by Harry Mazer
By accident one morning, I saw her going into McKessney Park. There was a bagel shop near the entrance where I sometimes stopped, and I saw her going into the park with a German shepherd. I followed her and watched as she and the dog ran around the track.
There was a playground nearby. I watched the kids playing basketball, and I watched her. After she finished running, she went into the bagel shop. The shepherd sat outside—no leash, not even tied up. He just sat there and waited. Inside, Running Girl was standing in line. I got up close to her; I was almost next to her, but she didn’t recognize me. I was like a shadow she didn’t know she had.
After that, I hung around in the park so much that the basketball players started asking me to play whenever they needed somebody. I played, but not as good as I could have, because I always had an eye out for Running Girl.
I imagined the different ways I could introduce myself to her. I’d be walking by one day, looking good, my hair combed, just passing by, sort of loose and light. She’d have a dog with her. I’d probably have a dog, too.
—That’s a nice dog you’ve got there. What’s his name?
—Dog, I’d say.
—Doug?
—Yeah, Doug, I’d say.
And a nice conversation would ensue.
Late one afternoon, I was hanging out with the basketball players and I saw her sitting by herself on a bench near the track. She just had the one dog with her, the German shepherd, who was sniffing around the grass.
I borrowed a pack of cigarettes from one of the kids. Just having it in my pocket gave me the nerve to walk over to her. When I got near, I lit one. “Hi.” I held the cigarette up. “What’s your name?”
She sort of half looked at me and didn’t answer.
Okay, she didn’t like me. She was too old. I was too young. Whatever.
She brushed the air. “Why do you want to know my name?”
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Because I want to talk to you.”
“My name is Glori.”
“I never knew a girl with that name. Glori. It’s a name I’ll never forget.”
“Really? What’s your name?”
“Lucas.”
“Lucas,” she repeated. “It’s a name I’ll never forget.”
I sat down near her, holding the cigarette away from her. “You want one of these?”
“I don’t smoke, Lucas.”
“I don’t either.”
She looked at me.
“Except sometimes, when I’m nervous.”
“What are you nervous about?”
“You,” I said. “I never talk to girls.”
“I guess now you do.”
“I guess so.”
I couldn’t believe it. We were talking. Then I couldn’t think of what to say next. I guess she couldn’t, either, because we just sat there.
“I see you with dogs all the time,” I finally said. “Are they all yours?”
“Lucas, are you kidding? It’s a job. One of several.” She showed me a bunch of keys on her belt. “People go to work, I go to their house, I get their dog, I exercise it, I bring it home, I feed it. They pay me.”
“They must trust you.”
“Would you? Do I look trustworthy?”
“You do to me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’d trust you with anything,” I said.
“Give me some money.”
I had a couple of bills, and I gave them to her.
“Say good-bye to your money,” she said.
“I don’t care,” I said. “Keep it. I’ll bring you some more tomorrow.”
“Now I know we’re friends,” she said, and handed the money back to me. She called the dog. “Belle!” The shepherd’s ears perked up, and she came over. Glori hugged her.
“This sweet girl here is mine. Aren’t you, Belle? You have a dog, Lucas?”
“My mother says it would be unfair to any animal to have to live with me.”
Glori looked me over. “You don’t look that bad to me, Lucas. What’s the real reason? Your mom afraid of dogs?”
“No, the rule of the house we live in says no dogs.”
“You’ve missed a lot.” She brushed away the smoke. “Why don’t you put that smelly thing out, Lucas?”
I carefully stubbed out the cigarette and put it back in the pack. “I get to meet dogs,” I said. “I’ve just met Belle. She’s friendly.”
“Sure, when she’s with me. There are a lot of untrained, undisciplined, unpredictable dogs out there. Not Belle! I run a training class for dogs in the park three days a week, and I know if anybody does.”
“That another job you have?”
“You are right. I’m one hardworking woman.”
“If I had a dog, I’d put her in your training class. Not that my dog would need it. I have a few rules of my own for dogs, and I’ve never been bitten or anything close.”
“Such as?” she said.
“Rule one, always stop and talk to any dog you meet. Rule two, never run from a barking dog. Rule three, always smile at dogs.”
“Sounds good to me. There’s a little more to it, of course.” She got up to go. “Come on, Belle, we have to get going. See you around, Lucas.”
I sat there thinking about the fantastic conversation I’d just had. Then I went and gave the kid back his cigarettes.
MY UNCLE TELLS ME ABOUT GIRLS
Jerry never cooked. We had takeout a lot and sometimes we went to a pizza house and shared what Jerry called “a big one.” He insisted I have salad, too. “I’m not a salad man,” I said. He kept pointing to things I should add to the salad. When we sat down, he said, “Just two guys having a good time.”
“Did you and my father do this?” Every night I looked at the picture of him and my father. A tall blond boy with his arm around a short blond boy. They looked like brothers.
He broke a piece from the pizza. “Your father was older. He had his own friends. But he was one great guy. One great brother. Everyone liked him.” Jerry’s eyes got a little damp.
I knew that look. When I asked anything about Dad, Mom got it, too.
“You miss your dad?” Jerry asked.
“Sure,” I said. “But you can’t miss too much what you’ve never had.” It was what I always said, like I didn’t care. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me.
“I bet it’s hard on you, guy. No father.” His eyes got that sticky red look again. “I wish he was sitting here with us right now.”
“Do you know what I did today?” I said to change the subject. “I talked to a girl in the park.”
“What girls?”
I held up one finger. “Girl.”
“Ooh! You saw a girl, you liked her, you talked to her. And now you’ve got a girlfriend! Hey, that’s good, man. Good work.”
“She’s not a girlfriend.”
“Yes she is. Yes she is!” He was grinning at me. “What’s her name?”
“Glori.”
“Great! That’s a great name. How old is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where does she live?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask her? You’re shy? You want me to talk to her for you?”
“No.”
“You’re right, I better not. Girls go nuts over me. I’d steal her away from you.” He looked really happy again.
“She only talks to dogs,” I said.
KIKI COMES TO BREAKFAST
Saturday morning, when I went into the kitchen, Kiki, Jerry’s girlfriend, was there. I’d never met her, but I knew it was her. She was built like Jerry, tall, blond, and lanky. She even wore the same style green and white sweats. There was a bank-sponsored ten-mile run that morning starting at the reservoir, and they were both in it.
“Hi, Lucas, I’m Kiki.”
“I know.”
“Jerry said you’re a terrific kid. I bet you are! Listen, Lucas, wil
l you tell the big guy to hurry up?”
“Jerry,” I called. “Hurry up.”
“What do you want for breakfast?” Kiki said. “We don’t eat much the morning of a race. I’m going to have a piece of toast and jam. You can have French toast, if you want to.”
“Okay.” I got the bread and eggs from the refrigerator and started the pan heating.
Kiki broke two eggs into a shallow bowl. “How’s your summer going, Lucas? You accomplishing a lot?”
“I can do twenty push-ups now.”
“That is incredible! Way to go, Lucas.”
She sounded like Jerry, too.
When he came down, he gave her a long kiss on the mouth. “That’s the way I like to start every day,” he said.
“Stop,” Kiki said. “You’re going to embarrass Lucas.” She served me the French toast.
Jerry sat down with a banana and a glass of water. “I’m going to ace this race,” he said. “You heard me say it. I’m going to win. You’re both going to be there cheering me on.”
“Hey, I’m running too,” Kiki said. “Remember?” She spread some jam on her toast. “So the only way I’m going to be cheering you, Jerry, is if I break a leg.”
Jerry winked at me. “Okay. Lucas is going to have to do it for both of us, then.”
THE INCREDIBLE OFFER
Kiki came in third in the women’s division, but Jerry won the men’s, just the way he’d predicted. Afterward, he couldn’t stop talking about it. “I told you guys,” he kept saying on the way home. “I told you guys I would.” He banged on the steering wheel. “Was that incredible, or what?”
“Incredible,” Kiki, who was sitting next to him, agreed.
“I ran an incredible race!”
“Incredible.”
“How about Kiki’s race?” I said. I was behind them. “She ran a good race, too.”
Kiki turned and gave me a thumbs up.
“Incredible,” I said again. I kept thinking about Glori. Would she remember me when she saw me again? Maybe I’d have to remind her. Hey, Glori, it’s me! Lucas, the boy without a dog.
“How you doing, Lucas?” Jerry glanced back at me. “Lucas, was I great or was I great?”
“You were great,” I said. “And Kiki was incredible!”
“You’re right, man. I want you to have a great day, too. What can I get you, Lucas, to make this a great day for you?”
“Lucas, make it good,” Kiki said. “He won’t make an offer like this again for another ten years.”
“Anything, Lucas,” Jerry said. “Come on, man. Name it, old son.”
“A dog,” I said, not meaning it at all, just thinking of Glori and saying it. She’d like it if I had a dog.
MICHAEL
“You ask Jerry for something, you get it,” Jerry said.
It was Monday, and Jerry had just come home from work, and yes, he had a dog in his arms, and it was all he could do to hold it.
“What’s that?” I said stupidly.
“Your dog.”
“I don’t want a dog,” I said.
“Sure you do. That’s what you told me. I got her from a customer. I said, ‘Peter, I’m looking for a dog.’ And he said he had one for me. Just like that. He’s a busy guy. His daughter left the dog with him, and he’s got no time for it. I said, ‘Give it to me, I have the right person for her.’ Watch this, Lucas.”
He put the dog down. She was an all-brown, short-haired dog. “This is one smart dog. Sit, girl,” he commanded. The dog leaped into the air. She went up like a rubber ball. Long legs, big, upright ears. She looked like a little deer.
“Sit! Sit, girl!” Every time he said sit, she sprang.
“Maybe English is her second language,” I said.
“She’s yours,” Jerry said.
“What am I going to do with her? I don’t know anything about dogs.”
“You’re going to do great, Lucas. Sit, girl; come on, sit,” he pleaded, but the dog kept leaping.
“What’s her name, Michael Jordan?”
“Michael! Great name. Is that what you’re going to call her?” Jerry put the leash on her, then handed it to me. “Dogs and boys, Lucas. Like ducks and water.” He went into the house.
Michael and I looked at each other. She was beautiful, but I was scared of her. Not scared that she’d bite me. Just scared.
“Dog,” I said. “Sit.” She sprang. She was all over me, trying to lick my face. “Sit,” I yelled. “Sit, Michael!” She didn’t pay any more attention to me than she had to Jerry.
I got her into the house. I didn’t want to drag her, and she didn’t want to go in, so it took me a while. In the kitchen, she stepped in the water bowl and sent water splashing over the floor. Then she lapped it up like she’d just spent six months in the desert.
She got into everything, sniffed in every corner, ate everything I put down for her. She didn’t know what halfway meant. She ate a can of dog food in seconds, scarfed it up, then pushed the bowl around with her nose until I filled it again. Then she got her paws up on the table, looking for more.
“Hungry little beggar,” Jerry said. “Knock her paws off the table, Lucas.”
I wasn’t knocking her off anything. I got my arms around her and set her down. Jerry said I should keep her in the garage, but I’d already decided that she was going to sleep in my room.
It was nice having her there. We played, but when it was time to go to sleep, she didn’t like the special place I’d made for her near my bed. She got on the mattress with me, curled up in back of my knees, and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night I woke up and heard her sniffing around the room. I’d put some papers down and she peed on them.
Jerry was right about one thing—she was smart. “Good girl,” I said. She licked my face with her rough, wet tongue. “Hey, Michael. Cut it out.”
She dashed around, barked, and wanted to play. Every time I fell asleep she did something and woke me up. In the morning I could hardly get my eyes open.
• • •
I was going to go to McKessney Park and show Glori the dog, but I never got there. Michael ran me all over the place. I spent all morning feeding her, cleaning up after her, chasing after her. I barely got her out of the house to do her business. She did it on the neighbor’s lawn, the grumpy one, the one with the shears, the one who never talked to Jerry.
He talked to me, though. He saw the whole thing. “Clean up that mess,” he said. “And take it all home with you.”
That night, Jerry brought home Chinese takeout. I shared my fried rice with Michael. She was crazy for it. She cleaned out the carton. She ate more than I did.
“You’re starting a bad habit,” Jerry said. “She’s going to beg for table food all the time now. Give her dog food.”
“I don’t like dog food.”
“I’m not asking you to eat it, Lucas.”
She went over and got her nose in Jerry’s dish. “Who invited you?” Jerry said, pushing her away.
“Don’t be mean, Jerry. She’s young, she’s growing, she needs a lot of food.”
“Not mine,” Jerry said. “Go on, you garbage can, get away.”
“Don’t call her that.” I wrapped my arms around her. “Her name is Michael.” She was warm and smooth, and I could feel the thick muscles under her coat. She kept looking around at me with those big goofy deer eyes like, What do we do next, Lucas?
MICHAEL ENROLLS IN SCHOOL
“Look, Michael, I want to impress my friend Glori by training you, and you’re not cooperating. Sit!” I said.
She jumped.
When I said come, she yawned.
When I said heel, she lay on her back for me to scratch her belly. It was all a game to her.
“Michael, no scratching, no playing, no getting your ears stroked till you listen.” I snapped my fingers. “This means come. Okay? You got it?” I snapped my fingers.
She wandered off to investigate a piece of paper in the corner of the ro
om.
I grabbed her and held her down. “You have to sit when I tell you to sit. Sit!”
She wriggled out from under my hand and barked, like this was a really good game.
“Okay. I give up.”
Glori held her dog obedience class in the afternoon. I didn’t know which afternoon, but I found out by going to McKessney Park. I was lucky. The very first time Michael and I went there, a faded red pickup truck drove up, and Glori was in the passenger seat. Her dog was in back and a guy with a shaved head was behind the wheel.
“Michael,” I whispered, “now we do it. We’re going to make a great impression on Glori. When I say come, you—”
Just then Michael spotted Belle, Glori’s shepherd, and like a shot she was off. She threw herself at Belle, sniffing around the way dogs do.
“Is this your dog?” Glori said. “Call her off.”
“Michael, come here. Michael!”
I had to run after her, but that wasn’t the worst of it. When I picked her up, she nipped at me. “Hey!” I slapped her on the muzzle.
“She shouldn’t be biting,” Glori said. “And you shouldn’t be hitting her.”
“I wasn’t. And she doesn’t,” I said quickly.
“She needs to be trained.” Glori was frowning. “An untrained dog is an unmanageable dog.”
“She’s my first dog,” I said.
“I know. I know.”
So she did remember me. “I want to enroll her in the class.”
“Give me a paw,” she ordered, and took Michael’s paw in her hand. “Let’s see if she’s going to cooperate. Shake, girl.” She moved Michael’s paw up and down. “That’s the way, girl.” She tickled Michael’s ears and did it again. “Shake.”
The paw went up and down, then the petting and the praise, then the paw again.
“She’s doing it!” I said. “She’s shaking.”
“Of course she is. She’s going to do really well. Shake,” she said, and Michael put out her paw.
I stuck out my paw, too.
“Oh, you’re a couple of cute pups,” Glori said.
PROFESSOR GLORI
Glori was a great teacher. Even after one class, Michael behaved better. She actually came when I called her and sat when I told her to sit. Jerry thought the training class was a brilliant idea. “You really showed initative there, Lucas. I’m proud of you. Things are shaping up for you now.”