The Stray

A man wearing black pants and a blue polo shirt trudged home along the cracked sidewalk, sweating heavily and muttering under his breath, “On the bus route, huh?”

It was true that this selling point had been an exaggeration in the rent advertisement which had caught his attention last month. On the other hand, it also had the lowest rate for a basement apartment with no roommates. Eleven years of living in crowded bases and outposts with dozens of other guys was eleven too many. Those days were over.  

From behind him came quick, shuffling footsteps and the irregular bounce of a basketball. He moved to the side, but the baller didn’t pass by.

A young voice said, “Hi… Hi there.”

“Hey,” the man acknowledged, only slightly turning his head.

“Hi!” This time, the voice cracked. Without stopping, the man looked back over his shoulder at the boy, who he judged to be eleven or twelve years old. His long limbs were working tirelessly to keep the basketball on the sidewalk. “Hi,” the boy said for the fourth time.

“Hey,” the man replied and turned forward again. He stepped as far to the right as he could, grazing the chain link fence that bordered the sidewalk on this block, thinking the boy would surely take the hint and pass on by. Instead, the boy came up beside him and then slowed his pace.

“Whew, it sure is hot. Man, was it a hot day for basketball! Gram says it will just get hotter too. She says it doesn’t get really hot until after the fourth of July…July fourth…fourth of July.”

The basketball hit the man’s foot. He flinched but didn’t say anything.

“Sorry, got it! Well, I am sure going to be happy for a cold shower. How about you?”

“Yep.” He began to scan for other neighbors.

“What’s your name? Mine’s Roger.”

“Mine’s Tarrick.”

“Wow, that’s kind of weird. I’ve never heard that name before. Where do you live? I live at 317 Warwick St. It’s the house with the big trees.”

The man winced, trying to scrub the address from his mind. Where were this kid’s parents anyway?

“You must live around here because I saw you get off the bus. Which one’s your house?”

He could envision the headline of the local paper now: “34-year-old Veteran Charged with Kidnapping. Police Suspect Coercion Despite Claims that Boy Entered Without Suspect’s Consent.”

“It’s down there.” He vaguely nodded up the street and pulled up short as the basketball crossed in front of his path again. The long limbs swooped after it.

“Here’s my house. See, it has the big trees, just like I said. You know what else? I’ve got a dog with only three legs. You wanna see?”

Tarrick stopped suddenly. He looked up at the house. There wasn’t actually a “Trespassers Will Be Shot” sign visible, but there might as well have been. The front porch sagged a little, and there was evidence of decades of patch jobs.

“Are your parents home?” Tarrick finally asked.

“Uh, no, not exactly. But Gram is home. She doesn’t mind if people visit. Come on.” He hurried to the porch, sending the basketball careening across the yard. He threw open the screen door and shouted, “Gram! My friend is coming in, OK?”

Tarrick still hesitated on the street until he heard a faint voice answer. It didn’t sound ready to reach for the shotgun. He slowly made his way up onto the porch steps, right foot first on each step.

Gram sat at the kitchen table with coupons, scissors, and a notepad spread around her. She was wearing scrubs. She greeted Tarrick, who hovered in the doorway, with a warm “How are ya?”

“I’m good, ma’am. How are you?”

The kitchen had last been decorated in the 70s with Avocado green countertops and pineboard cabinets. It was cluttered and the food on the counter was primarily Dollar Store brand. Pictures on the fridge and a few flowers in an old sauce jar provided pops of color.

“Oh, I can’t complain.” She turned back to the grocery store flyer with a poised pencil. “Go ahead and show him your dog, Roger.”

“He’s out back.” Roger ran through the kitchen, upsetting a laundry basket balanced on a stool as he went. “Oops, sorry!”

Gram sighed. She nodded to Tarrick to go on through.

Tarrick followed Roger through the back door and just barely caught the screen door Roger had only briefly held open for him. He took the steps left leg first on each one, while Roger ran over to a disintegrating, scrap lumber doghouse.

“Hey Scamp! Come out, boy! Someone’s here to meet you.”

The call was unnecessary. Scamp was halfway across the yard before the screen door slammed shut. He ran the full length of his chain and then snapped back because he couldn’t balance on his one back leg. He was slobbering and barking and wagging all over the place. Roger embraced him and they tumbled around, the craziest looking mess of arms and legs (though one short) Tarrick had ever seen.

Tarrick crouched down slowly, almost getting knocked off balance by the licks and nosey sniffs. He wrapped his arms around the furry whirlwind as it stilled. It was a scamp all right. No distinct breed was discernible. This was about the most generic dog he’d ever seen. One of Tarrick’s hands got too close to where the missing leg should have been and Scamp leaped back with a snarl. Tarrick backed up and waited until Scamp slowly came sniffing back up to him. Scamp was quick to forgive, wagging his tail again wholeheartedly. Tarrick was more careful to avoid the spot this time.

“What happened to his leg?”

Roger shrugged. “We just found him that way a couple years ago. Gram says some animals are born like that. I wonder if maybe he was in a big fight though and a pitbull bit off his leg. Or maybe it was a bear or something.”

Tarrick scratched Scamp’s back with one hand and hugged his neck with the other. This was no birth defect. “You’re a fighter all right. Good boy.”

In just a few minutes, Scamp managed to wear out not only Tarrick, but even Roger, who collapsed panting on the grass like a starfish, arms and legs taking up more land mass than an elephant. Between tennis ball throws and slobbery attacks, Tarrick had found out that Roger’s mom had passed and his dad was only an occasional visitor in the house. He had also learned that Roger was trying to get on the basketball team at school, that he really liked animals, that he was in the 6^th grade, that the eye is the fastest muscle in your body, and a myriad of other personal and academic trivia.

Tarrick looked at his watch, “Well, I should be going now.”

Roger and Scamp looked at him from the grass, both with open mouths and tongues out. “Ok,” said Roger.

As Tarrick got up from where he’d been sitting, Roger asked “What’s that?!”

Tarrick looked around, “What?”

Roger sat up now. “That,” he said pointing to Tarrick’s pant leg.

“Oh,” Tarrick cleared his throat. “That’s just my prosthesis.”

“Your what?”

“Prosthesis. It’s like a replacement leg.” He started to walk toward the house casually.

Roger sprang up after him, “Woah! What happened to your leg? Does it hurt? You’re like Iron Man or something. Let me see!”

Tarrick hesitated then with a sigh, lifted his pant leg up just a little. Roger stopped talking. Wide-eyed, he reached out his hand.

Tarrick stepped back quickly and let his pant leg fall again.

Roger turned red. “I’m…I’m sorry.” He knelt down to hug Scamp again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Scamp’s brown fur.

Tarrick didn’t know what to say. “I forgive you” sounded pompous. “It’s OK” was untrue. “I still like you” was creepy. He finally said, “Some time you can come over and see my guns if you want too…and if it’s OK with your Gram. Check with her first.”

Roger unburied his face and deliberately stroked Scamp all along his back. “OK, thanks.” He smiled a little and then got up to follow Tarrick.

As they went back through the kitchen, Tarrick lingered. Gram was stirring a pot of chunky red sauce and meatballs with one hand and testing the tenderness of a spaghetti noodle with the other.

Tarrick cleared his throat, “It was nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Gram turned and smiled, “Well, it was mighty nice to meet you. Roger always seems to pick out the best kind of friends.” Roger had pulled a brightly colored ice pop out of the freezer and was holding it to his forehead.

Tarrick blushed just a little, “Oh, well, thank you. Um, since we’re neighbors and all, you just let me know if you ever need anything.”

She paused stirring a minute. “Well, that’s nice. We do alright, but thank you.”

Tarrick sank a little. He had done it again. It had come off as creepy. “Oh, I’m sure you do, ma’am. I… well…you just let me know.” He started to head to the front door.

“How would you like to stay to dinner? I think I made too much.”

Tarrick smiled and turned again, “I think I can help with that.” He pulled up a chair at the cluttered kitchen table.

Photo by Belinda Fewings on Unsplash