The whole family goes to a party where the kindergarteners graduate to first grade. All Tanya’s friends are wearing big bows in their hair and holding hands. The teacher gives Tanya a piece of paper with a giant smiley face on it saying she’s an honor student—in kindergarten.
Daddy and Mama want to be happy but they can’t because Daddy’s job clearing out all those broke trees is over. What they can do, they’ve done.
When we get home that night, Daddy and Mama sit together at the table in that little apartment. They got the newspaper spread out in front of them and every once in a while they make a circle around a notice for a job. Daddy’s shaking his head. Mama’s wrapping her hands together.
“What are we going to do now?” she says.
Daddy folds up the newspaper. He sits back. He crosses his arms over his chest. He looks Mama in the face. “We’re going to go home,” he says.
And so we do.
We can’t move into the house to start. It ain’t close to ready. No rain can get in because we fixed the roof where the pecan tree came through. A bunch of men from the church helped us get the front porch straightened out, and we got it mostly mucked out. But it ain’t got hardly no inside walls, and the outside walls are just the weatherboard nailed on the studs. Mama won’t even come look at it much less live in it, especially once she hears about the squatters.
Brother James fixes up a place for her with a widow two streets over. That widow’s old and she needs somebody to look after her. Mama can do that while she’s chasing Baby Terrell. Mama says maybe the widow will let her use the kitchen to make a few pralines again. And if she’s going to be cooking for the widow, maybe she can cook up a few lunches to sell to the people working on the houses.
The problem is that the widow’s only got one extra bedroom. Daddy’s got to sleep in the old house or on the street. I say I’ll sleep with him in the house. Mama says over her dead body. She says it ain’t safe. Daddy says it’s us being there that’s going to make it safe, and besides we like camping out.
He’s tee-heeing about that, but Mama ain’t laughing at all. After a while, though, she nods her head. “Okay,” she says. “I guess you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”
So Mama and Tanya and Baby Terrell move into the old lady’s extra room, and Daddy and Rover and me move into the old house full-time. Rover thinks he’s in heaven getting to chase rats every day. The good thing is, he don’t line them up on the porch anymore, and I’ve just about taught him not to jump all over me, especially when he’s got one hanging in his mouth.
Daddy ain’t got no regular job, but he’s picking up day work gutting houses and clearing lots. He works on the old house whenever he can scrape up enough money to buy some boards or nails or whatever else he needs. He gives me projects every day when he’s gone. I’m getting good at ripping stuff out. Next he’s going to teach me how to hang Sheetrock.
Summer is almost halfway over, and truth be told, that house don’t look much different.
Daddy’s starting to sit with his head in his hands again. He’s starting to get those lines in his face.
Then one afternoon I look up from where I’m nailing down a loose board on the front porch and here comes Mama with Tanya and Baby Terrell. They ain’t never been by before, not the whole time since we’ve been back. Tanya’s wearing her crown and holding Baby Terrell by the hand. Mama’s pulling an old, rusty wagon. Inside that wagon are two great big cooking pots and a cardboard box full of paper bowls, napkins, and plastic forks with a great big old loaf of white bread laid over the top. Stuck on the side of the box with tape is a sign that says, MAMA’S HOME COOKING. I can tell Tanya colored it because the S is backward.
“There’s two servings still left,” Mama says, “and I won’t charge you.”
She puts down the handle of the wagon and picks up Baby Terrell. Tanya grabs hold of her skirt.
Then Mama just stands in the yard and looks. I see her eyes going up to the big X above the front porch roof. She looks at me and she looks at that X and I know what she’s thinking.
Tanya’s lifting up her thumb toward her mouth.
“Don’t stick that in your mouth,” I say.
Tanya jumps and stares at me. “You ain’t my daddy,” she says.
I lift up my hand like I’m going to wallop her, and Mama says, “Li’l T, I thought you were older than that.”
I let my hand down. I feel ashamed and I feel sad.
Then I look up at the house with them. I ain’t noticed before how the yard is all full of weeds and they’re almost tall as me. I ain’t seen the way the grass is growing up through cracks in the sidewalk and practically covering it up. I ain’t noticed the way the paint is peeling off in great big old chunks the size of my hand all the way up the side of the house to where that water mark is still a dirty, black line. It’s been a long time since I noticed that the bushes up by the porch are just dried-up brown sticks or that the stump of the pecan tree is all covered over with cat’s claw vine and morning glory.
Then along comes Rover galloping like a racehorse around the corner of the house. He skids to a stop in front of us with his tongue flopping out and his tail going a mile a minute. He ain’t seen Mama and them since we started camping in the old house. He bounces around on his feet and barks. Mama almost smiles.
“That dog’s grown,” she says.
Baby Terrell’s trying to jump out of her arms. She’s holding on to him the best she can. “You can’t get down,” she says. “It’s too dangerous.”
“No!” he shouts, and we all stop in our tracks and look at him.
“Did he say no?” I say.
Mama’s looking at him like she’s proud. “Did you say no?” she says. “Did you say that, Baby Terrell?”
He’s flopping himself hard. “No!” he yells again. “No! No! No!”
Then we’re all laughing and Mama finally puts him on the ground. “I guess if you can talk, I better let you walk. Li’l T, don’t let him out of your sight. I’m going to have a look at this old house. I guess I have to.”
Mama goes inside, and Daddy’s hammer stops. She stays inside a long, long time. I eat a bowl of red beans and rice and three pieces of bread. I throw a stick for Rover. He runs to pick it up and brings it back. Baby Terrell claps his hands. We do it all again. Tanya’s sitting on the steps. She’s sitting on her hands so her thumb won’t accidentally slide into her mouth. Rover goes running up to her and jumps on her and her crown almost falls off.
“Bad dog,” she says. “Go away,” she says, but she’s laughing.
“Say down,” I tell her. “He don’t understand go away.”
She’s too busy straightening up her crown to pay any attention.
“Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba,” Baby Terrell says.
Then I look up and there’s Mama, standing in the front door. She’s standing there looking at us sitting on the steps. She looks at Tanya and she looks at me and she looks at Baby Terrell. We’re looking back at her.
“What are you staring at?” she says all a sudden.
“Your face is all wet,” Tanya says.
Mama reaches up and rubs her hand across her cheeks.
“Now it’s dirty,” Tanya says.
Mama closes her eyes and takes a big breath. “And you think that’s funny, I guess.”
Tanya shakes her head real slow.
“It’s okay, Mama,” I say. “It’s going to be all right.”
“You aren’t old enough to tell me that,” she snaps back at me. “Besides I’ve got something to tell you. Me and Tanya are going to take that wagon and walk to the store. I’ve got enough cash in my pocket right here to buy us a couple jugs of bleach and some scrub brushes. You’re going to watch Baby Terrell. When we get back, we’re going to set up Tanya and Baby Terrell in the front room where
he can’t get loose. And then you and me are going to start washing the wood. I figure if I don’t start helping out, this house isn’t ever going to be done. Come on, Tanya. You’re going to carry the brushes.”
Mama don’t like working with that bleach. Daddy teases her and says she’s going to turn white. She says if she does it’ll only be in spots and that’ll make her a leopard and he better watch out if he gets too close.
Daddy laughs out loud and Mama smiles a little, and I just keep on scrubbing.
Daddy’s got an electrician lined up to come fix the wires as soon as it’s all washed. A man from the church is going to help with the pipes. Then we can start hanging the Sheetrock. Things are finally moving along.
One day I’m taking a break from scrubbing and sitting outside watching Baby Terrell with Tanya when I look up and there’s Brother James, standing just inside the gate.
“Your mama and daddy inside?” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go get them. I’ve got something to tell y’all. I’ll watch the baby.”
I go inside. The house is dark and quiet. Little spots of dust are floating in the air where the sun’s coming through the cracks. Then I hear their voices. They’re upstairs. I climb up the creaky stairs. When I get there, they ain’t scrubbing. They’re standing in their bedroom except it ain’t got any walls. They’re hugging.
“Brother James is here,” I say. “He says go get you.”
“Brother James?” Daddy says.
Mama rubs her hand across her face. “How do I look?” she says.
“Strong,” Daddy says.
We walk out on the porch and Brother James is bouncing Baby Terrell up and down on his knee like Granpa T used to do. Baby Terrell’s laughing and squealing and Tanya is squinched over to one side, smiling and sitting on her hands.
Everybody says their hellos and finds a shady place to sit.
“Y’all get to watch much TV?” Brother James says.
Daddy laughs a little. “Ain’t got no electricity, Brother James. Can’t watch much TV that way.”
“True.” Brother James nods. “Then y’all probably didn’t see that show last night.”
We’re all shaking our heads.
“It was about Katrina.”
We all make faces.
“It was about the rescuers. The ones who saved the dogs.”
I sit up.
“There must have been a hundred different groups that came in and saved those animals. They were telling about how they found cats and birds and dogs—especially dogs—all left behind. They said at first they thought the people had just abandoned their pets. They thought the people just didn’t love them.”
“But our car was too little!” I say. “We thought we’d be right back!”
“They figured it out,” Brother James says, and nods. “They’re smart people. They figured it out.”
We’re all sitting there real quiet just looking at the dead yard. Rover is poking his nose in the stick bushes and piles of trash. His tail is going back and forth like it’s attached to an engine. He bends down on his front legs and whines a little.
“He sees a rat,” Brother James says.
“He finds a lot of them,” Daddy says.
We all nod.
I’m watching Rover but now I’m thinking about Buddy. Buddy didn’t bother about rats. And he didn’t jump on people. He didn’t tear around the yard like he was crazy. He barked the squirrels away, and then he laid in the cool of the tree until I came to talk to him. That’s what Buddy did. He laid still. And he listened to me.
“I guess,” Brother James goes on, “since y’all didn’t see the show, you didn’t see about that shelter out in California somewhere.”
We shake our heads and keep on watching Rover. I wish he would either catch that rat or leave it alone.
“It’s a fine shelter,” Brother James says. “Looks like a fancy resort hotel for dogs.”
Rover jumps and yelps.
“Just catch it!” I yell at him.
“They showed some of the dogs living there. Some of the ones from Katrina.”
I turn to look at him.
He looks at me. “One of those dogs was a black dog—a black dog with three legs.”
“Buddy!” I shout, and jump up. “You saw Buddy on TV!”
Brother James grins real big.
“I wanted you to know he’s okay, Li’l T. He made it out. He’s safe. He’s a California dog now, but he’s safe.”
“Daddy,” I say. “Let’s go get him.”
31
Right away they start making excuses. We don’t know what shelter that is. It’s too far away. How are we going to get there? Where are we going to get that kind of money?
“But we can find out what shelter it is, can’t we, Brother James?” I’m standing right up close to him. I’ve got his arm in my two hands. I’m shaking it.
“I guess so,” he says, kind of laughing. “We could probably call the TV station. Somebody there ought to know.”
“How much does it cost to get to California? A hundred dollars?”
They all laugh. “A thousand is more like it,” they say.
“For all of us?”
“For one of us,” Daddy says. “Slow down, Li’l T.” He stands up. “We’re not the kind of people who can just pick up and go to California.” He stands there kind of quiet for minute. “I’m sorry, son,” he says. Then he picks up his hammer and he heads back inside.
I can’t sleep that night. I’m laying there on my air mattress thinking about Buddy in a cage in California. I’m thinking about how he needs me to tell him stories. How he wants to put his nose in the palm of my hand. I’m wondering what he would think if he knew about Rover. Would he think I forgot him? Would he think I said, “I don’t want no piece of a dog. I want me a whole dog”?
I’m thinking we’ve got money somewhere. Look at that Sheetrock Daddy just piled up in the front room. Look at those shingles he’s nailing on the porch roof every day. Where does that stuff come from if we ain’t got money?
A thousand dollars. I could earn that much. I could work. Doing odd jobs around. I ain’t got no lawn mower anymore but I could do the mowing if somebody had the machine. I could muck out houses. My bicycle’s gone, but my legs are strong. I could pick up the trash everywhere. Daddy’s going to teach me how to nail Sheetrock. And I know how to saw a board straight. Ain’t everybody can do that.
I’m thinking I could even build a new shed with all the junk wood laying around. I could find an old army blanket just like Granpa T’s. I could find new bowls and make a new sign. I could fix it all up almost exactly like it was before.
I’m turning back and forth on my air mattress. It’s hot in that house with no fans and no air conditioner. I can hear the crickets in the trees and a car or two on a street somewhere far away. I hear Rover snuffling around under the house and settling in to his sleeping place right below my bed.
And I’m laying there, sweating and doing numbers. How long would it take me to earn a thousand dollars? What could I do to get it?
One more time I’m thinking up a plan. One more time I’m figuring out a way. Because there’s one thing I know for sure—I’m going to get that money and I’m going to bring my Buddy home.
The next Sunday I go to church with an armload of signs. I stick them up on the bulletin board by the sanctuary. I stick them up on the wall by the Sunday school. I start handing them out to the people as they walk in the door.
Mama shakes her head. Daddy says I’m crazy. I say I want my dog.
BOY FOR HIRE, my sign says. WHAT YOU NEED DONE, I’LL DO IT. That’s in big letters. Then it says, “Katrina rescuers took my dog to California. I got to go get him. It costs a thousand dollars to go to Cali
fornia.” Then I put a picture of a dog. I drew it just like Buddy—black with three legs. Then under the picture it says, “Please help me get my dog back. Tyrone Elijah Roberts.”
When I walk in to sit down, I see people looking at me. Mrs. Washington’s nephew nods but he don’t smile. Mr. Nelson’s grinning. A little white boy stands up on his seat just to get an eyeful. I try to act like I know what I’m doing. I try to act like a boy who can do anything.
After church, I go home and wait for the phone to ring.
The first call comes from Brother James. “The church still has a lawn,” he says. “And it’s still got a lawn mower.”
“When do you want me to come?”
“Saturday. Just like before.”
The second call comes from Mrs. Washington’s nephew. He says his name is Eddie. He says he’s doing that house all by himself. He says sometimes he could use a hand.
“When do you want me to come?”
“I’ll be at work tomorrow,” he says. “What about the next day?”
A white lady three streets off and around the corner needs somebody to pull out all her dead bushes. She says she’s finally tired of looking at them.
I take Rover with me on that one. I figure he’s about as good at digging as anybody. I almost fall out laughing when I see those bushes. They’re dead as everything else, but that lady took spray paint and sprayed all the leaves green. “It helped for a while,” she says, “but it’s time to plant new.”
Everybody I work for tells me, “Good luck with your dog.”
I tell them, “Call me again. And tell your friends to call me, too.”
Daddy catches me one night sitting on my mattress counting my money. I’ve got the battery lamp lit up beside me and I’m putting the fives in one stack, the tens in another, and my single twenty all by itself.
“How much you got?” Daddy says.
“Sixty bucks.”
“In one week?”
Buddy Page 15
