Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up

by Tommy Greenwald

  “I’m coming with you,” I told my dad, without even thinking about it. “I’m coming with you and Moose.”

  He shook his head. “Not a good idea. I don’t know how long this will take. You can’t miss graduation, Charlie Joe. I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Katie, just letting me know that she was there for me, whatever I decided to do.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t care about graduation. I’m coming with you to take care of Moose, and that’s final.”

  Megan put her hand on my other shoulder. “Charlie Joe, I’m sorry what I said about you feeding Moose too much human food,” she said. “This has nothing to do with that.”

  “But it might!” I said, my voice cracking a little. “It might.”

  My dad sighed, while my mom bent down and hugged Moose. She smiled up at me and nodded.

  “Okay, Charlie Joe,” she said. “Go on with Dad. Just get our dog healthy and get back here as soon as you can, okay? We need you here. Both of you.”

  “I will,” I said, as I hugged her and Katie goodbye. “I promise.”

  We finally got Moose to his feet and into the car. “You’ll be okay,” I kept repeating. “You’ll be okay.”

  I think I was trying to convince myself more than him.

  * * *

  FLASHBACK!!

  After months and months of begging, pleading, whining, moaning, groaning, and occasionally whimpering, young Charlie Joe Jackson realized that the only way he was going to end up getting a dog was by asking nicely.

  “Mom? Dad?” he said one day, in his sweetest, most loving voice. “I was wondering if perhaps someday we might be able to possibly get a wonderful young dog that would complete our family in a most delightful way?”

  Well, he probably MEANT to say it that way. But, since he was only in kindergarten at the time, it probably came out more like, “I want a dog! NOW!!!!”

  Charlie Joe’s older sister, Megan, also wanted a dog, although she was much more polite about asking than Charlie Joe was. She was much more polite about everything than Charlie Joe was. Which was fine with him. Charlie Joe wasn’t much interested in politeness.

  What neither of the children knew, however, was that their father also wanted a dog. Mr. Jackson always had dogs when he was growing up, and had decided that it was time to take the plunge as an adult. He was ready!

  It was Mrs. Jackson who was the last hold-out.

  Charlie Joe loved his mother very, very much. He thought she was just about perfect. Why only “just about?” Because the only thing that she lacked was a desire to get a dog. Unlike her husband, Mrs. Jackson had not grown up with dogs. She did not consider herself a “dog person.” She worried about shedding, and pee stains, and loud barking at all hours of the night.

  “Who will take care of it all day long?” she said. “I will, that’s who.”

  They all tried to argue with her, of course, but it was no use. Mainly because she was right.

  Then, one day, a miracle happened. Charlie Joe was having his usual after-school bowl of cereal when his mom came into the kitchen.

  “Patty Gibson called me this morning,” she said. “She heard about a beautiful lab who needs a home because the man who owns him just got married, and his new wife is allergic.”

  Charlie Joe looked up at his mom, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She knew how her son felt. There wasn’t anything he could say at that point that would have made a difference. It was up to her. So Charlie Joe waited. Hoped, and waited.

  “I just talked to Dad on the phone,” she added. “The good thing is that the dog is about two years old, and fully housebroken.”

  “That’s good,” Charlie Joe said, trying to stay cool.

  His mom sat down. “The dog is going to be brought over here tonight. We’ll see how it goes for a week or so, and then make a final decision. No promises, okay?”

  Charlie Joe nodded. “Okay,” he said, as calmly as possible, which wasn’t easy, since he was screaming with excitement on the inside. “What’s his name?”

  “Oh jeez,” said his mom. “I forgot to ask.”

  It took about twenty years for the next three hours to go by. Finally, at six-thirty, the doorbell rang. The whole family ran to open the door.

  Charlie Joe didn’t even notice the human who was standing there. All he saw was a huge yellow head staring up at him. With two huge brown eyes. And a tail the size of a baseball bat, smacking into the door frame.

  “This is Moose,” said the person who was standing there.

  Charlie Joe bent down and scratched Moose’s ear. The dog gave out a soft, happy groan. “Hey, Moose. I’m Charlie Joe. Wanna come inside and play?”

  And they were off and running.

  For the first few days, Moose was a little wild. He was probably pretty nervous, because he was in a new place. And when Charlie Joe’s mom tried to take Moose for walks, he nearly tore her arm off because he was so strong! But after a few days, he calmed down and even started taking short naps. Every night at dinner, the family would gather around and watch in amazement as Moose polished off his bowl in about three monster bites.

  “He enjoys eating,” said Charlie Joe’s mom, in the understatement of the year.

  Then one night, after they’d had Moose for about five days, Charlie Joe’s mom tucked Charlie Joe into bed and started reading him a story, just like she did every night. It was a funny story about a skunk that smelled like roses, which made all the other skunks make fun of him. But the rose-smelling skunk ends up becoming friends with a little girl, who saves the skunk family from being kicked out of their home, so the rose-smelling skunk ends up being a hero.

  It was one of little Charlie Joe’s favorite stories.

  Halfway through the story, he felt something brush up against the blanket. It was Moose, coming to say hi.

  “Is Moose allowed on the bed?” Charlie Joe asked his mom. “Just for tonight?”

  She nodded. “He must want to hear the story, too,” she said.

  “Come here, boy!” said Charlie Joe, and the big dog jumped up, put his giant paws on the pillow, and licked Charlie Joe’s face with a big SLURP!

  Moose slept on Charlie Joe’s bed for the next nine years.

  * * *

  14

  5:20 pm

  The only thing dogs hate more than finishing their dinner is going to the veterinarian.

  Which is why Moose, who had been lethargic and groggy during the whole car ride, suddenly sprang to full attention when we pulled into Dr. Dixon’s parking lot.

  There’s no way I’m going in there, he said, without having to actually say it.

  “Come on, Schmoo,” I said, using one of Moose’s many nicknames. “This is important. We need to make you all better.”

  Finally, we were able to talk Moose into going inside. He started to tremble a tiny bit as soon as we walked through the door. I think I might have been trembling, too.

  “Well, hello!” said Dr. Dixon, in her incredibly friendly way. The weird thing about vets is that no matter how kind they might be to your animal, or how nice or awesome they are in general, you never want to see them. Because if you’re with them, that means something’s wrong with your pet.

  Dr. Dixon was like that. She was one of the nicest people I’d ever met. But I was sorry to see her, as usual.

  “What’s going on, big fella?” she said, leaning down and scratching Moose’s ear. Then she tried to give him a biscuit, but he wasn’t interested. “Hmmm,” she said. I knew what that meant. Dogs are all about food. If they don’t want to eat, you know something is really wrong.

  “I’m going to take him inside for a quick look,” Dr. Dixon said. “Why don’t you guys stay here for just a minute?”

  “Can’t we go with you?” I asked.

  “Not quite yet,” the doctor said. “Don’t want to make him too nervous.”

  “He’s nervous without me!” I petted Moose, to
calm myself down as much as him.

  “Just let Dr. Dixon do her work,” said my dad.

  She led Moose into the next room. He went without complaint. I guess he trusted her.

  For the next several minutes, I stared up at the TV that was playing in the waiting area, but I wasn’t really watching it. There was one other person there, a woman sitting with a cat on her lap. The cat had one of those cone thingies around its neck, and he didn’t look too happy about it. If the only thing that was wrong with Moose was that he needed a cone around his neck, I’d be the happiest person in the world.

  My dad looked nervously at his watch. “We’re going to be late,” he muttered, mainly to himself.

  Finally, the doctor came back out, without Moose. “We’re going to need to do a few tests,” she said. “I think it’s something with his liver or his stomach.” She took a beat before saying the next sentence. “I can’t rule out anything at this point. With dogs this age, there are a lot of possibilities.”

  “Like what?” I said. I could feel my stomach start to ball up in a knot. “Like cancer? Dad?”

  My dad put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Charlie Joe. We don’t know anything for sure yet.”

  Dr. Dixon looked at me, then at my dad. “It’s best if we keep Moose here tonight. We should know a lot more tomorrow.”

  “I’m staying with him,” I announced. “Moose needs me here. I’m staying.”

  “That’s not possible,” said my dad. “You have graduation.”

  “It is possible.”

  “You can’t stay with Moose overnight. Isn’t that right, Dr. Dixon?”

  Dr. Dixon, who was writing in her pad while pretending not to eavesdrop, nodded.

  I shook my head. “That’s okay, I can stay with him until bedtime.”

  “You’re not being reasonable,” my dad said. I could hear the desperation starting to creep into his voice. He was going to get upset in about two seconds.

  “Dad!” I looked back and forth from him to Dr. Dixon. There was no way I was going anywhere. I played the only card I had left.

  “It’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want on my birthday.”

  “You want to skip your middle school graduation?” my dad asked, his voice rising a tiny bit. “Where all your friends are? And your teachers? After winning that award? You seriously want to do that?”

  I didn’t even have to think for a second.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” said my dad. Then he sighed loudly and scratched the back of his head for what seemed like five minutes.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll go call mom.” He went back outside to the car, where he’d left his phone.

  I looked at Dr. Dixon, who finally put her pen down.

  “You must really love that dog,” she said.

  Part Three

  THE END (OR THE BEGINNING, DEPENDING ON HOW YOU LOOK AT IT)

  15

  5:38 pm

  I knew Moose was glad I was there, even though he didn’t really show it.

  He wasn’t doing much of anything, except sleeping. He was on some kind of medicine that made him super tired. Besides, Moose slept a lot even when he was feeling great. All dogs do, especially older dogs.

  But every once in a while, his eyes would open, and he would see me, and his tail would move just a little bit, and I knew he was happy I was there.

  We were in a small room, with just one small light on, so it was pretty dark. My dad had left to get me something to eat, and the doctor was busy working, so I was there by myself. There wasn’t a lot to do, so I went back over the whole day in my head. Jumping in the pool at Jake’s house with Teddy, then driving around to The Scooper Bowl, and Jookie’s, and the baseball field. And Moose and Coco were with me the whole time. They loved that, right? But maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was too much to think Moose could just be running around all day, eating French fries and PowerBars and half-eaten hot dogs. He was an old man by now. Even if he wanted to come, it wasn’t a good idea.

  Maybe this whole thing was my fault.

  I got up to pet Moose. “I’m sorry, Schmoo,” I said. “From now on I’m just going to let you snooze under the tree in the front yard and eat healthy dog biscuits. You’ve earned it. Think of it as a nice retirement.”

  He looked up at me and put his paw on my arm.

  It was getting hot in there, and I realized I was still wearing my ridiculously uncomfortable dress jacket. While I was folding it (okay, throwing it) on the chair, something fell out of the inside pocket. It was the laminated copy of the story I wrote, which I’d been given as my award.

  I looked at it. It was called “Moose and Bear.”

  “It’s named after you,” I told Moose.

  I hadn’t read it since I’d turned it in about three months earlier.

  “I wonder if it’s any good,” I said again, also to Moose. But he wasn’t listening—he was fast asleep again, snoring away.

  I looked over the story—it wasn’t that long. And it’s not as though I had a lot of other things to do, sitting there watching my snoozing dog.

  So I decided to read it.

  MOOSE AND BEAR

  By Charlie Joe Jackson

  This is Moose.

  This is Bear.

  They’re best friends.

  They live in the same house.

  But they’re confused.

  “You don’t look like a Bear,” said Moose.

  “You don’t look like a Moose,” said Bear.

  “Bears have growly voices,” said Moose. “Let me hear you growl.”

  Bear growled. Moose shook his head.

  “That was not a growl,” said Moose. “That was a whisper.”

  Bear was insulted.

  “Moose have antlers,” said Bear. “Let me see your antlers.”

  Moose showed Bear his antlers. Bear shook his head.

  “Those aren’t antlers,” said Bear. “Those are furry little ears.”

  It was Moose’s turn to get insulted.

  “I don’t care what you say,” Moose said. “I’m a moose.”

  “And I don’t care what you say,” Bear said. “I’m a bear.”

  “Prove it,” said Moose.

  “Prove it,” said Bear.

  So they went outside.

  Moose pointed to a tall tree.

  “Bears climb trees,” he said. “Climb that tree.”

  “Be glad to,” Bear said.

  She scrambled up to the first branch.

  “The whole tree,” Moose insisted.

  “Absolutely,” Bear said.

  She scrambled up to a higher branch.

  Then she looked down. The ground was very far away.

  “I think I’m stuck,” said Bear.

  “Some bear you are,” said Moose.

  Then Bear pointed at another tree, even taller than the first tree.

  “Moose eat leaves,” she said. “Eat those leaves.”

  “Easy peasy,” Moose said.

  He jumped up to the first branch and ate the leaves.

  “All the leaves,” Bear commanded.

  “Not a problem,” Moose said.

  He jumped up to a higher branch and ate some more leaves.

  Then he looked down. The ground was very, very far away.

  “I think I’m stuck, too,” said Moose.

  “Some moose you are,” said Bear.

  So there they sat.

  Moose in one tree.

  Bear in the other tree.

  And neither one could move.

  Soon, it started to get dark.

  Moose and Bear were tired and scared.

  Then Bear looked at Moose.

  “Maybe you’re not an ordinary moose,” she called to her friend.

  And Moose looked back at Bear.

  “And maybe you’re not an ordinary bear,” he called back.

  They looked at each other.

  “You’re an extraordinary Moose,” said
Bear.

  “You’re an extraordinary Bear,” said Moose.

  They both thought about that for a minute.

  And they felt better.

  Then, Moose lifted his head.

  “I hear someone!” he said.

  They looked down and saw their owner walking in the yard.

  “Wow, how did you hear her?” Bear asked Moose.

  “My extraordinary antlers,” Moose said proudly.

  Bear started yelling. “We’re up here! Help! Help!”

  Their owner heard Bear and stopped.

  “Wow, how can you yell that loud?” Moose asked Bear.

  “My extraordinarily growly voice,” Bear said proudly.

  Then their owner looked up and saw Bear and Moose.

  “Moose! Bear!” she called. “I’ve been looking all over for you two! How did you get up there?”

  They were too embarrassed to answer.

  Their owner got a ladder and got Bear down from one tree.

  Then she pulled Moose down from the other tree.

  Moose and Bear hugged each other.

  Then their owner hugged them both.

  “Silly dogs,” she said.

  And Bear and Moose were more confused than ever.

  THE END

  16

  5:50 pm.

  “That’s a pretty good story,” I whispered to myself.

  My phone buzzed.

  A text from Dad: Mom and me on way, need anything?

  I texted back: Nope. Just Moose to get better!

  Dad: I know. See you in a few.

  I looked down at my snoring dog. “Moose, do you sometimes wish you never grew up?” I whispered. “Are you able to remember back when you were a puppy? Do you remember when we first got you, how young and strong you were? Is it hard getting older? Is it hard growing up? Don’t you wish you could have stayed young forever?” I petted him, and he stirred a little bit. “Sometimes I do,” I told him. “Sometimes I wish I could stay a kid forever.”

  A minute later, I heard someone calling me down the hall.

  “Charlie Joe?” It was my mom.

  “Where are you, birthday boy?” called my dad.