Immortal Max

by Lutricia Clifton

  Mom raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Hey, she didn’t learn that from me.”

  “Let’s roll!” Beth yells from the driver’s seat.

  “Wait, we forgot something.” Mom looks at me. “Sid called. He wants to borrow your dog book.”

  “I … I threw it away.”

  “What?” Mom’s eyes open wide. “But you worked years on that scrapbook. Why would you throw it away?”

  “No, wait.” Rosie races upstairs and returns with my scrapbook under an arm. “I rescued it.”

  “Geez, Rosie.” The three-ring binder is like an old friend I’ve found again.

  “Want me to give it to Sid?” Beth says, grinning.

  “No, I’ll, uh, I’ll bring it when I come.”

  I watch my family disappear down the road, all of them so excited, and feel sad. Come fall, another of us will be gone. First, Dad, then Grandpa, and now Grandma’s lost.

  Vanishing, like ticks of a clock.

  A door slams across the road. I watch Bailey run to her bike. See Yee and Anise pull into her driveway. Wave as they all push off.

  Anise yells, “Bike over with us!”

  “Later. I’ve got chores first.”

  “Don’t be late.” Yee’s ponytail swishes back and forth like a thick rope. “Watch the clock.”

  “Plenty of time.” At the curve in the road, they all turn and wave at me.

  I smile. The thing about clocks is one tick follows another. New ones replace those that die away.

  It’s quiet … for about ten seconds. Then seven loud cats gather in a horde, mingling around my legs, demanding food. Smudges of yellow and blue and red remain, but nothing that’s readable. Still, I know every one of them by name. Laying my dog book on the porch, I fill water bowls and food dishes.

  After the cats are happy, I head for the barn. Looking like a stone lion, Max sits in front of Birdie’s nest. Where the nest used to be. It now lies on the ground, the mud cement holding bits and pieces of sticks and straw broken into jagged clumps.

  “What happened, Max?”

  Birds answer for him. Lots of birds. Birdie and her brood have taken to the treetops.

  “Come on, Max, time to go home. Plenty of time to clean up this other stuff later.” Carrying his food and water dish, I walk back to the house. In front of me, our shadows point the way.

  For the first time in weeks, Max chomps his Dog Chow on the back porch. He lets out a huge burp when he’s finished and settles down next to me on the stoop. Grunting like a bear settling in for the long winter.

  Back to normal.

  We listen to birdcalls. Watch the days of the week chase grasshoppers and butterflies. Feel a cool breeze blowing in from the south, a sign of rain. It feels good.

  Reaching for my scrapbook, I open the cover and look through its pages. Twice I threw the book away, and twice it came back to me. Is that a sign, too? Will one of the dogs inside its pages choose me one day? As I flip the pages, the dogs blend into one. Big and little. Light and dark. Shaggy and short haired.

  And then I get it—really get it. All this time, a dog already had chosen me.

  I lay the book aside and scratch Max’s shaggy head. The clock ticks. Nothing lasts forever. One day, Max will leave me, too.

  But not yet. Please, not yet… .