by Shawn Inmon
Nathaniel Moon sat halfway back in the classroom. He knew the answer to the question, as he had become interested in the Oregon Trail over the summer, and had read a number of books about it from the Middle Falls library. He tended not to raise his hand and answer the questions, though, unless he sensed that Miss Haywood was fed up with calling on Mary. He was reading ahead in their textbook, looking to see if there was anything in there that he hadn’t read over the summer. One of the books he had read had told him that there were spots where the ruts from wagon wheels were still visible, and he hoped to see a picture of such a place.
Behind him, the largest boy in the class, Jon West, looked over his shoulder and watched him turning the pages of the textbook. Saying that Jon was the largest boy in the class was a vast understatement. Jon was the largest boy in the same way that Alaska is the largest state. Both are true, and both are true by a lot. He wasn’t fat by any means, just large. His father was 6’4 and 240 pounds and his mother wasn’t much smaller. Jon was already looking like he would eventually pass them by.
Miss Haywood was just about to give up on the waiting game and call on Mary, when the bell rang, dismissing the students for the day. The moribund students sprang to life as though electricity zapped their posteriors.
“Please read Chapter Eighteen in your History textbook, so we can discuss it tomorrow,” Miss Haywood said, over the scraping of chairs and chatter of conversation. Few heard her, and fewer still paid her any mind.
The last two students to leave the classroom were Jon and Nathaniel. As Jon left, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nathaniel was speaking to Miss Haywood. Speaking, not really as a child speaks to a teacher, but almost as an adult who had wandered into an elementary school classroom. Jon shook his head, and lingered outside the classroom, watching him.
Jon had been watching Nathaniel all school year, trying to figure him out, and he hadn’t come close to succeeding. Most kids, it was easy to figure out what their thing was—to be a jock, or a brain, or just trying to skate through school until real life kicked in after a few more years. Nathaniel defied all easy categorization. He was kind, and bright, but was not easy to push around or bully.
Nathaniel saw that he and Miss Haywood were alone in the classroom, but continued his conversation with her. He had noticed that she had grown increasingly sad over the course of the year, and now, near summer break, she had seemed to not care about anything at all. Nathaniel saw her glance up at the clock, so he excused himself to leave, but before he did, he reached out and laid his hand on hers, a gesture of childlike innocence. He returned to his desk, put his books away, then retrieved his accordion so he could take it for his lesson and left.
Miss Haywood sat at her desk marking papers for an extra half hour. When she stood to go home, her back was straighter, and her step lighter. She even hummed a little tune as she walked to her car.
NINETY MINUTES LATER, Nathaniel emerged from Mrs. Jacobson’s house. Irma Jacobsen was in her seventies, widowed, and happy for the business, as there weren’t many people interested in accordion lessons in the era of Madonna and Michael Jackson.
Nathaniel was so thin he nearly didn’t cast a shadow, but he nonetheless lugged his heavy accordion case down the trail toward home. There were sidewalks between Mrs. Jacobson’s house and home, but the trail was a shortcut, and what ten year old boy can resist a shortcut?
Ahead of Nathaniel, two other boys sat on their haunches, looking down into a stream that moved so slowly, it might have been mistaken for a long, skinny pond.
“You see anything, Craig?”
A sandy-blond boy with a pug nose and freckles shook his head. “Nah. Bobby says there’s bullfrogs everywhere along here, but I think he’s full of shit.”
The second boy, stocky and dressed in a dirty t-shirt and jeans, got bored searching for frogs and looked up the trail. He nudged Craig, who squinted and said, “What’s he carrying? It’s bigger than he is.”
The second boy said, “I think it’s an accordion case. He takes lessons.”
Craig looked at him like he had two heads. “Shut up, Wemmer. No one cares. Accordion lessons.” He snorted. “If that’s not asking to get beat up, I don’t know what is.”
Wemmer shut up.
“Come on. Let’s have some fun.”
Nathaniel looked ahead and saw the boys coming toward him, but he kept on at the same steady pace. Eventually, he stood right in front of Craig and Wemmer, who blocked his path. Nathaniel took the opportunity to set the heavy case down with a small sigh of relief. He grinned at the boys. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Craig said, mocking Nathaniel’s adult-sounding way of talking. Craig was a talented mimic, which he used as both self-defense and as a vicious attack. “Hello,” he repeated in the same tone, then looked at his friend expectantly.
Wemmer laughed appropriately. But he was surprised when even Nathaniel laughed.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Moon Pie?” This was a nickname he had hung on Nathaniel earlier in the year, but it had not gained as much traction as he would have liked.
Nathaniel gave the question some consideration. “Glad to say there’s nothing at all wrong.”
“Well, there’s gonna be somethin’ wrong. What’s in the case?”
“It’s an accordion.”
Wemmer nodded wisely. “I knew that,” he said quietly.
Craig shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “Dude, it’s 1989. No one plays the damned accordion, unless they just want to get their ass handed to them.”
Nathaniel looked at Craig with a confused look and replied, “I disagree. I play one, and I don’t want that.”
Wemmer laughed again, but this time, it was with Nathaniel, not at him. Craig flushed red, took a step back, and threw an elbow up into Wemmer’s mid-section. The “oof” that came out of him cut off any further laughter.
“So, you’re a smart ass, huh?”
“I don’t mean to be. I do have to head home now, though, my Aunt Andi is waiting for me.”
“My Aunt Andi is waiting for me,” Craig mimicked.
Nathaniel didn’t react to the mocking, but just reached down to pick up his heavy case. As he did, Craig put both hands on his shoulders and shoved hard.
Nathaniel stumbled backwards three steps, then four, and pinwheeled his arms as his feet reached the small bank that ran along the edge of the creek. He eventually lost the battle with gravity and plunked butt-first into the creek, splashing dirty water everywhere. As he fell, he glanced at the accordion case to make sure that it was still safe.
Clothes will wash. I will wash. But Mom can’t afford another accordion.
He picked himself up, wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, and stepped up on the bank.
“Whatcha gonna do now? You gonna cry?”
Nathaniel looked at him levelly. “Nothing to cry about. Just a little water. I do feel bad for you though.”
Craig laughed. “You feel bad for me? I’m not the one dripping wet and about to go into the drink again.” Craig took two steps toward Nathaniel when an old bicycle blurred in from the side, skidding to a halt and scattering gravel on him.
Craig jumped back in surprise. When he saw who was on the bike, his eyes widened. “Jesus, West, you almost hit me. What the hell?”
The boy on the bike wore his blondish hair in straight bangs, and even though he was only eleven, he had wisps of future sideburns already growing. He leaned forward on the rusted handlebars. He squinted one eye closed and said, “What’s this kid ever done to you?”
“He bugs me.”
“Because he’s not an asshole? Because he’s different?”
It was obvious that Craig had never considered why anyone deserved to have their ass kicked. If they had an ass, and they weren’t one of his friends, he kicked it. He was simply playing his role in the ecosystem.
“Whatever, West, you’re a weirdo, too.” He backed away, out of range of Jon’s long arms as he said tha
t, just in case. He turned to Wemmer. “Let’s blow. It stinks around here.”
West continued to lean forward on his handlebars for a minute while he and Nathaniel watched the boys retreat.
Finally, he swung off the bike, let it drop, and took three strides to where Nathaniel stood, still dripping muddy water on the ground. He extended a hand.
Chapter Fourteen
Nathaniel shook Jon’s hand and said, “Nathaniel Moon. Thank you. It would have been all right. He might have pushed me in a few times, but I don’t think he would have done much worse than that. Still, it’s nice not being any wetter than I am.”
“I think I might need to teach you some self-defense, so people don’t push you around like that.”
“I guess it would be fun to learn, but I’m not going to fight. That’s just not my way.”
“Uh huh. Okay. Can you ride a bike?” Jon asked.
Nathaniel smiled, but shook his head. “Nope. Always wanted to learn, but haven’t yet. Mom gave me the choice of a bike or that,” he pointed to the accordion case, “for my last birthday. Can’t have everything.”
“Not sure you made the right choice there. Just curious, but why in the world did you decide you want to play the accordion? Are you a big Weird Al Yankovic fan?”
“No. Pretty big Frankie Yankovic fan, though.”
“Who?”
“Frankie Yankovic was a great accordion player, but he’s not related to Weird Al, even though they share the same last name. Kind of a weird coinkydink, right? I like both of them, honestly but ...” Nathaniel noticed Jon’s eyes were beginning to glaze over. He had often seen this happen when he talked about polka music, which was an inadvertent tagalong with some of the other memories he had brought forward. “Never mind. I don’t know why, really.” Nathaniel got a faraway look in his eyes. “I saw an accordion player on TV a few years ago, and I knew right then that I wanted to learn to play it, too. There’s just something about the way all parts of it work in harmony together that makes me happy.”
“That’s pretty weird.” Jon shrugged his shoulders.
“There’s a lot of weird things about me,” Nathaniel said.
“Me too,” Jon said quietly. “Someday I’ll tell you about some of the weird stuff that’s happened to me.”
“I’d like to hear it. I am a collector of weird and wonderful experiences.”
“I know a joke about accordions. Wanna hear it?”
Nathaniel’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”
“A local band had an accordion player. One night, after a gig, they stopped for dinner at a little café. They had just sat down and were getting ready to order when the accordion player slapped his forehead—you know, like those guys in the V-8 commercials?”
Nathaniel nodded, looking like he was ready to laugh at the punchline before he even heard it.
“The guy says, ‘Uh-oh, I forgot to lock the car,’ jumps up from the table and runs out to where his accordion was. He opens the door, and looks in, but it was too late. Somebody had already left two more accordions.”
Nathaniel laughed as though that was the funniest joke he had ever heard.
“Mental note,” Jon said, “Nathaniel Moon really likes stupid jokes.”
“I do! Do you want me to tell you one?”
Jon shook his head. “No, not really. Look. You climb on the bike. I’ll hold onto the handlebar and make sure you don’t fall.”
“But, my accordion—“
“I’ve got it.” Jon leaned over and effortlessly picked up the case. He held the bike out to Nathaniel, who climbed on with a grin.
BY THE TIME THE BOYS arrived at Nathaniel’s house, they had already discovered that, aside from their differences about the accordion, they both loved all three Indiana Jones movies and the Simpsons. As they walked the bicycle up the driveway that ran beside the house, they were showing off their impressions of various characters. Nathaniel did a passable Marge, but the best Jon could muster was Homer’s “’Doh!”
He swung his leg off the bike. “Thanks for letting me kinda ride it. That was fun. You want to come in and meet my Aunt Andi? I know she’ll want to meet you.”
Nathaniel reached for his accordion, but Jon said, “I got it. Sure. Let’s go in.”
Nathaniel ran up the stairs and burst through the door. “Andi! I’m home!”
“Well, it’s about time, mister,” she said, coming around the corner from her bedroom. “Did you take the long way ...” She stopped short when she saw Nathaniel’s dripping wet pants, shoes, and jacket, not to mention the hulking boy standing behind him. “Oh! What happened?” She cast a suspicious glare at Jon, ready to go into attack mode if needed.
“Oh, not much. Some kids wanted to make fun of me because of the accordion, Jon came along and stopped them. Oh. By the way, this is Jon.” Nathaniel slipped his shoes off.
“Doesn’t look like he stopped them to me. You’re soaked. Go get changed, right now. Put your play clothes on.”
Nathaniel ran toward his room, wet socks leaving damp footprints on the wood floor behind him.
Andi sized up the man-child who had apparently rescued Nathaniel from further dunkings. She smiled and said, “Nice to meet you, Jon. You managed to avoid the water?”
Jon smiled and nodded. “He wasn’t big enough to push me in.” He looked at Andi and said, “Georgia?”
Andi was used to people picking up on her accent, but not children, even over-sized ones.
“No, Arkansas. Still obvious, huh?”
Jon shrugged. “Not really. I just like accents, that’s all.”
Andi chuckled. “Why do I have a hunch you and Nathaniel are going to hit it off?
The door opened behind Jon and Violet came in, lugging a raincoat, a purse, and a yellow bag emblazoned with the logo of the local Mexican takeout. She entered talking. “...don’t know why I ever trust the weatherman around here. He ...” She saw Jon and said, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know Andi was having friends over.”
Jon looked a little embarrassed, but Andi said, “No, no, this is Jon. He’s a friend of Nathaniel’s. It looks like he saved Nathaniel from being bullied on the way home.”
“Bullied again?” Violet sized Jon up, smiled, and said, “Well, fine. Thank you. Can I reward you with an enchilada or a,” she rustled through the yellow bag, “a bean burrito?”
“Thanks, but no, my mom’s got dinner waiting for me at home. I better go.”
“Thanks for saving Nathaniel,” both Violet and Andi said together, as though they had said it many times before.
“No problem.” He looked at them seriously. “He’s a cool kid.”
Chapter Fifteen
Nathaniel’s odd family unit was nearly complete—mother Violet, once-babysitter-now-Aunt Andi, and best friend Jon. The only thing needed to complete the picture of domesticity was a huge, slobbering furball, which, coincidentally, was exactly what Nathaniel and Jon found one day a few months later, as they walked home from school. Jon had started leaving his bike at home so they both could walk home together.
They rarely took the direct route home, but instead wandered whichever way their feet took them. Topics of conversation ranged from Nathaniel’s observations on the human condition, which were met mostly with nods from Jon, to in-depth analysis on whether the Seattle Mariners would ever field a .500 team. The team had never managed it in their decade plus of existence, but since Nathaniel loved to root for the underdogs, the M’s were the perfect choice as his favorite team.
They walked down Dover Street, a mixed-use area that ran parallel to the main drag through Middle Falls. The boys were walking past an alley that was lined with several dumpsters when they heard a “woof” and the thumping of large feet toward them. They peered into the darkness of the alley and saw an astonishing creature. Not a dog, exactly, but something more like an easy chair crossed with a mop. There were likely eyes buried under the long, floppy fur, but they couldn’t be seen. The left ear pointed skyward and the right straig
ht ahead. A magnificent tongue wagged from one side to the other with each bound of the animal.
Jon took a half-step forward and laid an arm across Nathaniel’s chest, as a parent might do when braking in a car. The protection was unnecessary, though, as the lumbering animal skidded to a stop directly in front of them, sat on its rear haunches, and looked at them. Its expression seemed to say, I thought you guys would never get here. I’ve been waiting forever.
“That is the funniest looking dog I’ve ever seen,” Jon said.
“Yeah,” Nathaniel agreed. “Ain’t he something? He’s beautiful.”
Jon looked at him, slightly askew. “Something, all right, but I’m not sure what. Come on, let’s head for your house.”
“Sure, sure. Just a minute.” Nathaniel leaned down in front of the hairy beast and brushed the hair away from its eyes. “There you are.” He patted the head and petted the neck, and the dog’s tail thumped against the sidewalk. Finally, he put his head against its neck and buried his face in the matted fur.
“Nathaniel. You’re grossing me out. God only knows where that dog has been. I can smell it from here.”
“Yeah. It smells pretty bad. This is my dog, though.”
“What? Oh, Andi and your mom are going to love that!”
“Not at first, but eventually they will. Let’s go home.”
Nathaniel turned toward home and set off at a steady trot. The dog padded along at his heels, as if on an invisible leash. Jon shook his head and followed along behind, muttering, “I gotta see this.”
At home, Nathaniel threw the door open and led the parade into the living room. Violet was sitting on the couch reading, and looked up with a smile to welcome Nathaniel home. The smile froze on her face and slowly fell into a concerned frown when she saw the behemoth behind him.
“Well?” Nathaniel said.
This scene plays out a thousand times every day, across America and the world: a child brings a stray dog home, asks to keep it, and the parent says no. In most households, the child moans, begs and pleads, and the parent either relents and there’s a new addition to the family, or doesn’t, and there’s an unhappy child until the scene plays itself out again sometime later.
