by Renée Riva
Well, we looked up and down the rows and rows of cages until she found it, a shaggy little white mop that looked like somethin’ you’d put on the end of a broomstick and dust your floors with. I could only take so much of that “yip, yip, yippin’,” before I decided to wander off by myself. Along the back wall of the pound was a row of cages apart from the others. It suddenly hit me—these were the dogs on death row. They were next to go. I looked each dog in the eye and realized their lives would soon end for no good reason. Then I saw him. I stood in front of his cage just staring into his big sad eyes. Next thing I knew, he walked up to the door and lifted his paw toward me. That’s when Mama and Daddy, and everyone else on the premises, heard a deep wailin’ echo from the back of the pound. People came runnin’ from all directions to find me clingin’ to the front of the dog cage, sobbing, “Don’t kill him, don’t kill him, don’t kill him.…”
No one could pry my fingers loose from that cage. The pound warden came runnin’ as well and was about to try and pull me away, when my daddy stopped him. “It’s no use, sir.” My daddy just shook his head. ”You’re going to have to sell us that dog.”
“I’m sorry, mister, but this dog is not available for adoption. He’s … uh … he’s …”
“We know,” Mama cut in, “but you’ll have to make an exception. You see, our daughter here suffers from animal compassion. If you don’t let us adopt that dog, she won’t let go of that cage. And if you try to put that dog down … well, you may as well put that child down with it, because she will die from a broken heart … sir.”
Now, I don’t remember too many times in my life when someone tried to stand up to my mama, but when it comes to her children, you might as well just wake up a mean mother bear with five cubs at her side.
I have a feelin’ that warden could see it in her eyes. He just scratched his head, lookin’ puzzled, but in the end he did the wise thing. “Well, ma’am, guess I don’t see a problem with making an exception here.”
My daddy slowly pried my fingers free from the cage door and let the warden by to get the dog out. I overheard the warden say to my mama, “Ma’am, you might not want to take your daughter into these kind of places anymore, if you know what I mean.”
I don’t remember much else, but I do remember that instead of leavin’ with a small white peekapoo, we were walkin’ that big hairy dog out the front door to freedom.
Somehow in all of the commotion, another family had snatched up the little white mop. I tried to apologize to my sister. “I’m sorry about your poo, Adriana. I didn’t mean to wreck your birthday.”
Adriana just flicked her hair back like she didn’t even hear me and kept on walkin’. That’s when Mama put her arm around my shoulder and whispered, “She’ll be okay, kiddo. We’ll buy her that dress she likes.” Sometimes that’s all it takes for Mama to let me know she understands my strange ways. That’s what I love most about Mama. But from that day on, nothin’ was quite the same between me and Adriana.
As I’m lyin’ here with Sailor sprawled across my bed, his big furry head on my pillow, and my arms wrapped around his neck, I suddenly see Mama and Daddy in my doorway. The hall light’s shinin’ behind them, so they can’t see that my eyes are open, but I can see them. I can see them standin’ there together lookin’ in on me and Sailor … just lookin’, and smilin’ at us. Now I have Mama, Daddy, and Jesus all smilin’ at me, and it feels so good. As soon as they walk away, Adriana appears in my doorway. I have never seen anyone look at me so cold in all my life. That sweet, warm peace I was feelin’ just fades away.
I have a big project this morning that I’ve been wantin’ to finish for a long time. It’s a sign for my critter cemetery. I finally got the red paint I needed for the lettering. Now all these animals will have a proper sign marking their place of rest. When it comes to animals, Mama says I’m overboard. But she lets me stay that way, and has even pointed out that it may very well be my Divine Calling.
She stopped by this morning and said, “A. J., it won’t surprise me if I get to heaven only to find you in charge of the entire animal kingdom.” She says the good Lord is always looking for someone faithful enough to put a Calling on.
Sister Abigail says that if you can be faithful in the little things, then He’ll trust you with the big things, and He may even let you help Him run His kingdom. That’s one reason I have my critter cemetery here on the island. When Sister Abigail told us about how Mother Teresa in Calcutta helps all those poor dying people in India to die with dignity and gives them a proper burial, well, I decided to have the same type of setup here for animals.
I have always felt horrible seein’ a dead animal lyin’ all alone on the side of the road or a bird just lyin’ there on its back with its feet stickin’ straight up. So, I bring anything dead on the island to my cemetery, and I bury it myself. Then I make a stick cross to lie on top of its grave, pick a few flowers, and have a small funeral. I feel it gives honor to God to know that someone has taken the time to care for one of His fallen creatures. I sometimes even go as far as to bury dead bees or beetles that I come across, just to stay faithful to the little things.
My brothers know all about my sacred burial site, and none of them are allowed to step foot in it because it’s too hard to tell where all the dead animals are buried once the flowers die. Daddy has let them know that they will have him to contend with if they cross that line. There are plenty of other places on the island for them to play and build their forts, and my cemetery is off-limits.
I finally finish the last letter on my sign and stand back to look at it:
WELCOME TO
A. J.’S HAVEN OF REST—
DEATH WITH DIGNITY
FOR DEAD ANIMALS
I plan to post this right at my cemetery entrance next to my St. Francis of Assisi statue. Grandma Juliana is really into these saint statues. She has one for just about everything you could think of. It’s kind of a known family secret that Grandma Juliana is … well … the way Daddy tried to explain it to me in my terms was, “When it comes to Grandma Juliana’s mind, it’s like the wheel is still turning, but the hamster is missing.” Mama calls it senile. For instance, we got a call from the airlines on Grandma Juliana’s last trip back from Italy. Before she left Rome, she bought a two-foot-tall statue of St. Joseph of Cupertino, patron saint for air travelers. She insisted on havin’ St. Joseph in the seat next to her for the flight home. The problem for the airline was, she didn’t think she should have to pay for the extra seat and threatened the poor stewardess with “eternal damnation” if she tried to stash him in the overhead compartment. Grandma Juliana finally agreed to let him ride upright in the captain’s closet, but only if she could have the seat closest to the cockpit, which of course was first class, though she had only paid for coach.
Anyway, Grandma Juliana promised me “a big surprise” if I could memorize the names of all of her saint statues, and there are a lot of them. I’m thinkin’, maybe a horse, bicycle, trip to Italy …? It took me two weeks before I could recite them all back to her, and guess what I got? I’m lookin’ at it. My St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, statue. She had him shipped to me the minute she heard about my critter cemetery. She calls it my “zoo,” which is fine, but it’s the only zoo I know of full of dead animals, being guarded by a statue of a dead saint, but … whatever.
Now, I don’t know for sure if God has a special place for these animals in heaven, or if He’s just plannin’ to start all over with new ones, but I would be so happy to get to heaven and find all of these dead animals waitin’ for me and thankin’ me for caring about them. I will try and remember to give St. Francis some of the credit as well. I put my sign in the sun to dry, then head back to the cabin.
J. R. and Danny have become true fishin’ mates. They spend every mornin’ together out on that water. I wanted to tag along today, but J. R. says he finally has someone normal to hang out with, and isn’t gonna turn a good fishing trip into a sissy trip. Then h
e says, “Hey, speaking of normal, Danny wants to know why you’re the only one in our family with a Southern accent.”
Now I want to curl up and die. ”What’d you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Which is …?”
“You’re a nutcase.”
“J. R., that’s not funny, and it’s not the truth. I’m just expandin’ my foreign language capabilities, that’s all.”
“A. J., I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Southern is not considered a foreign language in this country.”
I cover my head with my beach towel. How am I ever supposed to show my face again now that Danny knows I’m a fake? I may as well just stay under this towel the rest of my life.
“Ahh, don’t fret, little sis. Danny Boy said he thought it was ‘kinda cute’ the way you tried to pull that off. Said that’s a first to meet someone who actually wants to speak with a Southern accent. Most folks just like to make fun of it.”
“Really? He said that?”
“Hey, it’s nothing to be proud of, for Pete’s sake. It just means you didn’t make as big a fool of yourself as you could have.”
I just fling that towel off my head and go skippin’ on down to the dock with Mama and the twins. Danglin’ my feet in the water, I start singin’,
“… two drifters, off to see the world, there’s such a lot of world to see. We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ ’round the bend, my huckleberry friend, Sailor, and me.…”
The twins just look at me, then over at Mama. “Don’t look at me,” Mama says. “I’m the last person on earth to know what’s going on in that head of hers. But it must be something good.”
7
Turnin’ Ten July 20, 1968
Today is my birthday. I’m turnin’ ten. It’s funny how on your birthday you never feel older than the day before. But if you look back a year, then you seem older, but you never feel the gettin’ older.
Since I don’t have any friends out here, I won’t be havin’ a real party, just a family party. This mornin’ my brothers are helpin’ me make a secret outdoor run for my hamster to play in. J. R.’s helpin’ Dino and Benji hollow out some tree branches for Ruby to use as tunnels. That’s what they’re givin’ me for my birthday present. Ruby Jean can only be outside when I’m with her—or she might dig herself out of the run and I’d never see her again.
I let my brothers in on my secret about Ruby because it’s been killin’ me to keep all that guilt to myself. They swear never to tell. They know if they do, I’ll fink on ’em about the broken windows in the abandoned house back home. They play this game where they see how close they can come to not hittin’ the windows with rocks. If you hit a window, you lose.
After breakfast, me and Sailor decide to visit Mr. Mueller. I want to give him a soap carving I’ve made for him. It’s supposed to be a carving of my hamster, but it looks more like a rat with a fat nose. We’re dawdlin’ along in the woods, just smellin’ the sweet pitchy pines, when guess who we see together? My sister and Danny’s brother. Oh, surprise, surprise, they finally found each other. Adriana gave me a new diary for my birthday, which I will probably fill up just writin’ about her and her new island beau.
I already filled up an entire diary the night Adriana went bowlin’. Back at our real home, Adriana asked Daddy if she could go bowlin’ with a bunch of her school friends at Sally’s Alley. Daddy let her go, but he told her she needed to be home by eleven or she’d be sorry. Well, at eleven thirty Daddy left the house with his hair slicked back with Vitalis and wearin’ a set of fake buckteeth and his too-small ranger uniform that he keeps for special occasions like this. The best part was he let me come too in my pajamas—after he blacked out one of my big front teeth. So in we walked to Sally’s and headed right for Adriana’s big group of friends. Daddy says, in a perfect hillbilly accent, “Adrianer, you best git yer tail end on out ter the truck faster’n a jackrabbit. Yer maw is worr’d sumpin’ fierce, and yer po baby sissy here cain’t sleep ’er wink ’til you’s home whur you belongs.” It was the funniest night of my life, and Adriana’s worst, but she hasn’t been late ever since.
Me and Sailor spy on Adriana and Jason for a while, but it’s just a lot of gettin’-to-know-ya chitchat. Then Sailor gets Adriana’s scent and darts right over to her. I duck behind a big tree trunk and try and sneak away.
“Hey, A. J., just a wild guess that’s you over there. Why don’t you get lost—maybe you’ll run into Falling Rock.” Then she snickers with Island Boy about me believin’ that story.
Idiots.
I’m more curious to see how Mr. Mueller’s gettin’ on with all of his Oklahoma kinfolk and their big fancy hen parties anyway. I find the old man out diggin’ up potatoes from his potato hill. “Hey there, Mr. Mueller.”
“Mornin’,” is all he says back.
“Fine bunch ’a potatoes you got there.”
“Humph,” he grunts.
“Hey, did you know that t’day’s my birthday? I’m turnin’ ten.”
“Happy birthday.”
He doesn’t sound like someone should sound when they’re wishin’ you a happy birthday. “You okay, Mr. Mueller?”
“Just tired’s all. The ladies are talkin’ of makin’ some potato salad this afternoon. ’Course it probably never dawned on them that potatoes come from under the ground. Doubt if a one of ’em ever got their fingernails dirty diggin’ one up.”
That’s when it hits me that diggin’ up these potatoes might be makin’ him think about his dead wife—the potato truck, and all. I just want to change the topic of potatoes real fast. “Are you enjoyin’ all your Southern comp’ny, Mr. Mueller?”
“Lotta work keepin’ ’em all happy. My youngest grandson seems to be the only considerate one in the bunch.”
“How’s that, Mr. Mueller?” Now he really has me curious.
“Well, the ladies all seem to think this is some darned luxury resort I’m runnin’ out here. S’pectin’ me to wait on ’em hand and foot. Danny’s the only one ever askin’ how he can help me or doin’ for the others so I don’t have to do so much.”
“That’s a fine grandson you got yourself there, Mr. Mueller. I can tell just by the way he acts and talks that he’s the carin’ type.”
“Well, guess I’ll be gettin’ on back with these potatoes ’fore the ladies all come hollerin’ for somethin’ more.”
“Oh, hey, I made somethin’ for you.” I take that rat-lookin’ hamster out from my duffel bag and hand it to Mr. Mueller.
“Why, A. J.,” he says kinda quiet, “that’s real kind of you to make that for me.”
“It’s nothin’,” I say, and give him a smile.
He walks away clutchin’ that sack of potatoes in one hand and my rat hamster in the other. Then he turns around and looks back at me. “Happy birthday, A. J.,” he says real nice this time. I swear I see him smile when he looks down at my soap carving in his hand. That’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in a long while.
When Daddy comes home, he surprises me with my own pair of binoculars, which I have wanted for a very long time. Then Mama cooks me up my favorite dinner, cheeseburgers with homemade fries. And for dessert, we’re gonna have hand-cranked fresh peach ice cream to go with my birthday cake. Adriana gets to dinner late because she was “just out for a walk.” I give her a little smirk from across the table and get one of her death stares in return.
Everybody sings “Happy Birthday,” and I blow out all of my candles—after makin’ my wish—which I will not even mention or it will not come true. I open my birthday cards that Daddy picked up at our mailbox when he was in town today. I got five dollars from Grandma Angelina, and a money tree full of dimes from Grandma Juliana, totaling one dollar. Then I got a card from my best friend, Dorie, and one from my cousin Stacy, who just wants to let me know that she got a new car for her sixteenth birthday last week. She says it looks like our T-Bird, only hers is red and brand new. Her mama is my mama’s sister, my
Aunt Genevieve. Her daddy imports antiques from the Old Country and sells them here for a bundle. Mama says their family is very well-to-do. Daddy says they’re just stinking rich and like to brag about it.
I read my card from Stacy out loud to Daddy.
“How about that,” Daddy says, “a fancy brand-new T-Bird.” He whistles. “Hey, you be sure and write back about your brand-new binoculars, A. J.” He tosses his head back laughing. “And don’t forget to tell her about the vinyl shoulder strap that goes with ’em.”
I’d rather have my binoculars anyway. You can’t see the heavens through the windshield of a car.
After dinner, I go to Juniper Beach with my binoculars to watch the stars come out. I always thank the Lord for holding all those stars in space so none of them drop down here and burn us all to smithereens. But I also tell Him how nice I think it is of Him to make such a pretty sky for us at night.
I sometimes get carried away tryin’ to look through the galaxy to see how far it goes, but then that infinity thing starts up and I have to stop myself before I go absolutely berserk. I’m just startin’ up with that kind of thinkin’ when someone comes up behind me and scares the livin’ daylights outta me.
“Hey, A. J.” It’s Danny. “Sorry I scared ya.” He must’ve seen the look on my face and knew he’d spooked me. He comes and sits with us on the cool sand. Sailor sits between us. “What are you lookin’ at up there?”
“Infinity,” I say. “You ever think about how that sky just goes on and on forever and ever and never ends?”
“Only when I want to drive myself crazy.” He grins.
“I just can’t understand how infinity can never end. But if it did have an end, then what would be after that? And it’s the same with heaven, and living forever and ever and ever. What on earth would we do up there for so long?”
Danny looks at me and laughs. “You sure have a big mind for someone your age, don’t you?”