Boy's Best Friend (13 page)

“I don't know,” said Lester. He'd wrapped Bill Gates's leash around his ankles and was spiraling like a top to unwind it. Then Lester kicked off his sneakers, rolled up his pant legs, and took a running jump that ended with him knee deep in water. “Ah,” he cried. “It's cold.”

Bill Gates bounded back across the marsh and looked at Lester as if to say, “Why did you do a silly thing like that?”

“I just couldn't help myself,” said Lester. “I felt this strange and mysterious push.”

George was reminded of the fortune-teller and how he'd felt compelled to consult her. Maybe that was instinct too. He waited to see if he might feel the same push. But he didn't. Still, he kicked off his sneakers, rolled up his pant legs, and walked boldly into the ice-cold water, clutching his teeth to keep from crying out. There was a moment of towering silence. Then a tern appeared, the first of the season, galloping across the sand flats flaunting its black-and-white forked tail. Bart and Bill Gates looked at each other knowingly and were off in eager pursuit. But before they could get there the tern had taken flight and was soaring high above their heads.

“I used to be afraid to put my head underwater,” George confessed. Then he corrected himself. “I don't know if I was really afraid, but I didn't like it.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” said Lester. “Just pretend that you're a fish.”

“That's exactly what Kyra told me to do,” said George.

“Who's Kyra?” asked Lester.

“A friend of mine,” said George. “She used to live here, but she moved to North Carolina.”

“Does she like it there?” asked Lester.

“She says it's different, but yeah,” said George. “Kyra finds something to like about everything.”

“I guess that's a virtue,” said Lester.

“I guess so,” said George.

Lester waded out of the water. “When I don't like something, my dad always says, ‘Lester, dear, in life you have to move forward. Don't look back.'”

George smiled. He thought it was funny that Lester's father called him dear.

Lester plucked a thick strand of grass and pressed it between his two thumbs. Then he whistled, causing a general flutter across the marsh.

“Do you think you can have a girl friend who's not a girlfriend?” George asked.

“Sure,” said Lester. “But I don't think you can have a girlfriend who's not a girl friend.”

“Did you ever have a girlfriend?” George asked.

“I really liked this girl in Denver,” said Lester. “I got butterflies in my stomach when I thought about her. I'd start to sweat. I even lost my appetite, which hardly ever happens. But I guess she didn't feel the same.”

None of those things happened when George looked at Kyra. He just felt a nice warm sensation like he was glowing inside.

“I guess love is complicated,” said George. “That kind of love, anyway.”

Suddenly Lester spread his arms wide and began flapping like a bird, releasing all the energy that was pent up inside him, letting go as he swooped and soared. Then George spread his arms wide and followed. The birds and the dogs stopped to stare, and for one brief moment George was sure the world had stopped.

“I wonder what it feels like to be a bird,” said Lester. “Or a strand of cordgrass.”

“Or a cloud,” said George, throwing back his head and looking upward.

It started to rain and George stuck out his tongue to catch the drops, which were the size of bullets. Lester caught some too.

“You know, even the rain tastes different here than in Denver,” he said.

“Yes,” said George. “But, Lester, dear, in life we must move forward.”

*   *   *

George and Bart dropped Lester and Bill Gates at home, then took a detour, passing by the house where Kyra used to live. George stopped, and Bart waited patiently as he looked at the gray weathered cape, similar to Lester's house. An immense quiet seemed to flow back to him. The driveway was empty and the garage door was down. The Joyners had had three little windmills on the roof to measure the velocity and direction of the wind, but they were no longer there. George felt a wave of sadness wash through his body. He tried to stay with it and locate just where it was, but it seemed to move from one part to another. Without even thinking, he reached down and touched the green ribbon on his wrist. Then he took a deep breath, and it was like a cool breeze circling him, carrying the remnants of Kyra—Kyra particles, George called them—away. George's gaze settled on an abandoned lawn chair in the yard, and for the first time he realized fully that Kyra was gone. Then a hush settled over the house, a long, drawn-out “Ssh.”

“How could a house say ‘Ssh'?” George whispered. Then he turned to Bart. “Come on, big guy,” he said. “Let's go home.”

 

28

Lester woke up on Monday with a queasy stomach and no appetite. That was unusual for Lester. He hoped he wasn't getting the flu. He ate a light breakfast of toast and jam—light for Lester, anyway. Then he started for school on foot. He was looking forward to geography class. Ms. Clover was showing a movie about Africa, which she'd visited last summer.

Lester entered the schoolyard and walked past the bike rack. He looked to the right, expecting to see George's bike. But the slot was empty. George must have walked or gotten a ride.

Ms. Clover took attendance, but when she called George's name, there was no answer. George was absent. Lester wondered if he wasn't feeling well either.

After school, Lester took the long way home, walking past George's house. The car wasn't in the driveway and the pastry van was gone. When Lester arrived home, he found Bill Gates in the kitchen.

“He's been there over an hour,” said Lester's mother.

Lester stroked Bill Gates's back. “Is something wrong, buddy?” he said. Lester checked his watch—3:40—and went upstairs to fill in his logbook. When he was done, he came back down to the kitchen. “Come on,” he said to Bill Gates. “Let's go to the marsh.”

Lester tossed a tennis ball and Bill Gates raced off to fetch it, through the strands of cordgrass, across the wooden bridge. Lester had hoped that George might show up. But he didn't.

Bill Gates raced back with the tennis ball in his mouth. He dropped it at Lester's feet, then rubbed up against his leg.

“What are you thinking?” said Lester. He and Bill Gates headed home, passing George's house for the second time that day. The car was back in the driveway, and the van was parked on the side of the road. Lester thought about ringing the bell but something held him back. He stopped for a minute, seconds in which time seemed to stand still. Then he and Bill Gates kept on walking.

 

29

George was back at school the next day looking as though he hadn't slept a wink. His clothes were disheveled and his hair uncombed.

“Hey, what's wrong?” asked Lester. “You look more like me than you.”

“What's right?” groaned George. “Bart got hit by a car yesterday morning.”

In the seconds that followed, something strange happened to Lester. It was like he became George or George became him. He could feel George's pain as though it were his own. It felt awful.

George started to cry tiny tears that spurted from the corners of his eyes. They reminded Lester of mustard squirting from a tube. George tried to quell them with his shirtsleeve.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Lester

George shook his head. “They don't know yet,” he said. “The vet might have to put him to sleep.”

Lester reached in his pocket for a napkin. “Here,” he said.

“Thanks,” said George, wiping his eyes again.

George braved the day silently. During recess, Lester tried to distract him with a basketball, but it was no use. George wouldn't budge from the bench where he sat.

“I'm sure Bart will be all right,” said Lester.

“How can you be sure?” asked George. “I'm not sure. So please don't say that.”

It was one of those times in life when there wasn't anything more to say, no words to express emotion. So Lester just sat down next to George and said nothing.

Lester stopped at his locker after school, then went to look for George, but George wasn't at his locker or on the playground.

“Anyone seen George?” he asked.

Charlotte answered. “His dad picked him and Vivien up,” she said.

Lester walked home alone, thoughts turning in his head like a cyclone.

“Bill Gates has been coming out to the gate on and off all day,” said Lester's mother. But he wasn't there now. He was in the backyard.

Lester nodded absently. He looked at his watch. It was 3:41.

“What's wrong?” asked Lester's mother. She put her hand to Lester's forehead. “You look sick.”

“I don't feel that well,” said Lester. He wondered if bad news could give you a fever. “I think it's because something awful happened. George's dog, Bart, got hit by a car yesterday.”

Lester's mother's mouth contracted into a thin hyphen. Then she whispered, “No.”

“Yes,” said Lester. “And the vet doesn't know if he's going to be okay.”

“Poor Bart,” said Lester's mother. “And poor George.”

Lester's eyes had begun to water. He bent down and rubbed Bill Gates's fur coat. “Now don't you go out and get hit by a car. Please.” Tears welled in Lester's eyes at the very thought. “I hope nothing ever happens to you,” he said.

*   *   *

Vivien sat on George's bed with her hands in her lap. She'd put on her blue dress with the tiny yellow flowers and fluted sleeves. “It's my lucky dress,” she said. “I'm wearing it for Bart.” Bart was still at the vet's.

“I'm sure Bart appreciates your wearing it for him,” said George. “But I doubt it's going to help.” Vivien shrugged.

George looked at his logbook. Bart had been waiting for him 13 out of 15 times. He didn't count Monday when Bart got hit or today when he was at the vet. There were three trials left. But Bart probably wouldn't be able to finish the experiment.

George closed his logbook and stared into space. Now he was the one waiting for Bart to come home. But he wasn't sure that was going to happen.

 

30

George came to school on Wednesday wearing black from head to toe. “They put Bart to sleep last night,” he said to Lester, who was dribbling a basketball on the playground.

Lester stopped what he was doing. “No,” he said.

“Yes,” said George. He took the basketball and squeezed it between his hands. “Life is weird,” he said quietly. “I wonder what it's like to die. It must be strange.”

“I don't know,” said Lester. “But I think about that sometimes too.”

“I wonder if Bart knew he was going to die,” said George. “I bet he did. I read somewhere that some people know when they're going to die. They get a feeling. I think Bart had that feeling.”

Goose bumps broke out on the surface of Lester's skin. He didn't have that feeling but he had others, like how mysterious life was. An image rose in his mind of the marsh the first time he saw it.

George started to cry again. “I miss Bart,” he said, putting his fist to his eyes. “He was like a brother. No, he was better than a brother.”

“I miss him too,” said Lester, reaching up and grabbing a whirlybird from an overhanging branch. He opened it and stuck it on his nose. Then he handed one to George and George did the same thing. And they stood there in silence until the school bell rang.

George passed the day in a haze, doing his schoolwork like a robot. Nothing felt very real. At recess Ms. Clover came over to him and gave him a hug. “I'm sorry about Bart, George,” she said.

George nodded. He could see why she had the word “love” in her name.

George waited for Vivien after school and they started home together. Vivien reached out and took George's hand. George hoped no one was looking. The truth was that Vivien's soft, warm, little hand felt good in his.

“My lucky dress didn't work,” said Vivien. “Bart died. That's not lucky at all. But I'm going to wear it for another day just in case.”

“I don't think a dress will bring Bart back,” said George.

Vivien sighed. “But maybe something else will happen.”

“Like what?” asked George.

Vivien shrugged. She let go of George's hand and hugged her book bag to her chest. They crossed over the bridge with the alewives and George recalled what his father had said about their faith in the way of things. He wished he could have that kind of faith.

George hated to go home. He half expected Bart to be there waiting for him, but he knew that was wishful thinking. Instead, his mother greeted him at the door.

George looked at her and she looked back with a strange, motherly knowing, as though she could look right through him. She certainly knew what he was feeling. Maybe it wasn't motherly, George thought, but humanly instead.

After dinner, Vivien went out to the porch to fill the bird feeders hanging from the rafters. She went through the ritual each day, feeling wholly and solemnly responsible for the birds' existence. George understood her desire to keep life going. But he didn't have the heart to tell her it was otherwise, that it depended on other things far bigger than she. Bart proved that.

George went up to his room and sat on his bed. He was wondering how to break the news to Kyra. She'd loved Bart like he had.

There was a knock on George's door. It was his father. “Can I come in?” he said.

“Sure,” said George. “So I guess I won't be finishing my experiment.”

“I know, George,” said his father. He set his hand on the top of George's head and planted a kiss there. “But isn't this life?”