Chain link fence made a lousy pillow, but Mason Andejagt could feel himself nodding out, sitting up on the bench.
Erskine’s leash was double wrapped around his wrist, not that the ancient, blind dog was going to go anywhere.
The double wrap was the way it had been since Erskine was a puppy, just a short, squat ball of fur and energy.
Andejagt opened his left eye.
A kid sat where second base would be during the season, except right now second base was a puddle. Melted snow.
Andejagt had seen the kid before. His blonde hair looked like someone tried to give him a crew cut with a weed whip using a twelve pack carton as a stencil.
Andejagt was pretty sure he knew which dirtbag gearhead from the Whittle Road dead end was the kid’s dad. The kid needed a bath. Always. A puddle in a neglected baseball infield in March wasn’t gonna get it done.
The kid couldn’t or wouldn’t talk, as far as Andejagt knew. He saw a seagull swoop in on the kid’s hunk of cheeseburger once at the corner of Whittle and the freeway, and the kid freaked, but didn’t scream.
That kid’s got a life ahead of him, and he’s already sitting in a puddle,by himself.
Erskine used to love to play in puddles, chase squirrels, just be a dog. Now he mostly sat, a pulsating tongue the only hint that he was alive.
Andejagt knew the day was coming soon when there wouldn’t be an Erskine anymore.
A woman entered the park from the fence gap down the left field line.
A kid with her wandered out into the park, and she headed straight for Andejagt.
He could hear her Karen him already.
Excuse me sir, there are no dogs…
The woman was silent as she approached.
Andejagt wasn’t gonna give her the opportunity to talk. He couldn’t take it.
This might be Erskine’s very last trip to the damn park.
He stood, some bone near his hip making the sound of a curveball hitting a catcher’s mitt.
Instead of his usual way out, he walked into the infield, Erskine waddling along beside him.
If that woman calls out to me about my dog, the dirty silent kid is gonna learn some brand new swear words he’ll probably never get to use.
As Andejagt got closer, he saw the kid was making ripples in the puddle with his right thumb, and only his right thumb. He was cross legged and his pants below the knee were soaked.
He had to be cold.
Andejagt wasn’t going to say anything.
Don’t wanna be the creepy old guy in the park talking to little kids.
He let Erskine wander close enough so that if the kid wanted to pet him, he could.
Andejagt wondered what Erskine smelled, in general. What did a dirty kid smell like to a blind dog?
The kid looked over at Erskine.
Whatever Erskine smelled, he wandered closer.
The kid looked up at Andejagt, then back at Erskine, then back up at Andejagt.
Andejagt thought about just leaving. He hesitated.
“You can pet him if you want,” Andejagt said.
Erskine took a step forward. The kid reached out. Before his hand got to Erskine, Erskine pissed in the kid’s puddle.
The kid jammed his dirty left fist into his own mouth, then laughed like it was the first time he had ever laughed at anything, out loud, rocking back and forth and rubbing Erskine’s head like it was the first time he had ever touched a dog.
***
A touching sentiment, nicely understated!
Interesting story.
The things which go on in peoples' heads and how they react tell the observer a lot about them.
But not everything.
Nice observations.