by R. W. Jones
I could tell anger was still boiling up in her, which reminded me of her when we were kids. Right before you thought she was going to explode into a fit of screaming rage she always began to cry. With that thought, she began to cry.
On cue, my friend Mr. Fields walked into the room, two foot wrench in hand. He had looked big standing in the doorway at dusk, now just a few feet away I could see he was well over six feet tall and upwards of 300 pounds. At just under six feet tall and 185 pounds, and not having a wrench handy, I didn’t like my chances. After glaring at me, he asked Chloe, “Do you want me to get rid of this guy?”
In my mind I begged for Chloe to say no, as I had already thought of about eight different ways how that wrench could be involved in the getting-rid process that Mr. Fields had planned for me.
Chloe looked up, the sobbing beginning to subside and said, “No, Mr. Fields, I’m fine. This is my brother, he came down from Virginia to get to know his niece and catch up a little.” I hadn’t realized that’s what I was doing there, but any answer that didn’t involve a wrench and my body was fine with me.
Mr. Fields looked at me one more time then back at my sister, this time with a little less of a scowl, and said, “The water heater should be fine now. If it acts up, let me know. Hope to see you over at our place Tuesday. Mrs. Fields is making her famous tuna casserole Tuesday night.” As Mr. Fields left, Chloe asked me how I like my ice cream. Feeling that I had waited way too long to be sarcastic, I replied, “Cold.”
4
Cassidy and Bahama, tennis ball in her mouth, came inside to join us for ice cream. Cassidy had chocolate, while Bahama had a sizable scoop of vanilla. Both Cassidy and Bahama ate their ice cream breathlessly, both looking like they could fall asleep any minute after what must have been a spirited game of fetch. After finishing hers, Bahama laid on her side on the cool floor. After tiring of the floor, she trotted into the living room and popped up on the sectional couch. Chloe told me that I better hope it’s as comfortable to me as it looked for Bahama because that would be my bed too for the duration of my stay.
Over the ice cream, I had been mentally preparing for a long conversation I predicted would last deep into the night, but after fighting with Cassidy to bathe and get her into bed, Chloe told me she was exhausted and would be going to bed herself. She told me I would find the proper linens in the hallway closet and gave me the customary run down of how to turn on the shower.
I laid awake for a few hours, wanting to sleep, but instead watching the same episode of SportsCenter twice, and finally falling asleep to a documentary of past NBA champions on ESPN Classic. All and all a typical night for me over the last year, only now I was on my sister’s couch and about 200 miles from home with no idea what tomorrow would bring.
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The next morning I was awakened by the sound of Cassidy’s voice, “Uncle Mike, wake up, wake up!” I had guessed by my body’s weariness that it was early, maybe even still in the single digit a.m. hours. During my grieving I had become adept at waking up in the single digit hours too, only the clock read “p.m.”
“Hey sweetie, good morning,” I grunted, while trying to sound as nice as I possibly could, while reaching for my cell phone. 6:46 a.m. Ugh.
Cassidy said, “What’s for breakfast? Mom said you’d make me breakfast! I’m starrrrving,” drawing out the word starving for emphasis.
I said, “How about some ice cream?”
Cassidy smiled brightly, but then seeming to remember her mom wouldn’t approve, changed to a frown and replied, “Mommy wouldn’t let me do that.”
I got up, while Bahama snoozed away, and sleepily headed for the kitchen. Turning on the bright lights caused me to cringe, but I kept on a happy face for my “starrrrving” niece. I was no chef, but I was able to make the basics, like toast and eggs. I made these as quickly as I could before Cassidy asked for something more complex, like pancakes.
After eating, I cleaned the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Despite making just toast and eggs I had managed to mess up the once-clean kitchen beyond recognition. As I was finishing up, Chloe came down the stairs in a bathrobe that I’m fairly sure she wouldn’t have worn if there was a man in her house other than her brother.
“Sexy,” I said to her, when she came around the corner.
She put up the pointer, middle, and ring fingers of her right hand and said, “read between the lines,” smiling. I was happy to see our back and forth was coming back like we hadn’t missed a step – or years.
Luckily Cassidy had missed the bird shot by her mother because she had already moved on to the couch to try to wake up Bahama. I didn’t think she had much of a chance, but before I knew it I heard the two of them running up and down the hallway.
Chloe sat down, cup of coffee in hand.
“So, what are you doing?” she asked.
“Eating breakfast,” I replied. Before she could flip another bird in my direction, I continued.
“You know, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I stayed in the house for a year straight for the most part, other than taking Bahama out for a walk every now and then. I know I’ve always been a bit anti-social, but this, this doing nothing, has been a new experience for me. I realized the only way I was going to heal was by doing something. Anything.”
I hadn’t expected to be talking about myself so seriously first thing in the morning, but because I had thought we were going to have this conversation last night I was prepared.
Chloe stared at me for a few seconds with an amused look on her face, thinking.
“Well, you are more than welcome to stay here until you figure out what exactly it is you want to do,” then paused before saying, “Plus Cass likes your mutt there.”
I wasn’t shocked by her invitation, but it did surprise me. Without saying it, I think this was her way of extending an olive branch, although I should have been the one to extend it long ago. Still, this was a step in the right direction.
“As long as Mr. Fields says it’s okay,” I responded.
---
For six nights I reconnected with my sister, and connected with the niece I never knew. I watched as she and Bahama bonded. To my surprise, Bahama even slept in Cassidy’s bed for the rest of the time we were there. I was beginning to think that it would be hard for Cassidy – and probably even Bahama – when it was time for me to leave to wherever I was going next.
The thought had crossed my mind that I could leave Bahama with Cassidy until I got back but knew that wouldn’t work for me. Bahama had been by my side, almost 100 percent, for the last seven years, and I always envisioned her by my side when I first had fantasies of wanting to get away. So, I came up with the second best idea.
“Hey Sis,” I started, shortly after finishing up dinner one night and after Cassidy and Bahama had gone out back for another round of fetch. “Cassidy has bonded with Bahama pretty well since we’ve been here and I feel bad that I’m leaving in a couple of days.” I paused to see if she knew where I was going. By the skeptical look on her face, she did.
“I was wondering if I – I mean we – could get her a dog of her own, maybe tomorrow, before I leave.”
Chloe thought for a moment, and explained to me how it was really hard for her to imagine bringing a puppy into the house when she was already working full-time as a legal secretary and was considering getting a second job. Additionally, she had no help around the house, other than Mr. Fields, so she really had no desire to go through the tasks of housetraining a dog and dealing with all the other things a young puppy generally included. So, again, I thought of the next best thing.
“How about we get her a dog that’s a bit older, maybe a couple years old, and you won’t have to deal with all of the house training? It’s not a human friend, but I think Cassidy would love the companionship. I know I do.”
Chloe agreed reluctantly saying “I have to admit, she has really come out of a shell since you’ve been here. Lately it’s been all I could do to get her
to go outside.”
She had said since “I” had been here, and even though that made me feel like a proud uncle, I knew she really meant since “Bahama” has been here. Still, I was happy “we” could help. She hesitated before saying, “We’ll surprise her tomorrow.” Then she added, “I’ll send you the vet bills.”
5
I have never had the experience of taking a child to Disney World, but I imagine an SPCA is a close alternative. Especially after you tell her she can have her pick of the litter, so to speak. To an adult the SPCA resembles a prison. The sad commercials you see while flipping through the channels late at night don’t help either.
At first she ran through the hallways of the SPCA scaring most of the dogs, while some of the other ones scared her. During all this her mother was trying to explain to her that we need to make sure she doesn’t pick a dog that is too big, and that it has to be a bit older. She explained to Cassidy that by picking one that was a little older she’d be doing a good thing because everyone else would be picking the puppies, so they would be sure to have a good home. I didn’t want to see Cassidy have to turn down a puppy she really liked, but luckily the puppies were in a separate section of the facility and Cassidy never asked about them, so we were never faced with that decision. The only thing I added was that we also wanted to make sure the new doggy got along with Bahama since we would be visiting often. Bahama was currently in a “meet and greet” room in the front of the building garnering the attention of a handful of volunteers. While all the humans involved in the decision of bringing a new dog home for Cassidy held an important say, Bahama held the biggest. Her reaction to the potential new addition would make or break the deal.
The first dog Cassidy took outside was a Chihuahua named Killer that didn’t stop barking from the time we took him out of his run with the help of a reluctant volunteer. Chloe shot me a look that said, “If she picks this dog, I will never forgive you.” Unfortunately for the Chihuahua mix, Cassidy was pretty fearful of the dog once she got a closer look, so Killer’s outside portion of the talent show didn’t even make it to the Bahama part of the program. Cassidy said something to her mom about being afraid of the dog, and Chloe, trying her best not to look to thankful, whisked the dog back to his run.
The second dog, who had yet to be given a name from the staff, had potential right from the start. We took the beagle-mix to the side of the building where they had a fenced in section. I then walked back inside to get Bahama to see if we would be getting her approval. Cassidy, Chloe, and I all knew that the decision rested solely in her paws.
When I walked back to the yard I saw Cassidy and the no-named pup playing with a rope, with the beagle-mix taking it easy on her end of the toy. I took it as a good thing that the dog knew her own strength when playing with a child as small as Cassidy.
When Bahama saw the beagle, her tail beat against my leg. Her fur didn’t stick up, so I knew she wasn’t scared, like how I had seen her react around some of the dogs in my neighborhood. Bahama was so excited to go play with Cassidy and the new dog that I thought there was a chance she’d break the leash on our way over to them. The commotion got the attention of the beagle-mix, so the volunteer met us halfway, trying to not lose hold of the leash. After preliminary introductions, they both ran back towards Cassidy, with what can only be described as doggy smiles.
“So does Mommy have any say in your new addition’s name?” I asked Chloe.
“No, I’m going to let Cassidy name her. Isn’t that exciting?”
After paperwork that took an hour, and waiting for a long line of volunteers to say goodbye to the no-named beagle they had fallen in love with, we headed back to Chloe’s place. I didn’t have much time to get to know the newest member of the family because there was food, leashes, and a crate to be bought. I went to the pet store solo, and the entire trip took about an hour. When I returned to the house the no-named beagle-mix was still a no-named beagle-mix.
“She wants to name it ‘Uncle Mike’,” Chloe reported as I walked back into the house with an armful of bags.
Holding back laughter, but feeling flattered, I dropped the bags on the kitchen table and said, “I’m not sure she would appreciate that,” emphasizing the word “she,” as in the sex of the dog.
“I told her she’d have to change it, she’s thinking about it now. The whole clan is in the yard playing.”
Around the dinner table that night, our feet surrounded by worn out doggies, Chloe asked Cassidy if she had come up with a name.
“Ummmmmm, how ‘bout Bahama?” she asked, causing Bahama to perk her head off the floor, hoping for a table scrap.
“Well that’s her name, how about something else?” her mom asked her, while pointing to my confused dog.
“Okayyyyyy, how about Pink,” which I guessed was her favorite color based on the color scheme of her bedroom and most of her clothes.
“What about Pinky?” her mom suggested. She later told me she suggested this name because it flowed off the tongue better. I mentally tested her theory in my head – “Here Pink, Pink, Pink” versus “Here Pinky, Pinky, Pinky.” She had a point.
Throughout all of this the beagle kept an eye on her, and tilted her head every time someone mentioned the name Pinky.
“I think she likes it” I said around the same time Cassidy ran out of the living room with Pinky and Bahama in tow yelling “Pinky” over and over.
“I guess that’s that,” said Chloe.
And, that was that.
6
I left my sister’s house the next morning with plans to see her again, though I made no promises on when, as I didn’t know how long this trip would last. I did know that I wanted to see Cassidy grow up. Knowing I couldn’t replace the time I already missed watching her grow up was upsetting, but a lot of things were upsetting for me during that time frame. Cassidy seemed pretty forgiving, as kids often are, and I left her house thinking that was good enough for me. She did want to name her dog after me, after all.
Getting back in the car, I really had no clue where I was heading, with the exception of finding myself heading south again. Being in my sister’s house in North Carolina was the farthest south I had been since I was a teenager during family vacations, so everywhere I traveled was like new to me. This was just as well.
I started the day on 77-South and then picked up 95-South when 77 forked towards Columbia, South Carolina. I only got out of the car a couple of times for bathroom breaks for Bahama and me.
I was hoping getting back in the car wouldn’t cause me to have the same feelings of anxiety as when I first started the trip, but I was wrong. When I was with Chloe and Cassidy I had my mind occupied most of the time, but the quiet of the road caused my mind to scream with doubt. A part of me was doing exactly what I wanted to, which was to just get away from it all, but I was learning it was hard to get away from yourself. Another part questioned everything I was doing. Every mile in the car made it easier to enjoy the trip for what it was, but those early mornings, especially after leaving a place I had been for a little bit, were particularly hard.
I realized I had missed a few opportunities to cut just an hour or two east and be at a beach, and I admitted to myself that that sounded like a nice destination. It was now in the middle of summer, so the beach would be filled to capacity and would make for a good scene.
It was also somewhat surprising I didn’t head straight for a beach because I had always felt at peace being there. Unfortunately, I hadn’t spent nearly enough time at one to figure out if it was the beach that was giving me that inner peaceful feeling. I had surmised that it was the separation of the things upsetting me that gave me peace while I was at a beach, however brief. Would I feel the same on a mountaintop ski lodge, a farm in the middle of nowhere, or on the moon, as I did on the beach? All I knew was that I intended to do a lot of exploring about how I felt at different locations on this trip. I never did make it to the moon.
As I crossed into Georgia I was remin
ded of my big rig driving uncle, Tom, who used to tell me about his travels at family reunions. When I was a child, and to a degree even as an adult, I’d always been interested in those stories. I always enjoyed getting a glimpse of the outside world through Tom’s colorful storytelling abilities.
My uncle is a large man, standing about 6’6” and at least 325 pounds. One of his favorite subjects to talk about, predictably, is food. He often speaks of steak in Texas, jambalaya in New Orleans, and pizza in New York City. His favorite food however is pork barbeque, and spoke a few times of a “shack of a place” in Brunswick, Georgia that served “the best pork ever.” High claims for a man who has perhaps eaten pork barbeque in more states than any other man both past and present.
I couldn’t remember what the name of the restaurant was, but I did remember him describing Brunswick as, “if you blink, you’ll miss it,” so I figured if I kept my eyes open once I took the exit I would find it. It has been many years since my uncle first started telling me his food stories, so Brunswick had grown a little bit, but more or less his description was accurate. Less than a mile off the exit I saw smoke coming from a chimney at the Georgia Pig Shack about 100 yards off the main road.
When I saw the name of the place I instantly remembered a story he told me. He said that his trucker buddies just called it “GA Pig Shack,” saying “Gah” instead of “Georgia”. Tom said because you sound like a baby when you say “gah” it became known as the “Baby Pig” to them. Quite the history, I thought, for a place that looked like it may fall apart with the first strong wind.
I don’t think it would have been out of the realm of possibility to think that this was now an abandoned building. It had the appearance of an old home with an owner who refused to sell even as the rest of the world built around it. However, even from across the road, Bahama’s nose perked up and, shortly after, I noticed the sweet-smelling pork going through our air vents.
