Painless

by S. A. Harazin

  “This isn’t an emergency,” I tell her.

  She takes my phone. “This is an emergency. My friend is gravely ill.” Then her forehead wrinkles, and she gives me my phone. “She said I should call nine-one-one,” Luna says.

  “No way,” I say. I call Joe and leave a message. It could be hours before he gets it. Then I call Spencer. He says he’s at college orientation in Tennessee. I’d call Veronica, but she’s scared to drive on the interstate.

  It’s ninety-eight degrees and humid. I bet the heat index is at least a hundred and ten. It’s probably more.

  “I just had the thermostat fixed,” Luna says. She pulls a tissue from the console.

  “It’s probably the radiator or a fan belt causing the problem.” I glance at Luna. She’s pretty. She’s really pretty even when she blows her nose. Cars are passing. “How far is the nearest place to get water?” I ask.

  “Several miles.”

  “I’ll check the radiator,” I say.

  “What are you going to do? Spit on it?”

  I don’t know what I’ll do. Luna reaches down and pops the hood. We get out and go to the front of the car. I start to pull the hood open, but the engine’s steaming. “Let’s wait,” I say.

  We walk over and stand under a tree by a barbed-wire fence.

  “I’ll jog to a gas station,” Luna says.

  I shake my head. “It’s too hot for anybody to jog that far. I’ll call another towing company. We can’t just stand around waiting for what’s not going to happen.”

  “We’re not. You start calling, and I’ll see if I can flag somebody down.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s dangerous.”

  Luna doesn’t listen. She goes to the side of the road and stands behind her car. She waves her arms.

  I don’t know who to call. I do a search for roadside towing and find Erwin’s Auto Service. They have a twenty-four-hour towing service, so I make the call and talk to a woman. Somebody will be here in an hour. I walk to the road, shielding my eyes from the sun. “It’ll be an hour,” I say.

  “Oh no,” she says.

  “Do you have any water?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Okay,” I say. “An hour is okay.” I go back to the shaded area and watch Luna waving. I make a couple more calls. The dispatcher at Ace Wrecker says a truck will be arriving within fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes pass, and there’s no truck. I call again. The tow truck is on the way.

  An hour passes, and then a van stops in front of Luna’s car. A big guy gets out. He has tattoos on his arms and neck.

  Luna starts talking to him, and I walk over and ask him if he would drive me to get water. “I have water,” he says.

  I follow him over to Luna’s car, and he looks at the radiator. Then he goes to his van and returns with a couple of gallons of water. He uses a rag to twist off the radiator cap, and then he pours in the water.

  “Try it now,” he says.

  Luna cranks the motor.

  I open my wallet and take out two twenties.

  “No thanks,” he says. Then he gets into his van and leaves.

  Sweat’s running down Luna’s face. “That was lucky,” she says, speeding toward my house. It’s twenty minutes away. I’ll be fine. My temperature is only a hundred and one.

  I’m really happy the guy with the tattoos came along when he did. He doesn’t know he probably kept me from having heat stroke. He probably saved my life and Luna’s.

  We make it to my house, and I tell Luna we have some gallon jugs for recycling in the garage. She can use them for water until she gets her car fixed tomorrow. I hurry onto the deck and down the stairs, and jump into the pool. A few minutes later, Luna comes outside and sits on the pool steps.

  I go over to her.

  “This is embarrassing,” she says. “What’s your temperature?”

  “Around a hundred,” I say. I can think of ten more embarrassing things. Dying in a hot car with a hot girl is one of them.

  “How long do you stay in the water?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” I say.

  “Do you care if I take a shower?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I go underwater, hold my breath for a couple of minutes, and then sit in the shallow part of the pool. Luna’s right. This is embarrassing.

  After a while Luna comes outside, and I ask if she’s hungry. She says yes. I dry off, and we go inside.

  I open the refrigerator and take out two bottles of water. I hand one to Luna and then quickly drink mine. “Want some leftover pizza? I haven’t had anything to eat today except for a hamburger.”

  “Me either,” she says and turns to look at me. “You okay now?”

  “Yeah. Don’t I look all right?” I wish she wouldn’t ask me stuff like that. I wish she wouldn’t see me as an invalid.

  It was too risky to run the air conditioner on the way here, because the car could have overheated again. But I had the window down and the wind blowing in my face.

  “You want your pizza warmed?” she asks.

  “I like cold pizza.”

  Cold or hot doesn’t make any difference to me if I’m eating.

  “I’m going to change.”

  Back downstairs, we eat pizza and then we eat giant cinnamon rolls that Veronica made, and we talk. I’ve gotten over my embarrassment, and now it’s like I’ve eaten too much happiness.

  After we eat, we watch Star Wars on TV. “Feel, don’t think. Use your instincts,” Qui-Gon Jinn says to Anakin Skywalker.

  Luna says she does not like this movie because she knows what’s going to happen to Anakin. I ask her if she’d rather watch Spider-Man.

  “No,” she says. “I hate superhero movies. They’re sad, really.” She drinks water. “Superheroes tend to be stereotypical except they look different and have different powers. They’re tortured, misunderstood souls, and they’re lonely. If most everybody was a superhero, can you imagine how boring the world would be?”

  “Chaotic,” I say.

  “I should go anyway,” she says and finishes her water. “Work tomorrow.”

  “I have a crazy idea. Stay here tonight, and I’ll take you to get your car fixed before work. I don’t know everything that’s going on with you, and you don’t need to tell me, but I think taking a chance that the car won’t overheat is a bad idea. We could walk around or watch TV, or you can fall asleep on the sofa. We’re friends, right?”

  “Friends,” she says.

  “We have a nature trail behind the house,” I say. “With amazing weeds.”

  She blinks at me. “You want to show me weeds?”

  “Nature,” I say.

  I open the back door and take her hand. We step outside onto the deck and walk down the steps. A wondrous and scary full moon hangs low. I can smell the chlorine from the pool, and I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not, but I smell barbecue. We go through the back gate and step onto the nature trail.

  Solar-powered lights shine along the path. We walk slowly. I haven’t been here since winter, when the trees were leafless and I could see everything.

  “How long is the nature trail?” she asks.

  “About five miles, but it winds around. My grand­parents built it when I was a kid so I could ride my bike in a safe place. They talked about getting me a horse, but it would’ve been a big responsibility for them, and I was almost more than they could handle. I hoped I’d get a horse every birthday and Christmas for a couple of years.”

  “I’ve never ridden a horse,” she says.

  “It’s great,” I say. “How’d you end up in Waterly, of all places? I don’t think it’s on a map.”

  “I was living at home and unable to find a job. One day I told my parents that I was moving to Orlando on Dec
ember first to work at Disney World.”

  “Why Orlando?”

  “My best friend from high school was living there. She said she’d get me on at Disney World, and we’d be roommates. When December first came, I put my stuff into the car, said good-bye, drove halfway across the country, and my car broke down here.”

  “This is not Disney World,” I say with a grin. “This is not even on the route to Disney World.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “I took a wrong turn and was heading north instead of south. Then my car broke down, and I was stuck here.”

  “You didn’t call your parents?”

  “They’d help me if I asked.” Luna stops and touches a flower. “I’ve never seen a flower like this.” She’s looking at a bush with heart-shaped leaves and purple flowers.

  “Morning glory,” I say.

  “So my car needed a new motor, and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I got a temporary job as a waitress, found a roommate, and moved in with her. We do not get along. I’m moving as soon as possible.”

  “Home or to Orlando?”

  “One or the other. I won’t be staying here.”

  My heart feels like it’s breaking. “When?”

  “Soon,” she says.

  I hear leaves crunching behind me. I twist around as my heart’s jumping into my throat and see a raccoon. I hear chirping, hissing, howling, and there’s a rhythm to it. It’s like the forest has a beating heart that’s about to explode.

  “You should’ve told me before,” I say. “I would’ve helped you.”

  “No thanks. I have a place to live and two jobs.”

  “Will you tell me before you go?”

  “I will.”

  We walk back to the house. “You want something to drink?” I ask when we’re on the deck.

  “Do you have Coke?”

  She follows me into the kitchen. “My dad warned me about moving a long way from home,” she says. “He said there wouldn’t be anyone to help me.”

  “But things are better now?”

  She sighs. “Pretty much. I’ve lost my car keys and had to have new ones made. Then I had a flat tire and a wreck. I think I’m cursed.”

  I open the refrigerator. “Joe has said I was born under the accident-waiting-to-happen star.” I hand her a Coke and lean against the counter.

  “So no skydiving, parasailing, or climbing Mount Everest?” Luna asks.

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “You believe in reincarnation?”

  “I believe in an afterlife,” I say. “My grandmother always said that when a person dies, they buy the farm. I know that’s just an expression for dying, but when I hear it, I think of a farm with people having picnics, and horses and cows grazing in the meadow.”

  “I’ve heard that expression,” Luna says. “I can’t stop thinking about your bucket list.” She takes a deep breath. “Especially the one about dying of old age. Is that possible?”

  “Anything’s possible,” I say.

  “Hopefully we’ll both grow old.” Luna sets her Coke can on the counter. “How’s the bucket list coming?”

  “I have my driver’s license.”

  “You should keep working on it.”

  “You have a bucket list?”

  “In my head,” she says.

  “What’s on it?” I ask.

  “Skydiving, hang gliding, surfing, doing something illegal.”

  Wow. My bucket list was written by a simpleton. “I’ll get a blanket and pillow for you,” I say. “Unless you want to sleep in one of the guest rooms.”

  “No. I like to sleep with the TV on, if that’s okay.”

  “I keep a light on,” I say. “If I keep the TV on, the program becomes part of my dream. Once I starred in Nightmare on Elm Street.”

  Luna laughs until she cries.

  The first thing I do when I awaken is sit straight up in the bed, and I’m thinking about Luna asleep on the sofa. I make a beeline downstairs where I see the comforter I gave Luna last night neatly folded on the sofa. I hurry to the window. Her car’s gone.

  In the kitchen, I see a note on the table. Thanks! I’m going to be really busy the next few days. I’ll talk to you one day.

  I’m kind of glad we don’t have to see each other and say awkward stuff in person like “I’ll talk to you one day.” It’s like maybe she will and maybe she won’t. Luna’s not exactly predictable.

  I follow my schedule and keep my cell phone where I won’t miss a call or a message.

  Chapter 21

  I’m not feeling too well, but I know it’s because I’m wondering what Luna is doing, and I can’t sit around doing nothing. If she doesn’t want to be around me, that will have to be okay.

  I’m going to do something, and it’s not going to kill me. When I’m showering, I remember Cameron sitting on his porch all day with his service dog. He came to Nana’s funeral and sat near the back door with Scruffy. He came to my birthday party although I don’t really know him, but what the heck? I hardly knew anybody there.

  I still haven’t sent those thank-you notes, but I write one to Cameron.

  It’s seventy-five degrees when I get up enough nerve to walk down the road to Cameron’s house with the thank-you card. Sometimes I’ve seen a dog walker walking Scruffy. I figure Cameron needs somebody to help, and I guess I might give it a shot. I don’t know yet.

  I stop at Cameron’s mailbox and take a deep breath. He’s not much older than me, and I could become like him. Cameron’s sitting in his wheelchair on his front porch, and Scruffy’s lying next to him.

  I admit, I feel bad for the dog now, but I never did until recently. I didn’t pay much attention before.

  I go up to the porch. “Hey, Cameron. Remember me? David?”

  He smiles. “Of course I remember you.”

  I hand him the thank-you card. “I was going to mail it, but I decided bringing it to you would be quicker.”

  I had written on it, Thank you for the donation to the Alzheimer’s Foundation.

  I met him the day the town had a celebration for him, and he rode in a parade waving at everybody. I felt like crying. He always seems to be on the porch waiting for something to happen.

  I don’t want to become like him, but maybe I am in a way when I drive up and down the road.

  The dog is barking at me, but his tail is wagging. “Quit,” Cameron tells Scruffy, and he stops barking. “Should you be outside?” Cameron says.

  I didn’t know he knew about me. “It’s okay for a couple of hours,” I say. “Did you know my grandmother well?”

  “I didn’t know her at all,” he says. “But she helped me get Scruffy.” Cameron tells me Scruffy was a starving puppy in Afghanistan, and he took care of him until he was wounded. He had to leave the dog behind, but an organization helped bring Scruffy to him and train him as a service dog. Scruffy did not pass his final exam.

  For once I feel like I know how to do something. “Maybe I could help him,” I say. “I could exercise him.”

  Cameron looks me up and down. His eyes fix on my cane. “I’m sorry, David. To be honest, I don’t think you can manage Scruffy.”

  At least Cameron didn’t start laughing.

  I stick out my hand and let Scruffy sniff it. “I really need a job,” I say. “I am sure I can manage.”

  This would be the perfect job for me, and it’s the only thing I can think of to do. A job standing or sitting all day wouldn’t be safe for me. I’m prone to joint deterioration because I don’t feel it if I’m standing, sitting, or sleeping the wrong way. I could end up with a joint infection and lose a limb. I know it sounds like I’m a hypochondriac, but I’m not. That’s just the way I have to live so I don’t end up in a wheelchair. A job outside or in a hot kitchen wouldn’t be safe for me either.

&nb
sp; “How come somebody like you needs a job?” Cameron says.

  I shrug. I don’t know if he means the genetically mutated me or the me with money. I smile at him. “Getting a job is on my bucket list.”

  “Wow,” he says. “You make it hard to say no.”

  “I can take Scruffy to my house, and we can swim in the pool,” I say. “He’d get a good workout, and he’d be happy.”

  “Scruffy has behavior problems,” Cameron says.

  “Because all he does is nothing,” I say. That’s how I was. I remember banging my head for attention when I was little.

  A motorcycle goes by, and Scruffy sticks his tail between his legs. He’s scared. Whenever I’ve seen Scruffy walking in front of my house, he’s barking and lunging. I lean against the porch post and it moves, so I stand up straight. “He needs more exercise,” I say. What he really needs is to gain confidence. Exercise would help.

  “Do you know anything about dogs?” Cameron asks.

  I shake my head. “I love dogs, and I know about exercise and swimming,” I say. And I know about feeling insecure.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish I could hire you, but I can’t.”

  “I’m doing it for free,” I say.

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I don’t need money.” It’s lonely at my house. I need to have a purpose.

  Cameron smiles again. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” he says.

  I shake my head. “I’m jealous,” I say. “You’ve done a ton of things. I’ve never done hardly anything.”

  “Okay,” he says. “I need a backup person I can depend upon. Just be careful and avoid trucks. Scruffy chases trucks.”

  Wow. Nobody has ever needed to depend upon me before.

  “I’ll bring him back in an hour,” I say.

  Cameron hands me the leash. “If you’re sure,” he says.

  I am. You’d think I was desperate to do something.

  Scruffy drags me down the road, and it’s hard for me to keep my balance and go any faster. My hands don’t stop shaking until after we go through the back gate and stop at the pool. Then I untangle my hands from the leash. I check my shoulder to make sure it isn’t dislocated and set Scruffy free. He only looks around. I find a stick and toss it into the water. He charges, jumps in, and starts paddling, but he’s sinking.