.”
Billy took a big breath and vowed, “If I receive this scholarship, which will undoubtedly help me to achieve my college education, I have every intention of serving a purpose greater than just myself.”
When Billy finished reading the essay, he looked up; his collar was drenched in sweat. Everyone was smiling—and clapping. He couldn’t believe it. I did it, he thought. I didn’t piss my pants or die or even pass out. I actually did it. He bowed his head in appreciation, as the audience continued to applaud and the five hundred pounds he’d carried around all week lifted off his shoulders and floated away. He took a deep breath; it felt like the first one in days.
Billy stepped into a crowd of old veterans that offered one slap after the other on his back.
“Good for you, son, honoring your grandfather like that,” one of them said. “I’m sure he’d be real proud of you, if he were still with us today.”
Billy nodded politely. But I wrote what I had to in order to get accepted into college, he thought truthfully. He hadn’t lied or exaggerated about his grandfather. In fact, to him, the man had always walked on water. But as far as myself, he thought, I have no idea what the afternoon holds, never mind the future beyond it. And I have no idea what I want to do with my life. As he received another pat on the back, he was hoping his purpose would find him. Because I have absolutely no idea where to look, he thought.
⁕
Billy called Charlie again—and then again. The calls not only went unanswered but were unreturned. Charlie was creating some significant distance between them. But why? Billy wondered. I know he and Bianca are on the rocks, but that shouldn’t have to come between us. And that stupid argument we had at the party was nothing. We’ve had much worse fights. He just couldn’t make any sense of it. Undaunted, he left Charlie one voice message after the other. Within a few short weeks of their graduation, his best friend had all but shrunk away; there were no more all-night gaming marathons, watching the sun rise with orange cheese-puff powder covering their t-shirts. Billy was beside himself, alternating between confusion, anger and sadness—each emotion getting its fair share of his attention. But Charlie’s my brother and I need to figure out what the hell’s going on with him, he thought. Whatever it is, something’s wrong.
With Jimmy riding shotgun, Billy drove over to Charlie’s house and knocked on the front door. Charlie’s mom answered it. “Do you know where he is, Mrs. Philips?” Billy asked.
She shook her head. “You just missed him,” she said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “He’s been talking about selling that car of his. I think he went out to clean it again.”
Billy shook his head in disbelief. “Charlie loves that car. Are you sure?”
She nodded, blowing a plume of smoke through the screen.
“No way,” Billy muttered aloud, fanning the blue smoke cloud away from his face. Something’s definitely wrong, he now knew for sure.
“He left a few minutes ago,” she concluded, taking another drag. “Who knows when he’ll be back.”
As the screen door closed an inch from Billy’s nose, he felt a terrible darkness creep into his soul. Well, I know I’ll be back tonight, Mrs. Philips, he thought, and I’ll wait as long as it takes until I talk to Charlie and find out what’s really going on.
Billy got back into the Honda. Jimmy looked at him, as if awaiting an update. “Charlie’s not home right now, but he’ll be back.” He patted the mutt’s head. “And we’ll be waiting for him when he does, boy.”
Billy picked up his cell phone and called Mark.
“Hello?” Mark answered.
“Hey, it’s me,” Billy said. “I’m just leaving Charlie’s place. He’s not home…again.” He shook his head. “I need to drop Jimmy off at home and then I’m heading over to Nick’s. Why don’t you meet me there?”
“Did Charlie’s mother shed any light on why he’s been avoiding everyone?” Mark asked.
“No,” Billy said, “but while I was second-hand smoking one of her cancer sticks, she did tell me that he’s out cleaning his car because he’s talking about selling it.”
“No way!” Mark blurted.
“That’s what I said.”
“I’ll meet you at Nick’s in ten.”
“See you there,” Billy said, pressing down on the accelerator.
⁕
As Billy stepped through the door at Nick’s Pizza, he noticed Tony working the pizza ovens. Ma must be in the back, Billy thought.
Nick didn’t own Nick’s Pizza, Tony did—which Billy always thought was odd. Tony spotted Billy and yelled, “You ready to say goodbye to the Chinese and come work for me?”
Billy smiled. “Can you imagine me and my mother working together? She’d…”
“…kill you,” Tony said, completing the sentence and laughing.
Billy laughed along with him. “Actually, I’m all done working at the Pearl. I just got a job at the animal shelter.”
“Good for you,” the olive-skinned man said.
Tony was a good man, with raven-black hair greased back in sweat. For most people, he wore a constant scowl that Billy’s mom swore was nothing more than a disguise. Billy knew better too. He’s a sweetheart. Tony wore an old, stained polo shirt—revealing his hairy arms—beneath a once-white apron. He was short, with hair protruding from his ears and a good-sized nose that had clearly been broken at least once.
“You having the usual,” Tony asked, “tuna sub with provolone, toasted?”
Billy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Tony threw up one of his meaty hands. “You got it, buddy.”
Billy nodded his gratitude. Tony’s in a good mood today, he thought, so lunch is definitely on the house again.
Billy discovered Mark in the usual corner booth, finishing up a small mushroom, onion and cheese pizza.
“So you got your car fixed?” Mark said, as Billy took a seat across from him.
“Yeah, it needed a new water pump,” Billy said, shaking his disgusted head. “My old man just put it in.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, that’s good all right,” Billy repeated. “I had to borrow the money from him and you know how he is when it comes to handing out loans.”
“As long as you got wheels,” Mark said, smiling. “And I’m guessing you survived the presentation at the VFW?” h
e said, changing the subject.
“Barely,” Billy said. “I can’t remember ever feeling that nervous, bro.”
“At least you got paid for it,” Mark teased.
“That’s true,” Billy said, “but there must be easier ways to make money.”
Mark nodded. “So what do you think is really going on with Charlie? I’ve called him a few times but haven’t heard a word back from him.”
Billy shook his head. “I know. Same here. I just can’t figure it.”
“And he’s talking about selling his car?” Mark asked, still surprised by this.
Billy nodded again. “According to that sweet woman he calls his mother, yeah…he’s been cleaning it up, getting it ready to sell.”
Mark snickered. “Well, you have to consider the source there.” He shrugged. “She’s never had a clue about what’s going on in Charlie’s world and I don’t think she’s ever cared.”
“True,” Billy said, feeling a little bit better. “But why hasn’t he returned our calls?”
“You know Charlie,” Mark said. “He’s probably knee-deep in some sickening drama with Bianca.”
Billy chuckled, feeling better still—and realized his friend was doing all he could to make him feel better. Mark cares about other people, he thought, while most of the kids our age only care about themselves.
“And sometimes Charlie isn’t the most considerate person,” Mark added, laughing, “or the smartest.”
Billy nodded. “I know. My dad says Charlie’s like a monkey trying to make music with one cymbal.” Billy’s eyes drifted off and his face turned serious. “But he’s always been there for us when we’ve needed him.”
Mark nodded. “Ain’t that the truth. I remember when Troy Cabral was bullying me. Charlie was afraid of Troy, too, but he stood right by my side.”
To Billy’s surprise, his eyes misted over. He immediately turned in his seat, hiding it from Mark. A moment later, he offered a fake laugh. “I remember Troy telling Charlie that he was going to pound the both of you and…”
The Changing Season Page 11
