Me & Jack

by Danette Haworth

  Jack’s spot on the couch was empty. I looked all over for him before finding him by the back door.

  “Want to go for a walk?” I asked.

  He jumped up and down and turned in tight little circles. I hooked on his leash, locked up the house, and we left. We jogged into the woods at the same place Jack had slipped in the other day.

  A light breeze lifted the branches, and they swayed back into place. Sunlight flickered through the trees. Walking from shade to shafts of sunlight, I felt cool and warm at the same time. The trees right near the house had skinnier trunks than those a little higher on the mountain.

  I spotted some blueberry bushes. A hint of red still colored most of the berries. I picked a few and popped them into my mouth. Juicy, but a little sour.

  “Want one?” I asked Jack. I pulled off a berry and fed it to him. He sat there for a second, then he opened his mouth and let it roll off his tongue. Then he sneezed. I laughed and petted him. “Okay, you don’t like blueberries.”

  I picked up a flat rock and began to dig a hole. If you dug a hole deep enough, you’d tunnel straight through to China. My friend Nick and I tried to do that until our moms came out and yelled at us for messing up the flower bed. That was when I lived in Missouri.

  Jack helped me dig. His paws furrowed so fast that the hole quickly became deeper. Bugs and a worm crawled in the dirt, and then I spotted a couple of strange rocks.

  “Jack! Stop!”

  I reached into the hole and pulled out the rocks. They were flat and smooth and shaped almost perfectly like triangles. I whisked the dirt off with my fingers. These weren’t just regular rocks.

  “Arrowheads! Jack, look!” I held them flat on my palm. The last person who touched these was an Indian, a real Indian. Closing my fist over them, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. An Indian had touched these and now I was touching them.

  I looked at the arrowheads for a long time. I imagined a strong brave running silently through the woods. Spotting a deer, he drew back his bow and the arrow flung through the air. Or maybe he used these arrows to fight against soldiers or another tribe. It didn’t matter—these were definite treasures in every way. An excellent find for my Pennsylvania shoe box.

  I slipped them into my pocket and suddenly felt hungry enough to eat a horse. “C’mon, Jack,” I said, giving the leash a light tug. We trotted through the woods all the way to the back door. I picked up the dirty garden glove, shook the key into my hand, and Jack and I ducked into the empty house.

  chapter 8

  I sat on the bank across from the garage with Jack on one side of me and a pile of rocks on the other. I’d discovered the chalky ones burst if you threw them hard enough. “Okay,” I said, picking up one that was lemon-shaped, “here goes an M26.” Pretending to ignite a grenade, I hurled the rock against the garage roof and watched it explode into a million pieces. They rolled down the shingles, dropping from the garage like hail.

  My arm was cocked for another attack when I heard the station wagon revving up the hill. Finally. I wanted to show Dad the arrowheads but more important, I had to talk to him about going over to Prater’s.

  While our TV dinners were in the oven, I parked myself beside Dad on the couch. He lowered the newspaper. I held open my palm. “Look what I found today.”

  He leaned over, picked one up, and stared at it. “Let me see the other one.” When I gave it to him, he looked at them so hard, I thought he was X-raying them. Then he turned to me with an amazed expression. “These are arrowheads!”

  “That’s what I thought!” So far, so good. It wasn’t like I was going to lie to Dad about anything, but I knew I was warming up for the big question. When I was younger, other boys shot at each other with cap guns, but not me. I wasn’t even allowed to own a squirt gun.

  “Guns are not toys,” he’d always say whenever I begged for one.

  “Yes, they are,” I’d whine. Mom and I passed them in the grocery store, for crying out loud. I’d tug on her hand, plead, and still she’d shake her head. Your dad said no.

  I wondered what he’d say tonight. I wondered all through my mashed potatoes and sick-looking peas. The steak was as hard to chew as leather, so I moved on to my apple turnover compartment.

  “Nothing like a gourmet dinner,” Dad said. He’d eaten two of them. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make, okay?” He pushed back his chair.

  “Wait.” I swallowed and looked at the steak. I’d give it to Jack later. “Um, you know those boys I met? The ones playing basketball the other day?”

  He smiled, ready for good news.

  “Well, I saw them today and they invited me to come over after supper.”

  “That’s great!” He relaxed in his chair. “I’m glad you’re making friends. What are you guys going to do?”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “They want to shoot targets. Prater’s dad will be there,” I added quickly.

  Dad frowned.

  “His dad will be there,” I said again.

  Staring at his folded hands, Dad mulled it over, then stood. “What’s his name again?” I told him, and he went straight to the phone book. He called a few Praters before landing on the right one. After introducing himself, he made some small talk with Mr. Prater, then started asking questions. “What kind of guns? What kind of targets? How much experience do the other boys have?” I cringed in my chair. “Where will they be shooting?” Okay, I was officially overprotected. I just hoped Prater didn’t get wind of this or I’d have to listen to more of his wisecracks.

  I cleared the table while Dad said good-bye. Pretending to be busy by sliding our chairs back into place, I waited for his answer. Dad grabbed the dishrag, soaped it up, and wiped down the counter.

  “Look at me.” Dad turned from the sink. White soap bubbles glistened on his hands, but there was no mistaking that a US serviceman stood before me.

  I straightened my posture and gave him my full attention.

  “You can go.”

  “I can? All right!” I headed for the back door, but Dad caught me by the arm.

  “Listen,” he said, his eyes dead serious, “I’m letting you go because I trust you.” He lowered his chin before going on. “A gun is a weapon; I want you to respect that. No playing around, okay?”

  “Yessir,” I said. He’d fought in the Korean War. This was a big deal for both of us.

  “Okay,” he said and gave me a sharp nod—dismissed.

  Jack and I waited for Ray on the front porch steps. I wondered what it would be like to shoot a gun. Soldiers fired guns all the time, but their lives depended on it. Plus, they trained with guns. I’d never held a gun before, much less shot one. The main thing was to not mess up in front of Prater. No way did I want to give him another thing to rag on me about.

  Suddenly, Jack stood erect, and he focused on the bottom of the hill. Ray came pedaling up the road. I waved. This is how it starts, a friendship.

  He cut over to his right, like he was going into Mr. and Mrs. Nichols’s driveway. I almost shouted to correct him, but then he turned and cut over to the opposite side. He zigzagged all the way up the hill; it was ingenious—he never had to get off his bike.

  “Hi, Ray!” I jumped down the porch steps to meet him.

  “Hiya.” Ray’s face was pink from the ride. He laid down his bike and looked around. “Hey, I was right,” he said. “I knew your woods and Alan’s woods were connected.”

  “Really?” Great—Prater was my neighbor.

  “Yeah, if you cut through your woods that way”—he pointed to the right—“you’ll end up by his yard. I mean, it’s like a few blocks over; the woods are really big.”

  “Oh.” As long as I didn’t have to see that jerk from my backyard.

  “Where’s Jack? I thought I saw him,” Ray asked.

  Jack had been right at my side on the steps; I leaped onto the porch and found him around the corner. He seemed relieved when he saw me. I bent down and stroked his head. “C’mon, Jack, it’s al
l right.” I tried to lead him out, but he balked. He looked up at me like he wanted me to stay.

  “It’s all right, Jack, he’s nice.” I rubbed his back. “C’mon, boy,” I said. “Come on.”

  Jack rose slowly and walked with his tail drooping. He followed me down the steps but stopped just short of being near Ray. He held his head straight. It wasn’t like he was afraid of Ray; it was more like he was being careful. “He just has to get to know you,” I said.

  Without moving closer, Ray crouched and held his hand out—not stretching his arm all the way, just holding it out a little. “C’mere, Jack.” He waited. When Jack didn’t come, Ray moved a little closer and touched Jack’s head, scratching him lightly behind the ear.

  I could see Ray was a dog person. I could also see that although Jack allowed Ray to pet him, Jack was actually inspecting Ray to see if he was a good person or not.

  Ray must have passed the test because Jack relaxed; he looked like he was enjoying the petting.

  When I put Jack in the house, Dad looked up from some paperwork near the phone. “You be careful.”

  “I will.” Jack pushed behind my knee, almost making me fall. Dad kept his eyes on me. “Don’t worry,” I said, but I knew it was useless. Dad looked like he wanted to hug me. I pushed open the screen door and yelled good-bye.

  “Have fun,” I heard him shout as I lifted the garage door for my bike. “But be careful!”

  I winced at his loud caution, hoping Ray didn’t hear him. After I closed up the garage, I hopped on my bike and sped out of there, hollering to Ray as I neared the porch. Please don’t let Dad come bursting out the front yelling more warnings. He’d hammered Mr. Prater with all those questions, and plus it was just target shooting. Nothing to worry about. Ray joined me as I turned down the hill.

  Nothing to worry about at all.

  chapter 9

  Ray and I braked all the way down the hill and turned left at the bottom. We rode for a couple of blocks, passing Mrs. Puchalski’s house. I followed Ray when he turned left onto a hard dirt road lined with trees. The road curved around and opened up to a huge brick two-story house that looked like a mansion. The yard was fancy, with rosebushes and a water fountain with a statue in it. The lawn rolled up toward the woods and even they were cleared of underbrush, like a park.

  I heard the whinny of horses and saw a barn that was bigger than my whole house. A couple of horses and a pony trotted within a corral. I’d never been this close to horses before. The two big ones were a deep chocolate brown, and their manes were almost black.

  Prater was rich.

  “Man,” I said. My eyes widened.

  “Yeah, I know,” Ray said.

  We cut over to a small path that circled the corral. A breeze mingled the sweet, grassy smell of hay and the scent of horses. Prater came out from the barn, hooked a rope onto the pony, and led it to the fence by us.

  Up close, the pony’s coat shone. His mane was darker than his coat, and it was combed over to one side. Even though he wasn’t as big as a horse yet, his legs were well muscled and he walked proudly.

  “Hi,” Prater said. He looked at Ray.

  “All done?” Ray asked.

  “Yeah, let me just comb him down and rub his legs.” Then he turned his weasel eyes on me and said, “Didn’t bring your dog, did you?”

  This wasn’t starting out well. I tried to think of something good to say, something funny or cool, but all I came up with was “Nice pony.”

  “He’s not a pony, dummy,” Prater spat. “He’s a foal. Don’t you know anything?”

  The muscles in my face tightened.

  “Come on, Alan,” Ray said, shaking his head. “You knew what he meant.” Then he turned to me. “Most people call baby horses ponies, but they’re really called foals.” He smirked at Alan and then looked at me. “Don’t ever make horse mistakes in front of Alan.”

  Prater laughed.

  I nodded. Anyway, who cares? I was just trying to be nice.

  Prater rubbed the foal’s nose. His eyes filled with pride. He reminded me of myself with Jack. “You’re looking at a future champion,” he said.

  Without meaning to, I nodded my head in agreement. The foal was beautiful, so dark its coat almost shone blue. No white spots anywhere.

  When I looked up, I caught Prater watching me. He tilted his head toward me. “You ever touch a horse before?”

  I shook my head. Prater pulled the foal closer and stroked the side of its neck. “Like this,” he said. “Not too close to his eyes.”

  I brushed my hand down the horse’s hard and muscular neck. His mouth quivered and he ground his jaws, revealing big square teeth. I snatched my hand back.

  My eyes darted toward Prater, but he didn’t laugh. “He’s just chewing against the bit.”

  “What’s his name?” I said.

  “Shadow.” Prater patted the horse’s neck. The look he gave the horse was gentle. Maybe he did have a heart.

  “Look at this.” He thrust his left arm to me, the one sporting the leather wristband. Holding the band so the etching was on top, he tapped it lightly. “See? It’s Shadow. I made it with my leather kit.”

  I took a close look. Though it could have been any horse, Prater made him look majestic, his front legs raised in a buck, mane flying in the wind. I liked it. “Pretty cool.”

  “Thanks.” Prater looked back to Ray. “Let me put Shadow up. You guys can go on back if you want. I’ll be right there.”

  Okay, that went all right. If the rest of my time at Prater’s passed this easily, I could handle it.

  Ray leaned his bike against the fence, so I did the same. We headed up the lawn, toward the woods. A few large trees stood here and there, separating the barn area from the rest of the yard. One tree had uprooted and fallen over; its base was taller than my dad.

  “Is this still his yard?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the yard even goes into the woods.” He pointed to the left. “That’s where I think if you cut through and kept going, you’d end up in your woods. They own a hundred acres.” The yo-yo came out and he started flipping it around.

  I leaned against a huge oak tree. The trunk split into a Y about fifteen feet up and boards had been nailed across the thick limbs, forming a floor. A couple of guns lay in the grass at the foot of the tree. Prater was still in the barn. Maybe we’d never even get to the guns.

  “So, are you guys best friends?” I asked.

  “He’s my cousin.” Ray sat down. “Well, not my cousin exactly, but my mom and his mom are cousins, so I guess we are, too.” The yo-yo whirred around Ray’s fingers. “Eiffel Tower,” he said, gesturing with his hands. He’d woven the string into an exact outline.

  “Wow.”

  “If you want, I can show you how to do some of this stuff,” he said. “Alan thinks it’s stupid.”

  That’s probably because he can’t do it, I thought, but I didn’t say that. What I really wanted to know was why Prater was scared of dogs. I leaned forward, the question forming in my mouth—

  “Joshua! Joshua!” A pink flash darted out the back door of the house and up the hill to where we sat. Breathless, CeeCee collapsed in front of us. “Guess what?” Her eyes were full of a secret, a not-too-secret secret, because it was obvious she wanted to tell.

  I played along. “What?”

  She squinched her eyes and tipped her face up at me, big smile. Very big smile.

  “You lost a tooth!”

  Pleased with my answer, she tucked her legs under and leaned over to me. “I’ll get a dollar tonight!” she said. She opened her palm to reveal a tiny tooth. “See!” She stood up and danced a little jig. “The tooth fairy’s coming!”

  Part of her dance involved fluffing Ray’s hair around. He lifted an eyebrow, then tried to grab her without looking. She dodged his arm and kept fluffing and singing.

  “Go on, Cee-monster,” Ray said. “Quit bothering me.”

  She laughed and paraded around the oak.

&nbs
p; Then Prater trudged up the hill holding the paper targets. I had hoped it would get too dark before he finished with Shadow, but it looked like there was no way out of it now.

  “You guys ready?” he asked.

  “Ready! Aim! FIRE!” CeeCee hollered, leaning out from behind the oak.

  “CeeCee,” Prater said. Same gentle voice he used with the foal.

  She pursed her lips. Her arms folded and snapped against her chest.

  Shaking his head, Prater laid the targets on the ground and led CeeCee away from the oak and toward the house. “You know you can’t stay when we’re shooting targets.”

  She whirled out from under his hand. “No fair! Daddy lets you play with guns.”

  This had the sound of an ongoing argument.

  Sure enough, Prater sighed. “I’m older than you are. Besides, the guns are too heavy. You could shoot your own foot, and the kick might knock you down.”

  Her face puckered. “I might knock you down!”

  She ran over and kicked his shin. I stifled a laugh—she looked so tiny against her brother. He easily captured her, turned her toward the house, and pretended to yell. “D-a-d … CeeCee’s trying to shoot guns with us!”

  “No, I’m not!” She squirmed in his arms. “Let me go!”

  He let her go, then raised his eyebrows. “Then get back to the house or I will tell.”

  “Anyway,” Ray said, “it’s hot out here. I wonder if someone could make us some lemonade.”

  She stared at him to see if she was being played. Then she glanced at all three of us and broke into a big smile. “I’ll make it for Joshua! Mommy will help me!” She ran down the hill and disappeared into the house.

  Ray smirked at me. “Someone’s got a crush on you.”

  My face heated up.

  “Shut up,” Prater said. He grabbed the targets. “Let’s see if we can hurt these things.”

  Interesting choice of words.

  I glanced toward the house and barn, but I didn’t see his father anywhere. Prater was making his way up the lawn, getting ready for the big shootout. Lagging behind, listening to Prater talk with Ray about stuff I didn’t know, I got the feeling I wasn’t even there, or maybe I just didn’t want to be there. Where in the heck was Mr. Prater? “I thought your dad was going to be here.”