During this time, Leo has pulled the bloody Bomb off the tweaker, who is trying to get away but instead is staggering around, looking for his gun, dazed and unable to run, holding his mangled butt, which is massively bleeding through his pants.
Beau is dialing the cops.
We stand and gather our thoughts and catch our breath and wait.
We can already hear sirens.
Apparently I don’t roll with knuckleheads. I roll with superheroes!
And The Bomb, who is! Our dog truly is the bomb! She’s our super dog.
It’s too crazy. We get our picture in the paper, all of us, under the headline:
Dog Foils Attempted Robbery in Tenderloin
It’s a good shot. Hopefully none of our parents will see this before we get back and have a chance to downplay the whole thing. That’s all we need. We haven’t told them about anything or even when we would be home. We haven’t spoken to them on the phone yet.
Too much explaining.
The article said the tweaker needed forty-five stitches to sew up his butt. Dang! I hope he can get into rehab. Sucks to be him. Maybe he can start again.
The uncles were livid, as you can imagine. But they were so relieved that they didn’t even yell at us or anything; they just hugged us and cried . . . and so did Beau. It was epic!
And that’s not all. After the newspaper article came out, Leonie got a phone call.
Beau and I overheard it.
We were in the uncles’ apartment on Christmas Eve, waiting for them to get back from Christmas shopping. We were admiring our finishing touches on the Christmas tree.
Suddenly Beau and I hear a different ring tone than either of ours. It’s Leo’s. We don’t recognize it because we’ve never heard it before. She picks it up in surprise, and when she sees the caller ID, she dashes into the other room.
Beau and I look at each other in dread. Freaking Ratskin.
We sit down and stew in horror as we hear her begin to speak.
“Hello? What? Well, why are you? I meant what I said in the text. Because I turned my phone off. Don’t text me anymore and don’t call either! I meant it! When I said I’m breaking up with you . . .”
Beau and I look at each other in disbelief. What?!
She goes on.
“Oh, I am serious. Why do you think? No! It’s not stupid. This whole thing is stupid, is why. Oh really? What? What exactly do I get out of this? Yeah . . . whatever! Or maybe I realized it by myself, because I’m smarter than you think I am! Maybe because I realized I wouldn’t let anyone treat a dog like you treat me . . . literally! Oh, really?! Whatever! Rusty doesn’t tell me what to do! She doesn’t even mention you anymore! No, she’s not going to tell anyone, so just calm down. I just said not . . . omg, is that what you think of me?!”
Leo stops talking and listens for a minute. When she speaks again, her speech is rapid and furious: “No! You listen! You know why? I did start to think it’s true; he is way too old for me, but now I think I’ve outgrown you! Omg! Stop! How old are you, anyway? ’Cuz you’re acting like a baby! Because you act like a spoiled little brat is why! You only ever think about yourself, you only consider your own comfort, you never come pick me up, no matter how crappy the weather, or how late it is. You will never take me anyplace—well, why do we have to be so careful? Yuh-duh, because it’s against the law! Oh wait, why is it against the law? Sorry, what’d you say? Sorry? I can’t hear you! Oh, right, because it’s despicable, is that why? Even if you won’t say it, you know it is—and if you don’t, then you shouldn’t be around us young girls!” She listens for a second then screams into the phone.
“GET LOST! Leave me alone! I think you’re a perv! I think you’re a jerk and a jackass and a loser! I think you can’t score with women your own age and so you hit on girls who think you’re so cool they go along with whatever crap you suggest, and you’re really good at picking out the ones that are too messed up to know it . . . like me.”
We hear her voice begin to break. “Omg, you are unbelievable! You are seriously going to tell me you love me now? Well, finally! Not a moment too soon! You think I’m a tool, don’t you? Shut up! Shut up! Liar! Don’t say it! Don’t try that lame crap anymore! I’m sick of being a fool for you! Don’t ever call me again! Ever! Understand?! Never! Do you hear me, DOUCHE BAG?!” BAM! We hear her throw the phone against the wall.
Echoing silence.
Beau and I stare at each other with wide eyes.
Wow. We never thought we’d see the day.
After a minute, when we still don’t hear anything, Beau gets up and softly knocks on the door.
“Lee?”
After a pause, she answers.
“C’min.”
Leo is sitting on the bed trying to put her phone back together. She looks up at us and shrugs. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. There is not enough love in her world for her to reject it lightly. Even its ugly counterfeit doppelgänger, which is all it ever was with him.
We feel so bad. But glad. Like if someone you love is sick but finally getting better.
We sit on both sides and hug her while she cries and rock her gently.
When the uncles get back, they see us all red eyed and stuffed up. They are justly concerned.
We tell them everything: all about Lee, her sorry affair with Ratskin, and her crowning triumph. It seems like the only possible thing to do. They are scandalized by the situation and proud of her in equal measure.
Then she reveals her straight-up, true, brave self.
“He was all worried you were going to say something, Rust, and I said calm down ’cuz you aren’t. But do you know why you aren’t? Because I decided I am. I don’t know how yet, but I am. Also I’ve been thinking about some stuff and I have a few suspicions. Why did I ever think it was just me? He probably does this every year! And even if he doesn’t, I’m still worth him getting into trouble! He started giving me the eye in ninth grade! I was fourteen! That’s so . . . icky! It’s disgusting. He’s such a creep. He said I made him feel so young, but what I am figuring out now is he made me feel so creepy! I didn’t even know. I just knew someone thought I was special. Or even knew I was alive. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be so lonely? It sucks so bad. . . . Omg, I was such a tool!” Her eyes fill up again.
One thing I think every person in the room is well aware of is how much it hurts to be lonely. We can all relate to what one would do to not feel that sad.
Oscar sighs.
“Come here, lil’ punkin. It’s such a big hard world out there some days.” He sits on the couch and holds his arms out to her. Leo goes over and sits beside him, drooping. He puts his arms around her and strokes her hair and hugs her. She leans on him and silently begins to cry. He just hums a soothing little tune and pats her back and just lets her mourn.
I think Oscar would have been a great dad or mom. Just sayin’. He’s so kind.
And in the middle of all this: It’s still Christmas Eve.
It’s weird, usually I’m Mom’s right-hand man, getting presents ready with her and running errands, etc. Since I can’t help like always, this year is going to be so different for them.
Suddenly I’m missing her and Paul massively. She must be so worried; she has no idea what I’m doing or when I’m coming back. I wish I was there.
I haven’t even heard her voice in what feels like a long, long time. It’s starting to make a hole in my life.
So Beau tries to distract me.
We get the idea to leave Leo with the uncles while Beau and I go shopping. We should give them a Christmas present for being so awesome.
It’s cold and foggy and the Salvation Army bell ringers are out in force. We give them some change, and they do a special thank-you ring with their bells. They have nice bells in San Francisco, tiny silver chimes. Plus, here they just wear regular clothes, no tacky Santa hats. Seattle’s bells are big and loud and clank like a herd of stampeding cattle. Very annoying.
We ponder what we should g
et for the uncles. What do you get two gay guys with everything? We wander around, this time keeping our bearings. We smile at the passersby and hear carolers. It’s magical.
We look at each other. Are we finally getting the Christmas spirit? We smile with shining eyes.
We still don’t know what to get the uncles. We wish we could give them what they want most. We decide not to get stuff for each other because then we can get them something really nice.
But what?
Suddenly, as we are walking by a kiosk, Beau discovers the perfect thing.
When we get home, Leonie is taking a bath and the uncles have run out for a minute. It’s getting dark.
We rustle around in the kitchen looking for some snacks. All they have are healthy snacks. We find energy bars and fruit wraps. Lame.
Leo wanders in wearing Uncle Oscar’s robe. It’s purple silk and floor-length (on her) and looks regal. Her red-gold hair is all washed and shiny and hangs in long ringlets, which it always does when it’s damp. She looks splendid.
“Hello, gorgeous!” Beau is enthusiastic. “You look like you feel better.”
“Yeah, I do.” But her voice is listless. She’s still bumming.
“Where are the uncles?”
“They said they forgot one last thing. They didn’t think they’d be long. Everything is going to close soon since it’s Christmas Eve.”
We show her what we got the uncles. She perks up a little.
“I think that’s awesome. That’s from us? Like, from me too? Yay! They should love it!”
“Yeah, we thought so too! Hee-hee!” We all high-five each other. Snap!
We decide we are going to be the change we’d like to see; we’re going to clean their messy apartment. We start by straightening the books that have been left open or stacked on the shelves and surrounding floor. Beau begins dusting the furniture. Just that in itself makes a huge difference. Then we find a mop and broom and sweep the entire apartment and mop it. They do the dishes pretty regularly so the kitchen isn’t too bad and the bathroom is strangely spotless; it’s just the living room and their office that look like hell in a handbag.
As I’m stacking the papers that are all over the desk and floor, I make an interesting find.
Just sitting on the desk under tons of clutter are two small ring boxes—each holds a thick gold wedding band. I open the boxes gently. They are pure heavy gold, each with an etching of two vines that twine around the ring. I hold the little boxes so the vines catch the light. Already purchased, affirming the uncles’ belief in a better world, two silent tokens of faith and trust just waiting for the imminent eminent day when it is better, when our uncles can wear them and their commitment be nationally recognized and even celebrated.
I close the boxes and set them in a position of honor on the freshly polished desktop.
After we finish, we sit and look out the window. The apartment looks amazing and smells great. We found some incense, and now we breathe the scent of lilacs and lavender pine.
We can hardly wait for the uncles, who don’t keep us waiting for long. I start to crack up as we look out the window and distantly hear Uncle Oscar singing randomly, “Syl-ves-ter-er! Here-ear we are! We are bring-ing you-u a prez!! Tra-la-la-la! La-de-da-da! Dippity-do-holly-day!” to “We Three Kings.”
We snort and look, and they are coming across the street, arm in arm. The lights of jolly old San Fran town are twinkling behind them, extra brightly for Christmas. They wave. They look so happy. We wave back, and the dogs wag their tails, and Sylvester, who has been listening, yips a chipper greeting.
They have mysterious bags and have to go immediately into the bedroom from whence we hear crackling and cackling. We are so curious. When they come back out they have this fake innocent look like “nope, no presents for anyone in there” on their faces.
I feel like I’m six again, in an awesome way. Who says there are no jolly old elves?
Later, when we are making cheeseburgers for Christmas Eve, we realize that either tonight or tomorrow we need to call our moms. It will be too mean if we don’t.
And besides . . . well, y’know . . . we do love them.
We decide to call them tomorrow on Christmas morning. Leonie doesn’t say anything, just nods. I can tell her mind is elsewhere, which is not that surprising, but I also see she is starting to feel better. Uncle Oscar said she could borrow the robe indefinitely if she wants since she looks so pretty in it. So she puts it back on over her sweatpants, T-shirt, and black sequin fake Uggs, which looks kind of amazing, like she’s a warrior princess.
Later that night, we wrap the present for the uncles. We use all kinds of different wrap so that it will take a long time to even figure out what it is. Since it’s just the one thing, we figure we can use a lot of paper. We make a lot of noise about how cool it is so they feel like we did when they were wrapping. We hear them making punch and giggling.
* * *
In the dark, except for the Christmas tree lights inside and the twinkle of the city outside, we all squeeze around the window and sit and look out. The Coit Tower is to one side, and you can see it if you stick your head out the window. There are sparkling buildings farther away, and in the distance, we see the glow of water and bridges. Everything is red and green, all the shop lights and even stoplights. The dogs press their warm wet noses against the cold window and make foggy slobber angels on the glass. Oscar opens the window a little so they can sniff the fresh air.
From a distance, coming up the hill, is a lone man’s voice singing “Angels We Have Heard on High,” coming closer toward our building. Both the dogs hear him, and their ears pick up. They look down to try to see him.
When the dude is really close, he gets to the part of “Gloooooooooooooooooooooooria! In ex-cel-sis Daaaaaaaayo!” and the dogs cock their heads to one side.
Then Sylvester yips, and The Bomb, our strange, mostly silent dog, starts singing. She puts her head back and howls. She just busts it out! She hollers like she’s trying out for American Idol. Then Sylvester does too. So she does it louder. Then Leo starts howling too. Then we all do. We all howl and yip like crazy people, in wild happy abandon, because we are family, all of us: the dogs, the dude, the stars, everyone. . . .
The dude stops both singing and walking when we all start howling, then we hear him say judiciously, “Right on!” like he approves, and start over. He’s had a little punch for Christmas too, I think. We sing the words with him this time till we get to the “Glooooooria” part, then we howl again and so do the dogs. The Bomb sits, almost on her haunches, her head back and eyes closed in blissful pack-dom, making more noise than I have ever heard out of her before.
Who knew? She has a lovely singing voice.
And thus we are carolers for Christmas! Oscar leans his head out the window and tosses the dude a little cellophane-wrapped candy cane. “Thank you, dear!”
We hear a voice say, “My pleasure” and then footsteps clopping away, the voice now singing, “It ca-ame up-paw-on a mid-night clear . . . that glor-ee-us saw-ong of old.”
Eventually, finally, we at long last, get to sleep.
And are up again first thing in the morning! It’s still dark! We totally can’t sleep.
I think we have regressed.
The city is so quiet. It’s foggy and gray, and the view outside is drifting clouds with occasional glimpses of structures. We take the dogs for a quick walk and come back and make cocoa.
It’s Christmas day! Just that fact alone is enough to put me in a shiny mellow place.
Strange . . .
But no! I’m not overthinking anything today! After the uncles get up, we will call the moms and say Merry Christmas, but I won’t think about that right now either.
Just cocoa and fog. It’s awesome.
And underneath the tree are six small presents. We go get our present to the uncles and put that under there too. It’s the biggest one. We resist the impulse to shake and smell our prezzies so instead we
watch It’s a Wonderful Life on TV.
It’s agonizing. . . .
At long, looooong last the uncles finally stir. But then they get the brilliant idea we should call our moms before we open presents. We three look at each other.
Wait—aren’t we supposed to don we now our gay apparel or some such? No? Call the moms instead? Right now? More like we better don some armor if we are calling them first.
I can see we are frankly terrified of our moms’ tears. Leo grabs her phone.
“I’ll go first.” She dials her mother’s number savagely, stabbing it with one claw.
Unsurprisingly, the phone goes to voice mail. She hangs up. Looks at us.
“How do you even get her to pay for the phone?” Beau asks sadly.
“She doesn’t. It’s the free one they give you and she gets one free line. I just had the idea and went and got it myself. Whatever, it’s crappy. It’s always off when I call. I don’t care. So that’s me.” She shrugs. Puts her phone away.
Okay. Beau and I take a deep breath. Who’s going to go first?
Beau takes another deep breath and plunges into the deep end. He dials.
“Hello? Hey, Mom! Merry Christmas! Yeah, we are! How are you? Good! Yeah, everyone is great. Not yet. Nah, we thought we’d call first. Uncle Frank says hi . . . uh, because maybe we miss you guys? Don’t cry, that was supposed to be funny. Hey, we are going to start back soon . . . before school starts back up. So, Mom, listen . . . no, seriously, I’m good. Really good.
“So, listen, Mom, I’ve been thinking a lot, and I changed my mind about the lawsuit. Because I’ve learned something about one of my best friends, and if she can be that courageous, I want to be too. No, Leonie . . . well, I’ll tell you later. But the point is this. Now I say: Let’s do it! Let’s sue that stupid school and sue Ms. Blip, okay? Because! I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore! Yeah, I do know that quote . . . from Rylee. This is my life! Because maybe if Blip’s in trouble personally she can grow a little respect for civil rights because she sure doesn’t have any right now. Seriously, don’t cry. . . . I’m good now, Mom.
Beau, Lee, The Bomb Page 19
