The Changing Season

by Manchester, Steven;

  Before swiping a mountain of dirty clothes onto the floor and jumping into bed, Billy shut off the light. The night light, however, stayed on for Jimmy—the timid soul.

  Even though there wasn’t nearly enough room for the two of them, Jimmy jumped up onto the bed beside Billy and immediately flipped onto his back. Billy laughed. Even now—at twelve years old—Jimmy wouldn’t go to sleep until he got his belly rubbed. “Aren’t you tired?” he asked the squinty-eyed dog.

  Jimmy never answered. He just lay on his back, his chest heaving and tongue hanging to the side.

  After pampering the spoiled elder for a few minutes, Billy asked, “What do you think about me going to school for video game design, Jimmy? I could pull that off, right?”

  The mutt’s eyes had already turned to narrow slits.

  “…or maybe I should look into the culinary arts program?” Billy suggested, letting the random idea flop around in his head for a moment or two. “I could open up my own restaurant someday. It’s not like we don’t love to eat.” Billy tried pushing the big oaf over. It was no use. He laughed, remembering when his mom—all those years ago—had tried to stop the dog from sleeping in his bed. “He’s only going to get bigger,” she’d warned, “and you’ll never be able to move him.”

  “I don’t care, Ma. Just let him stay,” Billy had said. “I don’t care if there’s no room. I want him with me.”

  She’d smiled. “Okay, but one of these days you’re going to regret it.”

  As the rain and wind battered the window, Billy looked sideways at old Jimmy and tried one last time to shove him over. But the dog was already snoring and wouldn’t budge an inch. Billy chuckled again. You were wrong, Ma, he thought. I still have no regrets.

  Jimmy yawned once and threw his leg—connected to its giant paw—onto Billy’s chest.

  Billy stared at the ceiling and smiled. When he was a young boy, Jimmy was his whole world. Now, his four-legged best friend made him feel whole. No regrets at all, he thought and closed his eyes, waiting for the angry storm—pounding away at his window—to sing him to sleep. But before the darkness had completely enveloped the world, Billy had his final thought of the day. To hell with culinary arts. Owning a restaurant would be way too much work.

  ⁕

  Billy awoke late for his last day of school. He looked at his alarm clock and realized he’d forgotten to set it. “Oh man,” he grumbled, though he felt anything but panic. He yawned once and sat up, swinging his feet onto the sea of dirty clothes. Jimmy was already waiting by the door to start the day. “Early bird,” he teased the dog.

  The pair moped down the hallway to the kitchen. The house was quiet; Billy’s dad was traversing the first long miles of a cross-country haul, his mom was already at Nick’s Pizza Shop preparing the dough for the day and Sophie—his genius sister—was nowhere to be found. She’s probably at the library, getting a head start on some stupid summer course, he figured, and smiled at the thought of her.

  Essentially sleepwalking, Billy took Jimmy outside to do his business. Hours before, the rain had stopped and the dark clouds dispersed. It was bright and sunny, a beautiful day. Billy sneezed. While he waited for Jimmy, he yawned a few times and sneezed again—which led to a dreadful sneezing fit. Within seconds, his eyes were red and swollen, and there was a tickle in his throat that couldn’t possibly be scratched. Even with the heavy rains that had passed through, the tree pollen covered everything—windshields, patio furniture, Billy’s esophagus—in a fine green film. It was an annual three weeks of physical torment which offered only two choices: suffer through it or take the antihistamine that pulled his head into a dense fog and made his body feel as weak as a scarecrow’s. Billy was still doing his best to suffer through it.

  They hurried back inside. While Jimmy watched with beggar’s eyes, Billy slathered a slice of toast in thick peanut butter. He ripped off a chunk and placed two aspirin tablets—prescribed on a temporary basis by the vet—in the middle to help Jimmy manage his arthritis and the other pains of old age. The dog inhaled it. “Jimmy, you’re a peanut butter junkie,” Billy said. “You really need help.”

  After feeding Jimmy the rest of the peanut butter toast, Billy filled the dog’s giant bowl—the first of two helpings he received each day—before dumping half of a box of cold cereal into his own faded bowl. He’d only taken two bites before Jimmy’s loud chomping halted him. The dog was inhaling the crunchy kibble like he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Go easy, boy,” Billy told him, shaking his head. “Nobody’s going to steal it from you. I promise.”

  Jimmy’s head popped up briefly to glance sideways. It was enough time for a mouthful of his breakfast to fire out of the side of his jowls, salad-shooter style. But the dog never missed a beat. He was a canine vacuum cleaner. Whether it was escapee kibble or those brown, snail-like stains—similar to what a baby’s teething cookie leaves behind—Jimmy made good on mopping up his own messes.

  “You’re going to get sick eating that fast,” Billy teased him. “And you’re going to get even fatter.”

  By this time, the dog was nearly done vacuuming the kitchen floor.

  Billy laughed. Jimmy’s ideal weight was fifty pounds, but somewhere along the way he’d acquired a bad habit of snacking between meals, so he now tipped the scale at just over seventy pounds and bordered on obese.

  Jimmy finally looked up, as if he realized he’d just been slighted.

  “Sorry, big boy,” Billy said, chuckling, “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Without dignifying the comment with a response, Jimmy jumped right into his morning hygiene session. The big mutt was obsessive compulsive, always licking his paw and running it across his face and behind his ears. And he washed up three or four times a day, whether he needed it or not.

  “Clean freak,” Billy told him and, leaving the dog to his bath, returned to his cereal. The milk had already turned to a rich, chocolaty brown. Perfect, he thought.

  It didn’t take long to get ready for school. Being the opposite of Jimmy—somewhat hygienically challenged—Billy quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face. He then ran a brush through his hair three times or until he hit a knot he was in no mood to tackle. Just as he prepared to leave the bathroom, he paused in the mirror for a moment and gazed at his reflection through red puffy eyes.

  At seventeen years old, he was already 6’2” on a wiry frame he was still filling out; he sensed it would be a few years before he wore it comfortably. He had brown hair, light mocha eyes and short-cropped hair that was tapered in the back, with sideburns sculpted in the shape of long, sharp fangs. He also had straight white teeth, thanks to two years of wearing braces and his father’s overtime hours to pay for them. He reached up and rubbed his failed goatee, a sad patch of facial hair kept to conceal the final remnants of chin acne—just another cruel cost of passing through adolescence. “You need to get a real job,” he told his reflection.

  While Jimmy watched his every move—and was already fidgeting at the realization he was being left alone—Billy threw on a white V-neck t-shirt, a pair of worn jeans and a new pair of Nikes, purchased with his birthday money. He looked at his alarm clock again and whistled. “Wow, I’m really late,” he said, and couldn’t have cared any less if he were still sleeping. He turned on the video game console, grabbed one of the controllers and sat on the edge of his bed. “One quick game won’t hurt,” he told Jimmy.

  As if a switch had been thrown, the dog collapsed to his front paws.

  Twenty minutes later, Billy paused the game and emerged from his fog.

  Billy headed for the front door with Jimmy on his heels. They faced each other. “Sorry, Jimmy, but you don’t need to walk me to school today,” Billy said, referring to the daily routine they’d kept all through his school years. “I’m taking my car.”

  Jimmy whimpered and raised his paw six inches off the floor.

  Bill
y threw his backpack over his right shoulder and took a knee. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, kissing the crown of Jimmy’s silver head. “Just be good while I’m gone, okay?”

  Jimmy whined.

  “You’ll be fine,” Billy promised—as he’d promised each and every day for years—and closed the door behind him. After checking that it was locked, Billy sneezed hard. “Damn allergies,” he complained.

  Jimmy whimpered from behind the closed door.

  ⁕

  The days of high school fun were quickly coming to a close. Billy Baker, Mark Diethelm and Charlie Philips stepped into their third period biology class. While Billy and Mark headed for the rear of the room, Charlie sat down in the front seat. It was an assigned seat—a punishment for constantly horsing around. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “I’ll never forget all the love we’ve experienced in this room, boys,” he told Billy and Mark.

  The class—Charlie’s devoted minions—erupted in laughter. They all knew their teacher, Mr. Olivier, had missed his calling. The old grump should have been an undertaker specializing in high school students.

  Mr. Olivier caught the comment and informed the heckler, “One more immature outburst like that and you’re out of here, Mr. Philips.”

  “I’m out of here anyway, Mr. Olivier,” Charlie said, the man’s warning bringing out the smart-mouthed child in him. “We all are.” He grinned wider.

  The laughter only grew louder.

  Mr. Olivier shook his head in disgust and pointed toward the door. “You first then.”

  Charlie stood, faced his classmates and took his final high school bow. While the class erupted in applause, he slowly strolled out of the room.

  Billy looked at Mark. “And he wants to be an FBI agent.”

  Mark shook his head and laughed. “He’s got a better shot at making the FBI’s most wanted list,” he joked.

  After class, Billy and Mark found Charlie waiting with his girlfriend Bianca in the hallway—wearing his signature smirk.

  “There’s the perfect couple now,” Billy called out, making Bianca blush. Both of them had blonde hair and light eyes and were as physically fit as champion swimmers. If either of them had been called pretty, it wouldn’t have been a lie.

  “They look more like brother and sister to me,” Mark mumbled under his breath.

  Billy laughed before sneezing twice. He looked back at his friend and laughed again. Tall and lanky, Mark had worn a five o’clock shadow since the eighth grade; he’d been a big kid who’d stopped growing long before his peers. His bushy eyebrows—like protective awnings—shaded his already dark eyes, giving him a mature look. His Adam’s apple was the size of a baseball, helping him retain his radio voice, which was deep and soothing—and would someday be loved by the women, but not yet. “And you have the perfect face for radio,” Billy teased him.

  Mark never missed a beat. “When I grow up, Billy Baker, I want to be just like you,” he said. “This way, my mom…”

  “You boys ready for lunch?” Charlie interrupted, as they approached.

  “I know I am,” Bianca said.

  Charlie shook his head. “Sorry, babe, but we’ve been planning a boys only lunch for our last day of school,” he said, “so we’re heading over to Lina’s Restaurant for a meal we can digest.”

  While Bianca folded her arms and began to pout, Billy nodded. “I’m ready,” he said.

  Mark shook his head. “Sorry, but my grandparents flew in this morning for graduation. I need to get home. The family’s getting together this afternoon to spend time with them.”

  “Lucky you,” Charlie teased.

  “Lucky me is right,” Mark shot back. “I actually like my family.”

  The jab was enough to shut Charlie’s mouth. Everyone knew that Charlie didn’t have a great home life. While his dad was out cheating, his mom was either in therapy or dabbling in script drugs and alcohol. All the while, Charlie and his sister were left to fend for themselves.

  “Sorry dude,” Mark said and meant it. “I didn’t mean…”

  Charlie waved it off. “It’s fine,” he said. “Now I’ll only have to share my dessert with Billy.”

  There was polite laughter.

  Mark nodded. “Have a good time without me,” he said and disappeared into a thick crowd of students.

  “Oh, we will,” Charlie called out after him. “We will.” He turned toward Bianca, who had already gone from pouting to angry. Billy stifled his grin as Charlie reached out to grab Bianca’s hand. She pulled away from him and stomped down the hall after Mark.

  “If it’s going to be a problem, Charlie,” Billy teased, “we can go out for lunch when you have permission. Why don’t we just head over to the cafeteria and…”

  “Whatever,” Charlie said, punching his arm. “There’s no way we’re eating another meat surprise on our last day.”

  ⁕

  Lina’s was only a small restaurant that served appetizers unloaded from a refrigerator truck. For some reason, Billy felt excited when they arrived at the place for lunch; it felt like he and Charlie had suddenly become adults. As they waited for a table in the fancy tiled foyer, Charlie whispered, “Man, is she cute!” referring to one of the waitresses’ striking looks. He then looked toward Billy and grinned. “You should ask her for her cell number.”

  Billy half shrugged. “Yeah right, she’s like ten years older than us.”

  “But of course you won’t,” Charlie added.

  “Why would I, anyway? So you can sabotage me for some stupid laugh?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Charlie said, but he could hardly contain his smile.

  “Sure you wouldn’t.”

  Just then, the hostess—an older woman wearing too much make-up—approached them with two menus in hand. “Are you guys together?” she asked.

  Grinning, Charlie looked at Billy and nodded. “You could say that,” he replied, “but somebody’s afraid of the word commitment.”

  Billy shook his head. “Here we go,” he moaned, trying to suppress an ongoing sneezing fit. “Charlie, don’t…”

  But Charlie maintained his smile and gestured toward Billy. “He’s so sensitive. He only has one feeling and I keep crushing it.”

  The heavy-set woman laughed, while Billy shook his head. “Don’t listen to him,” he told her, his face burning red.

  “Okay then,” she said, trying to stifle a laugh while leading them to a table near the window.

  They took their seats across from each other. Charlie stared at Billy, while Billy struggled to avoid his friend’s comical gaze—until they both started laughing. “And you wonder why I can’t find a girlfriend,” Billy said.

  Charlie’s face turned serious. “Don’t give me that crap, Billy,” he said. “You know I’ve never messed with you around girls our age. The reason you can’t find a girlfriend is because you haven’t found your testicles yet.” He smiled. “And as soon as you do, you’ll be unstoppable.”

  Billy stared at his best friend thinking, For those who don’t know Charlie…really know him…they’d absolutely hate him. But beneath the sarcastic clown’s rough exterior was a fiercely loyal and caring friend.

  As they scanned the tall menus, Charlie said, “So your parents are throwing you a bash for graduation, huh?”

  Billy nodded. “Yup, whether I want it or not.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Are you crazy? Graduation parties mean cards stuffed with cash.”

  “I guess,” Billy said, trying to decide between the cheeseburger or the turkey and stuffing wrap.

  “You guess?” Charlie replied. “You’ll probably make more money at that party than you will all summer sweating your ass off at Oriental Pearl.”

  Billy shook his head. “I need to find something better than the Pearl,” Billy said, “or I’ll end up in trac
tor-trailer school in the fall.” As soon as the words left his lips, he felt sorry for them.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Charlie asked. “Your dad’s done all right for himself.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Billy said, regretfully.

  Charlie grinned. “So how much do you think Aunt Phoebe’s going to give you?”

  “Give me?” Billy asked.

  “For a graduation gift?” Charlie added.

  Billy laughed. “Who knows. Maybe…”

  The pretty waitress approached with a smile. “You guys ready to order?” she asked.

  Charlie snapped his menu closed. “Let me get the house cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and a Coke.” He smirked. “By the way, how fresh are those fries?” he asked.

  She glared down at him. “As fresh as frozen sweet potato fries can be,” she said, her smile erased.

  “That sounds perfect,” he said. “I’ll take them.”

  With a slight shake of her head, she scribbled Charlie’s order into her notepad. “And you?” she asked, looking toward Billy.

  “Give me the same thing, please,” he said, stifling an oncoming sneezing fit, “but I want my burger cooked medium.”

  Finishing the order in her book, she hurried away.

  “Go ahead, keep playing with people, Charlie,” Billy said, sneezing once, “and you’re going to eat a lot of food covered in spit.”

  Charlie laughed. “That’s an old wives’ tale,” he said. “I don’t think people actually do that.”

  “Sure they don’t,” Billy said, embarking on another sneezing fit.

  “I was just messing with her.”

  “I know, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t appreciate being messed with.” He grinned. “I don’t think most people appreciate it.”

  Charlie nodded in surrender. After a few moments, he broke the silence. “We’ve come a long way since freshman year, Billy Boy,” he announced, grinning, “when you got stuffed into that gym locker.”