Buddy Read online

  “Pretty good, huh?” I say.

  Daddy nods real slow. “How long is it going to take you to get to a thousand?”

  I start doing the math in my head. “Sixteen—seventeen weeks.”

  Daddy nods again. “About four months.”

  We sit and look at the money.

  “Buddy was your dog for about four months,” he says.

  I look at him again. “What are you saying, Daddy?”

  “Nothing,” he says. “I ain’t saying nothing at all.”

  The second week I earn a hundred bucks and I tell Daddy it’s going to go faster than we thought. He says that’s all well and good for me to be working for other people during the week but on Saturday the only thing I can do is mow at the church. The rest of the day he needs me at the house. The front room is all wired now. It’s time to start hanging that Sheetrock.

  Saturday morning when I finish at the church, Brother James comes out with my five dollars and hands me a letter.

  “This is some news about Buddy,” he says, and goes on back inside.

  I don’t wait to get home to read it. I sit right down on the church steps and unfold the paper. It’s addressed to Brother James.

  “Dear Reverend James,” it says. “Thank you for writing to inquire about the black, amputee, mixed-breed dog featured on the recent television documentary. You are correct. The dog you saw is indeed named Buddy, and our records show that he was rescued from a second-floor bathroom in a house in New Orleans. Because he was never claimed, we put him up for adoption. A local family adopted him about six months ago. We do not provide the names of adoptive families but we have passed on your information to them. It is our policy to leave it up to the adoptive family to decide whether to contact prior owners. Thank you very much for your interest. Sincerely,” and so on.

  I fold up that letter real careful. I sit there a while and look at the sidewalk. I ain’t never noticed before how that cement’s got little black spots and little gray spots and even little red spots all mixed up in it. I bend down to stare at it, and then I sit up and take out the letter and read it again. Then I remember Daddy’s waiting for me at home. I fold up the letter and slide it deep into my pocket. I think maybe I’ll wait until the end of the day to show it to Daddy. Or maybe I’ll wait until tomorrow.

  At home, they’re setting up to hang that Sheetrock. Eddie’s come over to help. When we get going, I’m sure glad he’s there, because hanging Sheetrock is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. That Sheetrock’s heavy as a ton of bricks and there ain’t nothing for it but to pick it up sometimes and hold it where you need it. Daddy and Eddie do most of the lifting and Mama and me are trying the best we can to help. By the end of the day, I see Mama can’t hardly help no more. She’s completely worn out. Daddy tells her to go on and check on Tanya and the baby while we finish up. I hear her barely dragging her feet along the floor while Eddie and me are holding up that last piece and Daddy’s banging home those nails. When we’re done, we step back and take a look and Daddy says, “Whoo-ee,” and I say, “We started. I guess we can finish.” And Eddie laughs and goes on outside to start washing up.

  Then I pull the letter out of my pocket and hand it to Daddy. “Brother James gave this to me this morning,” I say.

  Daddy’s standing there reading it with his arms all covered in Sheetrock dust and his hair powdered over with white.

  He looks up at me. “Why you ain’t showed me this before?” he says.

  “We were busy,” I say.

  “So what do you think?” he says.

  I shrug.

  “Wonder who these people are,” he says, and turns over the letter to look on the back.

  “Ain’t nothing on the back,” I say. “That’s all there is.”

  “Buddy’s a lucky dog,” Daddy says. “He’s got a new home.”

  He gives me back the letter.

  I fold it up real careful and shove it in my pocket. “It ain’t fair,” I say.

  “Come on,” Daddy says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

  Outside Eddie’s washing himself off with the hose. He starts spraying me and then we’re spraying each other and then Daddy gets wet and then even Mama joins in. She’s squealing like a little girl and we’re shooting water all over her and Tanya. Baby Terrell’s sitting in a puddle and splashing his hands.

  Rover’s hopping all around and trying to bite the water out of the air. Then he goes galloping across the yard and knocks Baby Terrell smack over into the puddle. I snatch up Baby Terrell. He’s screaming like he’s been shot, but all he is is wet. Rover runs off to the corner of the yard. He sits down and looks at us.

  I put down Baby Terrell and I grab up a stick and chase after Rover. “Bad dog!” I’m shouting. “You’re a bad dog!” I hit him hard on his behind. He yelps. I smack at him again and he runs off. “I’ll get you,” I yell, but Rover disappears under the house.

  I turn around and Daddy’s standing there holding the hose.

  “Buddy wouldn’t have done that,” I say. “Buddy had better sense!”

  Daddy walks over to the spigot and turns off the water. He looks at Mama. “Take Tanya and the baby on home,” Daddy says. He looks at Eddie. “Thank you,” he says. “I guess we’re done for the day.” Then he looks at me. “Li’l T, come here with me.”

  Daddy takes me inside. He stands in front of me and crosses his arms over his chest.

  I’m standing there with water dripping off me. I’m waiting for him to lift his hand.

  “That dog don’t have any idea what he did wrong.” Daddy waits a minute. “But you do.”

  I know he’s going to hit me now.

  But he don’t. He just talks. “You’re striking out in anger, son. It don’t work. It never will.”

  He heaves up a sigh from deep in his chest, then he leans against the door frame and looks up at the ceiling.

  “Buddy ain’t your dog no more,” he says. “And we can’t go to California. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m always saying I’m sorry.”

  32

  I don’t think I can go to church the next morning. Eddie’s going to be there. He’s going to know I’m the kind of boy who would hit a dog like that. He’s going to say, “That boy don’t deserve to get his dog back from California.” And he’s going to be right.

  But Daddy says I got to go. And Mama says I’m not sick, I’m just lazy. She says if anybody ought to stay in bed it’s her, because she can hardly raise up her arms, but one thing she’s not doing is missing church.

  I get off easy. Eddie ain’t in church. I guess he’s more worn out than he let on. We’re filing out afterward, and three different people come up to me with work they need done. The lady who had all her bushes ripped out wants me to come plant her new ones. Mr. Nelson’s decided he wants to do something about his front yard and wants me to come over and start whacking down the weeds so at least he can see what’s going on in the street from his front window. An old lady I never noticed before says can I come over and help her move her sofa. She don’t like where it is and she can’t lift it by herself.

  I’m making all my arrangements when Brother James comes up to me. “Got another letter yesterday,” he says. “It came after you left out. You’ll like this one better.”

  I grab it out of his hands and huddle off to the side of the steps while he’s still shaking hands and Mama and Daddy are chatting up the neighbors.

  “Dear Reverend James, We are the family who adopted Buddy. Katrina caused so much loss. It makes us sad to think that a family also lost such a wonderful, kind, dear dog as Buddy. Please put us in touch with the family who lost Buddy. We love Buddy very much, but we want to do the right thing. Perhaps something can be worked out.”

  I don’t even get to the “sincerely” part before I’m jumping up and grabbing Daddy’s
arm and saying, “Read this! Look here, Daddy! Read this!”

  He says what happened to my manners and I say, “Read this. Here. Read it.”

  So he takes it out of my hands, and he reads it, and then he passes it over to Mama. She reads it with her forehead all wrinkled up and says, “Well, I’ll be.” Then she gives it back to Daddy and Daddy gives it back to me.

  “Well, Li’l T,” he says, “I hope you got some of your Granpa in you. I hope you know how to write a good letter. It’s all on you now.”

  I write the best letter that’s ever been written in the whole wide world. I tell them the whole story. How I’d been wanting a dog all my life and Daddy always said we didn’t have the money and then—wham—we ran into Buddy on the way to church and it was meant that he would be my dog. I explain about why we left him and how it didn’t turn out like we planned. I tell them about coming to the house and finding the note, all faded and pale. I tell them how we saw Buddy on TV and I’m working to earn money and I hope—oh, how I hope—when I get enough money, I can fly out to California and bring Buddy home.

  I work on that letter all day Monday and put it in the mailbox just before Daddy gets home. He comes up the steps to the porch and I’m waiting for him with a copy of what I wrote. He says he don’t see how anybody can say no to that letter. He washes off in the hose and pops open a beer from the cooler he keeps in the house, and he sits down to rest. It won’t be long before we’ll walk over to the widow’s house and get some supper with Mama and the rest, but right now we’re just going to sit on the porch and stare at the evening.

  We ain’t been staring five minutes when up comes Mr. Nelson. He’s walking fast like he’s in a hurry or like he’s mad. I’m thinking was I supposed to go there today. Was it today?

  He sits down beside Daddy on the step.

  “You want a beer?” Daddy says.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t have time.”

  “Was I supposed to come today?” I say.

  He looks up at me like he’s just noticed me. “No, no. Whenever.” He waves his hand at me like I ain’t hardly there.

  Daddy’s looking hard at him. “What’s troubling you?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I got some bad news.”

  Daddy waits a second but Mr. Nelson don’t say anything. “Well, tell it,” Daddy says.

  Mr. Nelson gives me a sideways glance. “It’s about your friend,” he says, “that J-Boy.”

  Daddy raises up his eyebrows.

  “And about Eddie,” Mr. Nelson says.

  Daddy sets down his can.

  “Eddie wasn’t at church yesterday,” I say.

  “No,” Mr. Nelson says. “He’s in jail.”

  “Jail! What for?” Daddy says.

  “He shot J-Boy.”

  We can’t think of one single word to say.

  Mr. Nelson’s sitting there nodding his head, then he twists to look at me again. “But don’t worry,” he says real quick. “J-Boy ain’t dead.”

  “How—” I start.

  Mr. Nelson holds up his hand. “I’ll tell it. I just got to think how to start.”

  We wait.

  “It’s like this. Turns out J-Boy’s living here by himself. His mama’s still in Houston.”

  “I knew that,” I say.

  “He ain’t got nowhere to live. He’s hanging with a bunch of thugs. They’re camping out in empty houses.”

  Daddy looks over at me and I look back at him.

  “They’re stealing to feed themselves.”

  “And to buy their drugs,” Daddy says.

  “That, too,” Mr. Nelson says.

  “So what’s all that got to do with Eddie?” Daddy says.

  “Everybody knows Eddie’s got guns in that place he’s staying. Everybody knows he’s over here Saturday helping you hang rock. He gets home Saturday evening and his place has been broke into. It’s been tossed up and down. But Eddie ain’t no fool. He’s got his guns hid in a place he made in the floor. He hears a noise. He gets his gun. He creeps through the rooms. And there’s J-Boy, pulling Eddie’s clothes out of his drawers and stuffing Eddie’s jewelry in his pocket.

  “Eddie says, ‘Stop!’ and J-Boy reaches for something under his shirt.

  “Eddie shoots. J-Boy falls. Eddie calls the police. They take J-Boy to the hospital and Eddie to the jail.”

  “But that ain’t fair,” I say. “What’s Eddie going to do?”

  Mr. Nelson heaves a sigh. “Ain’t nothing he can do,” Mr. Nelson says. “Ain’t nothing at all.”

  Wednesday night, we all go to prayer meeting. We don’t usually go to that but Brother James is going to pray on Eddie and we want to be there. The church is full. Brother James starts out talking about sorrow and he moves on to strength. When he starts up the praying part, he asks God to forgive Eddie. I ain’t sure what Eddie’s done that he needs forgiving for but then Brother James says everybody needs forgiveness and he asks God to forgive J-Boy, too.

  Then he gets to the “what are we going to do about it” part.

  Mr. Nelson said there ain’t nothing we can do about it but Brother James thinks different. He wants us to pray. He wants us to keep Eddie in our prayers every day. He wants us to remember Mrs. Washington and how she was so kind to everybody who crossed her path and how she raised up Eddie when there wasn’t anybody else to do the job and how Eddie turned out so good and he went off to Iraq and served his country and how now it’s our turn to serve him with our prayers.

  Then Brother James changes it up a little.

  “But we can do more, Lord,” he prays. “Lord, you know that old saying—‘God gives every bird its food, but he don’t throw it in his nest.’ What does that mean? It means you give us the tools, Lord, but we got to pick them up and use them. And what is the tool we’ve got that’s going to help Brother Eddie? Right now, the one thing we’ve got that we can use is money. Lord, I hate to even mention that word in a prayer. Seems like we get all twisted up sometimes about money. But we’ve got to remember that money ain’t nothing but a tool. It’s what we use to get what we need. And right now what Eddie needs is to get out of that jail so he can go on with his work until that trial comes up and that jury finds him innocent of all charges—because we know that’s what’s going to happen, Lord, in the end. And it ain’t right for Eddie to be sitting in that jail until that time comes. Lord, we’ve got to find a way to bail Eddie out of jail and the only tool we’ve got to do that with is money.

  “So we’re praying today, Lord, for you to show us the way to find the money to set our brother free. Amen.”

  Lots of times when Brother James prays like that, people are shouting out during the prayer or hollering, “Hallelujah!” when it’s done. But this Wednesday night, the whole church is sitting there quiet and still. Ain’t nobody standing up and saying, “I’ve got a dollar I can give.”

  I ain’t surprised. Brother James is talking about a lot of money. Ain’t nobody sitting there got much to spare. They’ve got houses to build and babies to feed. Maybe there’s somebody else sitting in jail we don’t know about. Maybe they’ve got sorrows they ain’t shared.

  Brother James is standing there at the front of the church with his hands held up in the air. He’s looking out over the congregation. He’s waiting for somebody to stand up and give his mite. He’s waiting and he’s waiting. But nobody stands up.

  I poke Daddy. “Ain’t you got a dollar?” I whisper.

  “If everybody in this room gives one dollar,” he whispers, “we won’t even make a dent.”

  Brother James’s arms are drifting down. That room is hot as Hades. I’m sweating and shifting in my seat.

  All a sudden, I stand up. I can’t believe it. My mouth pops open and I hear myself talking. “I’ve got some money to give,” I say. “
I’ve got two hundred and fifteen dollars. I’ll give that.”

  I sit down fast so I don’t faint. My heart is beating so loud I can’t hear any other sound. Daddy’s looking at me like I lost my mind. Mama reaches out her hand and puts it on my knee. Tanya’s grinning with her mouthful of white teeth. I hear other people starting to stand up. I hear people singing out numbers. I bend my head down.

  Oh, Buddy, I’m thinking. What have I done? What have I just done?

  33

  Daddy says I should be joyful that I’m giving all my money to bring Eddie home instead of Buddy. I don’t feel joyful. I feel sad.

  The next day, I stack up all my bills on my bed and I count them out. I said wrong at church. I don’t have $215. I have $250. I’m sitting there looking at my stacks. I only promised $215. I can keep $35. But then I pick it all up and stuff every last bill in that envelope.

  What am I going to keep $35 for? I can’t do anything with $35. It ain’t going to get me to California one day sooner.

  I put that envelope in my pocket and I carry it to the church and I hand it to Brother James.

  “Is that your California money?” he says.

  I nod.

  “Eddie’s going to appreciate this.”

  I nod again.

  “You’re still doing your jobs around?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You got any of your signs left over?”

  I point to the church bulletin board.

  “Maybe I can drum you up a little more business,” he says.

  I shrug. “Maybe,” I say. “But I’m running out of time.”

  “You’ve got your whole life, boy.”

  “School starts up in two weeks. I have to study. And Daddy says I have to work at our house on the weekends. That don’t leave me much time.”

  Brother James is looking at me. “Your daddy’s doing right, son,” he says. “School first, and family. That’s how you get on in the world.”

  I nod.

  Then Brother James hands me another letter.