Buddy

by M. H. Herlong

  “Shouldn’t we call the doctor?” Daddy says.

  “No,” she says. “He’ll be okay. This happens.”

  I look and there’s Buddy, standing by the bed watching Brian jerk. Buddy’s whining a little bit. He’s poking his nose at Brian’s foot where it’s hanging off the bed.

  “Good dog,” the lady says.

  And then Brian’s still. He turns his eyes to his mama like he’s exhausted. “It’s okay,” she says. “Go on to sleep now. You’re fine.”

  She helps Buddy climb back up on the bed and he snuggles up next to Brian. He licks Brian’s face and rests his head on Brian’s stomach. Brian puts his hand on Buddy’s back and closes his eyes. Buddy looks up at us and blinks.

  The lady stands up and we all go out. She shuts off the light.

  “He’ll sleep now,” she says. She looks at Daddy and tries to smile. “Good night. Thank you.”

  Me and Daddy go back in our room. We climb back in our beds. We lay there in the dark waiting for the light.

  37

  When I wake up again, Daddy’s standing next to me all showered and dressed.

  “Get up, sleepyhead,” he says. “This is your big day.”

  When Daddy leaves out, I go and look out that skinny window. That California grass just ain’t green enough. And those trees ain’t much more than bushes. And all the stuff growing up next to the house looks spiky and mean.

  I go out to the family room and they’re all sitting out on the patio drinking orange juice and eating cantaloupe. When I whush open that sliding door, Buddy lifts up his head and thumps his tail.

  “Look at that,” Daddy says. “He’s looking forward to going home.”

  I sit down next to Brian. He’s got a bandage on his hand where he whacked it on the headboard. He don’t look at me.

  I can’t eat any cantaloupe. I can’t drink any juice.

  “How about some toast?” the lady says. Her mouth is full of teeth just like Tanya’s, and it’s smiling. But her eyes ain’t smiling.

  “No thank you, ma’am,” I say, polite as I know how. “I guess I’m just not hungry.”

  “It’s an exciting day,” she says, and grins her fakey-looking grin.

  The lady’s still all bright and smiley while we pack our things in the car and get Buddy to climb in the pen in the backseat. She’s talking and talking and we’re getting in the car and I notice Brian ain’t getting in with us.

  He’s just standing there by the front door with his hands shoved down in his pockets, staring off at the mountains in the distance.

  When we’re all packed up she says, “Okay, sweetheart. Go on now.”

  He looks at her almost like he hates her. Then he stomps across the yard to the neighbor’s house. He’s standing there ringing the bell while we’re shutting the car doors. He goes inside just as we pull out of the drive.

  The lady’s holding on to that steering wheel like she’s afraid it’s going to fly out of her hands. She’s staring at the road and blinking hard. She reaches over and snaps on the radio. Daddy and me both know better than to talk.

  We’re going back down that twisty-turny road. We’re passing the fallen-in mountain. We’re passing those old, dry cactuses hanging on the side of the hill.

  Then we’re turning onto the superhighway with about a million other cars. That radio keeps on playing, one song after the other.

  I stick my hand in Buddy’s cage and he rests his head in the palm of my hand.

  “Does he have those fits much?” I whisper to Buddy, but Buddy don’t say anything. “Is that why he don’t ride a bicycle?” I say real quiet. Then I lean down close as I can get to Buddy’s ear. I smell his smell. “Where do you suppose Brian’s daddy is?”

  Buddy starts up whimpering. I reach through the wire of the pen and I scratch behind his ears. I rub his skin back on the top of his head and make his eyes stretch open. He keeps poking his nose at my leg and every once in a while he whimpers some more.

  It takes a long time to get to the airport. The closer we get, the more cars it seems are on the road. The lady drives in a parking garage and we go around and around so much I start to feel sick.

  Finally, she pulls in a space and the car stops moving. We can’t carry Buddy in his pen, so we take him out on a leash and Daddy starts to wrestle the pen out of the backseat while the lady drags our suitcase out of the trunk.

  I’m holding Buddy on his leash and he’s sitting there whining and poking his nose at my feet.

  “He must be nervous,” the lady says. Her face looks like she got ten years older just on that drive. “It’s natural, though,” she says. She sets down the suitcase and starts digging in her purse. “I have some medicine for when—”

  “I changed my mind,” I say.

  She stops talking and Daddy stops wrestling. He straightens up out of the car door.

  “Say what?” he says.

  I swallow big before I open my mouth again. “I say I changed my mind.”

  “About what?” he says.

  “About Buddy,” I say.

  Daddy and the lady are both staring at me.

  I suck in a real deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them, I look up at the sky, but all I can see is roof.

  It’s all on me.

  I start over. “I guess,” I say, “Buddy better stay here.”

  The lady’s face goes limp. She looks off into the garage like she’s worried about a car coming around the corner but there ain’t no traffic in there.

  Daddy looks at me hard. “That man gave us his tickets so we could come out here, son. All those people helped. It’s a little late to change your mind.”

  “I know. But this is just what I got to do, Daddy.” I look down at Buddy. He’s whining and pushing his nose at my feet. “Brother James told me I was the instrument of God,” I say. “He said our car hit Buddy so we could save him. I thought I was saving him for me.”

  I look up at Daddy. He’s got his hand over his eyes.

  “Turns out,” I say, “I was saving him for Brian. I guess that was the plan all along. I just didn’t see it.”

  The lady’s got her back to us now. Her shoulders are all curved over. She’s leaning one hand on the car next to us.

  “Daddy, do you think that man’s going to want me to pay him back for those tickets?”

  Then the lady turns around and finally speaks up. “No,” she says. “Buddy goes back with you. He’s your dog. We don’t have the right to keep him.”

  I hand the lady the leash, then I squat down and hold Buddy’s head in my hands. I smell that old leaf smell. I rub my finger on his caterpillar eyebrow. He looks at me with his big old brown eyes. “Granpa T says comes a time when you’ve got to let go,” I tell him. “I’m letting go now, Buddy.”

  I lean my head on top of his and he sticks up his tongue and licks my chin.

  “I love you, Buddy,” I say. “Good-bye.”

  Then I can’t help it. I start running.

  I’m running fast as I can. Daddy grabs up the suitcase and comes chasing after me.

  “Li’l T,” he’s yelling. “Li’l T, stop!”

  But I can’t stop. I can’t look back. I don’t want to change my mind.

  Then I’m deep in the airport and there’s thousands of people all around me and I stop running. I stand there and wait for Daddy. When he catches me up, he puts his arms around me, and I press my face against his chest, and we stand still.

  I guess even Granpa T couldn’t drag this story out much more after that.

  We get on the airplane and we take off. Daddy and I don’t hardly talk. I’m staring out the window with my teeth all clenched together. He’s mad at me and he’s not mad at me. He’s pretending like he’s asleep one minute then he’s looking over a
t me the next.

  When we get home, Tanya busts out crying and that don’t help. Mama squinches up her mouth. Brother James shakes his head but I promise to mow at the church for free. And turns out, that man ain’t worried a bit about those tickets.

  I write Jamilla a long, long letter about everything. I stick two pictures in the envelope. One is from California. The other is one Mr. Nelson took of our whole family sitting on the front steps of our house. It’s a good picture because everybody’s behaving, even Rover.

  Two weeks into school, we finish up the bathroom and we all move in together again. I get some glasses and find out most other people have always been able to see separate leaves on the trees. When Eddie comes over to help us hang the rock in my new bedroom, he says I look like I finally got some sense. Daddy says that would take more than glasses. Tanya says she wants glasses. Mama says is somebody going to nail up this rock or she going to have to hold it there until her arms fall off.

  On my fourteenth birthday, I get a card all the way from Virginia and another one from California. Mama and Daddy give me a red bicycle. I ride to the levee with a new boy from my class at school and we throw the ball for Rover all afternoon long.

  One Sunday on the way to church, Tanya’s playing the fool with Baby Terrell, trying to teach him to sing “Eensy Weensy Spider.” Daddy’s saying, “Can’t y’all be quiet for just one minute?”

  And then we look and see the Tomato Man has finally come back. We’re passing by him, waving like we’re crazy, and all a sudden I stop waving and I say, “Right there. That’s where we found Buddy. Right in the middle of St. Roch Avenue.”

  Mama turns around and looks at me. “I’m sorry, son,” she says.

  But I’m not sorry. I’m thinking, This is happiness. This is home.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks go to Don K. Haycraft, Kendra Levin, Emily Sylvan Kim, and Carole Fulton D.V.M. for the gift of their unflagging support and expertise as Li’l T devised his plan for Buddy, never imagining how Katrina would change his life and life would change his plans.