THE LAST NIGHT . . .
MACK:
The place stinks of
diesel with all the backup generators running. I wish they would
turn them off and let it be dark, because I bet the stars would
look as true as they did the time me and my folks lived at this
real cool campsite in west Texas.
I have my brown paper
bag packed with my underwears and socks for tomorrow morning, ready
to head back to the tent. I heard Blue got transferred, so I figure
I’ll be all right for a while. This bed in here was too soft
anyways, and I have a backache. Yeah, I’ll be okay.
I lie back on the
floor and shut my eyes and picture Boo free, up at the reservoir,
the ball fields at night when they can let him run. I bet they have
him up there tonight, even. He’s hanging with Carmella and the
Tone, and then, when it’s time, Céce leads them all
home.
After a while I open
my eyes and it’s nothing but the bars over the window. Metal and
stone and grime-struck glass.
And
Thompkins.
He’s standing tall
over me. Arms crossed. Looking down on me.
I sit up and make my
face tough. I’d stand, but my legs are boneless. It’s hard not to
hear her saying those words over and over in my mind, words that
will stay with me and make the hurt permanent, I’ll love you too, always. I needed to hear them,
but it’s a blessed curse owning them now. Treasure keeping is the
longest haul.
“The dog was
delivered to the family,” Thompkins says. “All appeared to be going
quite well when I left.”
I nod. “Real happy to
hear that, sir. Thank you for coming in to tell me. You didn’t have
to do that.”
“Indeed.” He sits
next to me on the floor, our backs against the wall. I notice, him
close to me, he isn’t hiding his hand anymore. He’s got a faded,
home-inked gang tattoo between his thumb and index finger, the kind
burnt into a man with a Bic and a flick in the joint. “Not for
nothin’, you did a beautiful thing,” Thompkins says.
“Not for nothin’
back, I appreciate y’all giving me the chance.”
“Your work will help
a young man transition to his new reality with a little more ease.
Mack?”
“Yessir?”
“You have a
gift.”
Wash is watching from
the door. His eyebrows are up, and I guess mine are
too.
Thompkins nods, just
once, gets back to the tough old Thompkins face. “Mister
Morse.”
“Mister
Thompkins.”
“I have brought
someone with me who is most interested in the program. You would
help us a great deal if you would share your experience with
her.”
“Yessir. I won’t
fight you with the interviews anymore. I would like to do anything
to help the program.”
Thompkins nods to
Wash. Wash looks out the door and nods, and a few seconds later the
assistant lady brings in one crazy-looking pit bull. She’s got
these bugged eyes. Snout is crooked to the left. Lamed leg,
probably car-struck, healed wrong. But it doesn’t slow her down
much. This dog is jumping wild.
“No downtime on this
job,” Thompkins says.
“Last thing I need is
downtime, Mister T.”
The dog drops belly
up into my lap. Another basketball head, but this time on a skinny
little body. “You’re kind of runty, huh?” I nod to Wash and
Thompkins. “I like this dog, man. She’s a cupcake.” Wiggling all
over. She’s got a bent rattail, beats the dust from the floor with
it. Coats my face with slobber. I’m hearing a sound that surprises
me. I haven’t heard it come in this clear for as long as I can
remember. I hear laughter. Mine.
Wash says, “What’re
you going to call this one?”
“Boo.”
This Boo dog is just
running circles around me, teasing me to play with her. I say,
“Boo, stay.”
Tell you what? She
stays.