by Gibby Haynes
“No, Mom,” Oscar replied. “He’s hurt bad and, we gotta get him to the hospital.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sure he’ll be okay,” assured his mom. “Your father will take you right now.”
Big Oscar pulled the keys from his pocket and motioned toward the car. “Come on, son. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Are you okay? What happened to Mr. Cigar?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “He’ll be just fine.”
Oscar, still tightly holding Mr. Cigar, rolled into the back seat of the family car as they began to back out of the driveway. Looking out the window, Oscar asked his father, “Who is Lawrence? What accident?”
“Why, the Teeter boy,” responded Big Oscar. “Larry Teeter, Rachel’s boyfriend,” he added.
Oscar was dumbfounded. Just then he saw Larry and Rachel walk out onto the front porch. Oscar could clearly see Larry’s facial expression. It was the fakest look of concern Oscar had ever seen.
On the way to the hospital, Big Oscar said, “Lawrence was really sorry he surprised you and Mr. Cigar, and when Mr. Cigar lunged at him he said he just reacted from instinct. Son, I know he didn’t mean to hurt him.” Oscar’s father looked over his shoulder toward Oscar and asked, “How did you fall down? Lawrence said you fell down and ran into the woods.” Having been temporarily distracted by Larry’s ridiculous lies, Oscar returned his thoughts to Mr. Cigar.
“Hurry, Dad! Hurry! I think it’s really bad.”
The car ride seemed to take forever. The rest of the evening was a blur. Oscar remembered the fluorescent lights in the waiting room, the stern-faced veterinarian, the limp body of his best friend, and worse than anything, the awful words, “I’m sorry, son, Mr. Cigar didn’t make it. There was really nothing we could do.”
Oscar sobbed all the way home. Blinded with tears, he gently put Mr. Cigar in a small wooden box lined with pine needles and buried his buddy in the backyard at the base of an oak tree. Returning to his house, he was inconsolable. He locked himself in his room and cried late into the night, finally falling asleep a couple of hours before sunrise, dreaming of better times with Mr. Cigar.
Sometime in the early afternoon he was awakened by a knock on the bedroom door. As he opened his eyes, he reached down to pet his dog, and reality came crashing back. Mr. Cigar was gone, nothing could bring him back and that awful Larry Teeter was responsible.
Again there was a knock on the door and Oscar’s mother’s voice. “Honey, I have some breakfast for you, and there’s someone here to see you. Please unlock your door.” Still in yesterday’s clothes, Oscar reluctantly got out of bed and opened the door for his mother. She had a tray with orange juice, French toast and bacon, Oscar’s favorite breakfast. She also had the oddest smile on her face, and as she put down the tray on Oscar’s dresser, said, “You must be starved, sweetheart . . . Look who just came to the back door.” Oscar couldn’t care less, but he looked past his mother to see who had come to visit. At first he saw no one. Then, glancing down, he understood his mother’s odd smile. There in the hallway was a small, dirt-covered black-and-white terrier. It was Mr. Cigar. It was a miracle, and it was real! The little dog wagged his stubby tail and limped to the bed, where he and Oscar enjoyed the best French toast and bacon in the entire history of the whole wide world.
How could this have happened? wondered Oscar. How did Mr. Cigar come back to life? How did his heart start beating again, and how did he dig his way out of that dirt-filled hole? But Oscar really didn’t care. Mr. Cigar was back—a little worse for the wear, but he was back. Oscar even forgot for a while about Larry Teeter and the incident at the bridge. For the rest of the afternoon, Oscar lay on his bed petting Mr. Cigar, interrupted only by the occasional family member coming to express their mutual astonishment and joy. Everything was back to normal as the sun went down that evening.
Then, around ten o’clock, as Oscar got ready for bed, Mr. Cigar started pacing back and forth on the rug, occasionally pausing to heave his chest and make a funny noise. Oscar wasn’t too worried, as he’d seen this behavior before when Mr. Cigar had eaten something rotten from the garbage. Finally, Mr. Cigar stopped, gave one gigantic heave and from his mouth came something strange, very strange. It was unlike anything Oscar had ever seen. It looked like an insect larva of some sort, but it was much bigger than any insect. Not only that, but it had hair and it moved slightly, as if it was alive. Oscar bent over to grab it with a wad of toilet paper, but Mr. Cigar growled and gently picked it up in his mouth and put it under the bed for safekeeping.
Oscar was not especially concerned with Mr. Cigar’s actions. Mr. Cigar now had a lot more energy and was wagging his tail happily. Oscar figured the larva puke was something his dog had encountered while digging out of the hole and decided he would clean up the mess before school in the morning.
Oscar hopped into bed with Mr. Cigar and went to sleep and dreamed of the most amazing things—joyous things impossible to describe.
When Oscar woke the next morning, he still couldn’t believe what had happened over the weekend. But Mr. Cigar was still there, alive and well and very much a happy dog. After dressing for school, Oscar looked under the bed to retrieve the thing that had made Mr. Cigar sick, but to his surprise, it was gone.
Where could it be? he thought. Did Mr. Cigar eat it again?
Then, as he grabbed his shoes, he spotted it in his closet. But it wasn’t on the floor, as logic would dictate. It was oddly attached to the wall, about a foot off the ground, and it was moving like it was alive. This is weird, Oscar thought, very weird. He was late for the school bus, so he put on his shoes and ran out the door. As he left his room, he looked back at Mr. Cigar, who was guarding the entrance to the closet. Very, very weird, he thought.
When Oscar came home from school that day, Mr. Cigar was in the same place as when Oscar had left—lying on the floor blocking the doorway to the closet—and basically that’s where he remained for the next two weeks. Mr. Cigar left his post only occasionally to eat or go outside for a brief walk. He still slept at the foot of the bed, but would get up several times in the night and walk to the closet, and quickly return.
Then one Friday, Oscar returned from school and Mr. Cigar was on Oscar’s bed instead of his usual place in front of the closet. Curiously, Oscar examined the closet to find the thing missing. Where is it? Oscar thought and sat next to Mr. Cigar on the bed. Mr. Cigar gave him an unfamiliar glance, then rolled over to reveal something remarkable. There, clinging to Mr. Cigar’s underside, was an odd, doglike animal that was about five inches long. The little creature stared at Oscar with inviting, humanlike eyes and yawned, revealing a mouthful of tiny razor-sharp teeth. It had fur like a dog, four legs and a tail like a dog. The ears were smaller and pointier than a dog’s. Most amazingly, however, this creature had wings—wings that were slightly fur-covered and batlike. Without regard to consequence, Oscar reached to touch the critter, and in an instant, it took flight. After rapidly circling the room several times, it landed on Oscar’s desk and then promptly disappeared. What just happened? thought Oscar. What had he seen? Was any of it real? After answering “I don’t know” to all these questions, Oscar realized the creature had not disappeared, but had somehow changed the color of its wings to match the color of its surroundings.
Once again the creature took flight and landed near Mr. Cigar, then walked to his belly and assumed the color of Mr. Cigar while clinging tightly to his underside. As the mysterious creature nestled in, Mr. Cigar stretched out in his familiar place at the foot of the bed. Just as Mr. Cigar appeared to be falling asleep, he opened his eyes, looked directly at Oscar’s face, winked, and then fell asleep. That’s strange, thought Oscar. It felt like Mr. Cigar was telling him something.
As Mr. Cigar slept, Oscar’s thoughts raced. What is this thing? Who should I tell? Will they believe me? Oscar heard his sister walk in the front door. Without hesitation, he ran toward the living room screaming, “Rachel
, Rachel, Rachel! You won’t believe it! You won’t believe it! Mr. Cigar has a . . . well, Mr. Cigar made a . . . well. There’s a thing in my room that looks like a dog, and it can fly—it can fly and disappear really, really fast. Come see it! Rachel, it’s so cool—you gotta see it!”
Oscar abruptly stopped. He saw that Rachel was not alone, but with Larry Teeter. Both of them were laughing and shaking their heads.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Rachel asked.
“Mr. Cigar made an invisible flying dog? Mr. Cigar made it?” Larry scoffed. “When I want an invisible flying dog, I generally have to make it myself or go to the invisible flying dog store. And ya know”—he was laughing even harder now—“they’ll charge you an arm and a leg. Even for a slow one.” Oscar, realizing how crazy he sounded, turned back toward his bedroom, explaining that he was only kidding and that he was going to do his homework if Rachel needed him for anything.
“Okay?” said Rachel. “You had me worried for a minute . . . That was a pretty good one. You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah,” said Oscar, closing his door.
Returning to Mr. Cigar’s side, he decided it would probably be best if he kept his new little friend a secret. In fact, best for the whole world if he kept this a secret. And a secret, he resolved, it would have to surely remain.
It was a good thing it was a Friday and that there was no school the next day because Oscar stayed up late that night playing with Mr. Cigar and his new friend. At first, the animal was timid with Oscar, but it soon warmed up to his touch. As the hours rolled by, Oscar was eventually able to hold the little guy and watched in amazement as Blip—the little guy’s new name—crawled up Oscar’s arm, changing the color of his wings to match the color of Oscar’s arm, then his shirt, or whatever Blip happened to touch. And as quickly as Oscar wondered if Blip could do something, Blip would do it. For instance, Oscar wondered whether Blip could fetch like Mr. Cigar, so he threw Mr. Cigar’s favorite ball across the room. Before he could say, “Get it, Blip!” the little guy was in the air grabbing the ball and dropping it in Oscar’s lap faster than even seemed possible. Think of a command, and Blip would obey. Not only was he smart, but deceptively powerful as well. He could carry Oscar’s backpack, full of heavy schoolbooks, effortlessly about the room. At one point, Oscar asked Blip to bring him his baseball bat, and on a whim, he thought, Bite that bat. In an instant, Blip snapped the bat cleanly into two halves.
Mesmerized by Blip’s abilities, Oscar continued thinking of things for him to do. Without fail, Blip would honor these mental requests. Over and over, as the night went on, Blip seemed to get faster and more powerful. All the while Mr. Cigar looked on, seemingly nodding in approval. Finally, Oscar lay down, shaking his head in amazement as he drifted off to sleep.
The next day was Saturday, and Oscar looked forward to helping the gardener mow the lawn. This doesn’t sound like much fun, but for Oscar, it meant driving the riding lawn mower, which would be even more fun with Mr. Cigar and their magical new friend, Blip, tagging along.
Despite the late night, Oscar woke up bright and early that Saturday morning. The sun was shining, and he was excited to drive the mower and to spend the day with Blip. When Oscar opened his eyes, Mr. Cigar was in his usual spot at the foot of the bed.
Blip, however, was standing on Oscar’s chest, wagging his tail and flapping his wings. Blip looked exactly the same as the night before, but he had somehow more than doubled in size, making him now almost half the size of Mr. Cigar. Oscar shook his head in amazement again, now realizing that when it came to Blip, he should be ready for anything.
Oscar dressed, ran to the kitchen to eat breakfast and then went back to his room to get Mr. Cigar and Blip. Blip was now perched on Mr. Cigar’s back as he walked down the hallway and to the backyard. Blip’s wings were wrapped around himself, and unless you looked really carefully, he wasn’t there at all. Once they were outside, Blip sprang from Mr. Cigar’s back, flying high above the oaks, which dotted the soon-to-be-mowed backyard. He traveled with incredible speed, did flips in midair and acted just like any other puppy. Except this puppy had camouflaged wings and could fly.
Rachel and none other than lying Larry Teeter walked out the front door.
“Hey,” said Oscar limply as they approached him and the wary dog. Larry made a jerking motion like he was about to kick Mr. Cigar. Instantly, Blip dropped from the sky, wrapping his wings around Larry’s face and clawing him savagely with rapidly pumping rear legs. Larry, muffled by Blip’s powerful grasp, swayed and swung wildly in the air. Oscar watched helplessly and with great wonder as Larry, unable to identify the source of his agony, ran blindly and at full speed across the yard, striking one of the oak trees squarely with his miserable lying face. Bouncing backward, Larry fell to the ground, where he lay motionless. A small trickle of blood dripped from Larry’s nose as Blip returned to his perch on Mr. Cigar’s back.
Rachel charged down the steps with Oscar’s golf club in her raised hand, screaming, “You did this!” Mr. Cigar ran for cover on the opposite side of the lawn mower as Rachel violently swung the club toward him. Blip leapt from Mr. Cigar’s back, crossing the path of the swinging club. The nine-iron dropped harmlessly to the ground in front of the lawn mower as Rachel collapsed to her knees, clutching her hand and moaning. The whole scene was then overtaken by an eerie silence. Oscar couldn’t understand why Rachel seemed to be in such agony. Blip had only knocked the golf club out of her hand. Maybe she had jammed her finger or sprained her wrist.
Then Oscar got his explanation.
There, lying on the freshly mowed lawn, still holding tightly to the nine-iron golf club and twitching ever so slightly, was the severed hand of Rachel Lester. Blip had bitten Oscar’s sister’s hand off. In total disbelief, Rachel flew up the steps with one long continuous wail. Missing a hand.
Soon, her scream was joined by all others inside. Oscar mechanically surveyed the carnage surrounding him, numbly acting out of instinct.
While Oscar placed his sister’s still-quivering hand in an ice-filled cooler behind the seat of the family’s John Deere mower, up walked a stunned Lytle Taylor—son of Dan Taylor, the owner of the landscaping company that serviced the family’s two acres of lawn and gardens.
“Wow, man, I saw everything from my daddy’s truck. Are you okay, dude? Is that her hand?”
“Yes,” Oscar pronounced.
Staring at Larry’s unconscious hulk, Lytle said, “Whoa, dude! That guy is totally passed out!”
“Yes,” Oscar monotoned.
“Holy crap, dude . . . What was that thing?”
Oscar was in shock. Instead of answering, he turned and ran toward the front door, cooler in hand. Halfway up the steps, his wide-eyed family emerged from the house.
Hoisting the cooler, Oscar nervously explained, “I’ve got it on ice, Dad.”
“Good, son,” said Big Oscar.
Within seconds, Mr. Cigar, Oscar, his parents, Rachel and her recently detached hand were all in the family car, speeding to the hospital. Oscar looked back toward the house as they drove away.
Lytle Taylor, still on the front lawn, was staring upward—Oscar could see Blip outlined against the cloudless sky. His able wings propelled him north toward the No-Name Mountains.
Blip was never to be seen again.
Five years have passed since that most memorable of springs. In those years, many things have changed, both for Oscar and for those affected by the remarkable events leading to the unexplained appearance of Blip and the hideous injury to Rachel Lester.
Sadly, Rachel’s hand was unable to be reattached. Despite that issue, she made as full a physical recovery as possible. Psychologically, however, it remains to be seen. At the hospital, Rachel insisted she was attacked by a flying dog-like creature, but the doctors just nodded kindly, explaining to the family that people often say odd things while in a stat
e of shock. Everyone else just assumed she had tripped and fallen with her hand under the lawn mower. Oscar was able to avoid giving any explanation as he was looking toward Larry Teeter and the oak tree when the accident occurred. Unable to attend Brown University as planned, Rachel remained home the following year, undergoing rehabilitation. During this time, she became amazingly proficient with her remaining hand. Her artistic skills flourished, and she was accepted to the Rhode Island School of Design.
Now a highly successful artist living in New York City, Rachel sells her paintings for tens of thousands of dollars and attributes her success to an invisible flying dog. She is famously eccentric for insisting on such, but no one is really bothered by it—especially her art dealer, who makes a tidy dollar selling her paintings to the upper echelon of the art-collecting community.
Larry Teeter, on the other hand, was slightly less fortunate. Luckily, he experienced no permanent brain damage from his collision with the oak tree, but his relationship with Rachel suffered to the point of being nonexistent. As her recovery progressed, he became increasingly bitter, and soon they drifted apart. Unable to attend college, he worked a series of menial jobs. Contrary to Rachel, he blames all of his problems on an invisible flying dog. Oscar has not seen Larry in years and considers himself a lucky man for that state of affairs. Mr. Cigar, while continuing his mysterious ways, most certainly shares a similar perspective.
In the years subsequent to the dismemberment suffered by Rachel, G. Oscar Lester III—the G stands for Gerald (or “Gerry” as Big Oscar was often called)—has found himself at the crossroads on more than a few occasions. To the casual eye, he’s a normal, happy teenager, but the events set in motion by that most unusual of springs have set him apart quite significantly. He had some good help along the way. But strange things happen when strange things happen, and it remains to be seen just how strange these things really are.
THE STORM BEFORE THE CALM