Mercy on These Teenage Chimps (11 page)

"Don't feel bad," Jessica cooed.

We had returned to batting the balloon in the air, but it was I who failed to keep it afloat. My mood had darkened.

"I can't help it," I replied. "He's a bully. Just because he has a truck!"

I scratched Tammy's head and hoped that I could live up to what my new dog thought of me. Why couldn't I be brave instead of a wimp pushed around by a bully? A bully who was also a thief!

"Alyssa's not nice either." Jessica released a sigh. "I know you're feeling bad."

"I am," I admitted. I was tired of my role as Cupid and tired of climbing onto roofs and turning on valves and rescuing cats.

We stood in silence, or near silence, as Tammy had cornered a flea in her shoulder and was attacking it with chomping teeth.

"Let me show you something," Jessica said after a while. She pulled on my arm and started in a direction that wouldn't lead us to Joey's place.

"What about Joey?" I was determined to deliver Jessica to Joey and then go my own way, which for me would be a Sunday meal and an hour of
Animal Planet.
"Don't you want to see him?"

"He's not going anywhere," she retorted. "You said he's not coming down."

We hurried six blocks to the industrial part of Pinkerton and stopped in front of an abandoned broom factory. A portion of the roof was missing and through these holes birds entered and exited. A stray cat lurked near an oil barrel. And were those bats hanging in the eaves?

"I remember this place," I remarked. "They gave away a bunch of brooms when they shut down. We got red ones."

"My grandfather started the factory."

"No!"

"He did. He made brooms that went all over the place. In fact, when I went to see the
Queen Mary
in Long Beach, I saw one of his brooms. A sailor was using it."

"Wow," I uttered. It struck me as amazing that all the things made in this town—brooms, baseball caps, computers, or boxes of raisins—could circle the globe.

We ducked our heads and scooted through the chain-link fence. We walked around the outer grounds of the factory. A couple of rusty trucks sat with flat tires in the shadow of a tall smokestack. A rusty gasoline pump looked ready to fall over.

"That's where they put the straw," Jessica pointed out. "And that's where they lay my dog when he got killed. That's what Dad said."

I eyed Jessica, confused. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of hay, though the pile that filled the bin was mushy in its state of decomposition.

"My dad used to be the foreman here." She petted Tammy, who had sidled up next to her. "He used to take Mercury—that was my dog—to work. One day, Mercury got killed when a roll of baling wire fell on him."

I swallowed and wasn't sure what to say. I had lost a cat once—to old age—and had begun to understand mortality when one morning I found my hamster, Melvin, on his back, with his eyes open and sort of grinning. I had lost a lot of playground fights. But a dog getting killed? And in an accident? That would be the worst.

"He was a great dog. He could swim." Jessica described how she and Mercury would paddle in Bass Lake. He was also the perfect alarm clock. In the mornings, she recalled with a big smile, he scratched at her bedroom door at exactly a quarter to seven. And for comfort, what was a better shoulder than a dog's?

"Poor Mercury," I said. At that moment I wished I had had a dog when I was little. "How old was he?"

"Six, I think. He was so cute."

I observed a roll of baling wire next to the bin where straw was kept. I wondered whether it was the same roll that had killed Mercury. I wondered whether his body was buried near the factory, or maybe in her backyard.

"I know that Eric pushing you around and Mercury getting killed like that are different." Jessica wasn't making sense. She tried again. "Eric is a lot of hot air and can hurt your feelings, but when your dad comes home to tell you that your dog is dead, its way worse".

This was an improvement in logic, and I could see her point. I could also feel the pumps behind my eyes preparing to spill tears. I choked. I had never really talked with a girl before, but now I was convinced they were more sensitive.

"I agree," I responded meekly and turned away to rake a tear from my eye.

"Mercury used to like to go hiking." Jessica began to ruffle Tammy's fur in affection. "But he wasn't much of a guard dog. He liked people too much."

"You loved him a lot, huh?"

"A lot."

I sighed. Jessica's memory of Mercury was making her sad. And the memory of what Eric had done was making me sad. I wished I had one of Jessica's grandfather's brooms to sweep those feelings away. Wishful thinking.

In the real world, Eric was a bully and bullies ruled schools, but eventually they went away and sometimes they had their lights punched out by someone who was bigger and badder. This much I knew. Uncle Vic had told me so, and so had my mom when I came home one day holding my nose. I recalled that bloody-nose day because Mom had lamented, "Life is full of crooked roads." She peeked at my nose and added, "And crooked noses!"

"Come on—let's go!" Jessica beckoned. She wiped her eyes and reached into her pocket for a Kleenex. "Let's be happy."

Tammy barked and pranced.

"See—Tammy wants to go," Jessica said. "You lead the way, girl."

We picked up the scent of our purpose, which was to see Joey, himself hurting from a stinging insult. Jessica began to bat the balloon again, and this time we kept it in the air with every possible part of our bodies, plus Tammy's snout. The balloon dropped several times, but we didn't mind.

When we arrived,
victorious in our efforts to keep the balloon afloat, we found Joey's mom squandering her time knitting. It looked like a baby sweater. She was seated in a lawn chair near Joey's tree, the webbed bottom of the chair sagging from the weight of years.

"Hello, Mrs. Rios," I hailed. "What are you knitting?"

"Coat for Rex."

I thought of Tyrannosaurus rex and the miles of yarn it would take to cover that monster. I asked, "Who's Rex?"

She explained that it was her friend's Chihuahua. Then she asked, "And who do we have here?"

"This is Jessica. She wanted to see Joey."

Jessica whispered, "Hi."

I was surprised that Jessica spoke in a near mumble. Just minutes before, she had preached such a strong message about bullies. She had seemed so confident that as we rolled through life all the hard edges would smooth out. Now her demeanor had completely changed—she seemed bashful as a lamb.

"Jessica does gymnastics," I said.

"Have you been doing gymnastics long, dear?" Joey's mom asked. I noticed that her knitting had increased in speed.

"Since I was six." Jessica's smile was genuine.

"You must be about ... thirteen."

"Gee, everyone seems to be thirteen," I remarked lamely. I got the feeling that Joey's mom was suspicious of Jessica. I had to work myself into the conversation to keep it from being a showdown: overprotective mother versus the new girl. "I mean, Cory turned thirteen today, too. Isn't that something?"

They ignored me.

Joey's mom asked, "Do you know my son Joey?"

"Sort of. He doesn't go to the same school as me. But I met him Friday night."

I shoved my way into the conversation. "Hey, guess what I did today?"

Mrs. Rios ignored me again. She raised her head and called, "Joey, are you going to come down? It's almost dinnertime."

The leaves rustled, but, otherwise, there was no response.

"He's so stubborn," Mrs. Rios stated. She said that she had been trying to coax Joey down so he could get a good night's sleep for school tomorrow.

I needed to turn the conversation away from Joey and Jessica to keep Mrs. Rios off the scent. I figured I was a pretty good conversation piece and announced, "I went to church today, Mrs. Rios."

It appeared that I was invisible.

"Joey is so stubborn," Mrs. Rios repeated. "But a good boy."

"I'm sure he is," Jessica agreed. "He's Ronnie's best friend, and Ronnie is, like, really super."

"Jessica and I go way back," I lied as I stumped for attention. "Hey, Mrs. Rios, this is my dog, Tammy".

Mrs. Rios cut her eyes to me and then lowered them to Tammy.

"She was sort of abandoned." I ruffled Tammy's head and my new dog looked up, the bud of her tongue showing. She was way cute!

Joey's mom unexpectedly halted her inquisition. She rose from her chair and sniffed the air—smoke was drifting over the roof from a barbecue in the backyard. "I've got to check on Alex." Mr. Rios considered himself a grill master, though undercooked chicken and burned steaks were his specialty. Joey's mom excused herself and left, her slippers spanking her heels.

"Gosh, she asked a lot of questions," Jessica remarked. "I don't know if she likes me."

"She likes you. I know she does." I was going to point out that Mrs. Rios was just being an overprotective mother when the tree began to rustle and shake violently. It seemed as if the tree was going to send Joey catapulting into the next yard. Then, to my shock, I glimpsed Coach Bear climbing awkwardly down the rope ladder. When he was inches from the ground, he let go, landed with a thud that buckled his knees, then turned and hitched up his pants.

"Coach!" I cried.

"Ronnie," he said matter-of-factly. "I thought Joey's mom would never leave. I have been up there for almost an hour. I'd hate for anyone to see an old guy like me up in a tree."

"Are things cool between you and Joey?" I asked.

He said that he had apologized to Joey and begged him to please come down.

"Gosh, that's great, Coach." I was happy that he was not just a grumpy hairy bear, but a good guy who could fathom the hurt soul of a teenager. He was tenderhearted after all!

"I've seen you before," Coach Bear greeted Jessica, who had sidled up next to me.

"I got a gymnastics award on Friday night."

Coach Bear pounded his forehead with his palm. "Oh, yeah, dumb me, I forgot." He congratulated her again and mentioned he had a date. He had fish to fry and someone to share it with.

Coach Bear wasn't more than a dozen steps from his adios when Joey called from the tree, "Ronnie! Ronnie, come up here!" I caught sight of him nervously peering down through the branches. "Ronnie, get up here!"

I climbed the rope ladder.

"She's really here?" Joey cried nervously. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, and I felt it was my duty to calm him down. For a second I thought of throwing water into his face. But I decided to ply him with soothing words.

"Yeah, Jessica's here," I said. "Just relax. Be your usual self."

At the mention of her name, his cheeks reddened. He gazed shyly down at his feet. It took a few minutes for him to reclaim a hold on himself, during which time I snagged a banana and unzipped it artfully with a fingernail. I would devour that mushy sweetness in three bites.

"Jessica!" I trumpeted. "Come on up." My attention fell briefly on Tammy, who was drinking from the dripping garden hose. "Tammy, don't go anywhere." Tammy looked up, drops of water clinging to her whiskers.

Jessica climbed into the tree. At the sight of her, Joey's face turned even redder—heck, he was looking like a ripe plum! It was Jessica's turn to blush and shyly regard her feet. Was this the start of love? In my mind, I pulled back Cupid's bow and slaughtered them really good. Surely they had already started liking each other. What would Joey's mother think of that?

"Hi," began Joey. Some of the red left his cheeks and traveled to me. It was funny seeing Joey so nervous. Even I was embarrassed.

"Hi," Jessica whispered in return.

"Hi," he repeated.

Jessica presented him with the balloon, which she had been holding behind her back. "Remember this?"

Joey's eyes became coins of light. Dang, he was expressing all the signs of love! From the look of things, it was only a matter of seconds before he would float into the air.

"I remember it," he replied. "You're a really great athlete."

"Oh, stop it. You are! You were so awesome climbing way up there to get the balloon." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I couldn't do what you did."

I pushed into the conversation. "Do you know that trees are thirstier than humans? They're thirstier than dogs and cats put together." I wasn't sure if this last statement could be backed up by science, but it sounded plausible. After all, cats and dogs are smaller than your average tree.

They both ignored me.

"Climbing up there like that was really something," Jessica gushed with a huge smile. "That was, like, so super!"

"Ah, thanks," Joey replied, red spots glowing on his cheeks.

I had had enough.

"Joey!" I barked at my friend.

"What?"

"I was surprised to see Coach Bear."

The red spots on his cheeks paled.

"Yeah, he told me how sorry he was."

"That was nice of him, don't you think?"

"Yeah. He says he's going to try to get me reinstated next year if I want to wrestle."

Coach Bear was a champ of a person. For Joey, wrestling was not only the best sport in the world, but one you could put to use if someone pushed you around. Then I noticed Joey had turned goofy again. His smile was off center.

"Joey, show Jessica around. Give her a tour of your kingdom."

Joey, a congenial host, was happy to offer a tour of the first level. But first we drank a blueberry smoothie and topped that off with handfuls of almonds and walnuts. We sat cross-legged on a rug as we got comfortable. I began our conversation by saying that green was my favorite color. Joey, who had returned some of his attention to me, crowed, "Green is my favorite color, too."

We two amigos explored our penchant for the color green. Green was the color of grass and we liked to wrestle in grass and sometimes just park our bodies on grass. Green was the color of a lot of vegetables—artichokes, asparagus, broccoli, peas. We revisited the day we became vegetarians after watching a program on
Animal Planet
about an orphaned lamb. We debated how to make the best smoothies in the world.