• • • • •
I get home tired and stinky from work, and the TV, as usual when my dad’s home, is emitting a blue light. Alcohol is wafting off him, since he was probably at the bar most of the night.
“I’m home,” I say.
My dad doesn’t respond, and I head up to my room. I almost don’t even notice that my door is wide open. My heart lurches and my eyes go wide. “Where is he?” I bolt down the stairs and into the front room and stand right in front of the TV. “Where is Tickles?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? And watch your tone with me, young man.”
“What did you do with him?”
I run to the door and hear, “Don’t you dare leave this house. The mechanical dog is fine.”
But I’m not listening to my dad. I call out, “Tickles!” It’s so dark that I can’t see anything in Geoffrey’s yard. I have my phone and turn on the flashlight. “Tickles!” I yell again.
I hear my dad yell “Charlie!” as I dart out of the house.
In the middle of Geoffrey’s yard, I stop running and yell again, “Tickles!”
From the blackness I hear a little bell, faint in the distance.
“Tickles!” I yell again.
The bell grows louder, and I hear a little yelp. I see Tickles emerge from the darkness beyond my flashlight.
He runs up to me, and I kneel down and pet him. “Oh, Tickles. So good to see you. You’re a good dog. Such a good dog.” I stand up. “Come on. Let’s go into your real house. Away from the monster that is my dad.”
Geoffrey gave me a key to the front door, in case I run out of dog food or need anything for Tickles. I unlock the door and turn around, and Tickles barks. He’s stuck at the first stair. I realize that his fake leg makes it impossible for him to climb stairs. Maybe that’s why Geoffrey put in a ramp at the back of his house. I assumed it was for Geoffrey, but maybe he did it for Tickles?
I go down the stairs and pick up Tickles. “And don’t listen to my dad. You are not mechanical. You’re the real deal, buddy.” I put him down, and he runs into the kitchen, his little legs going.
The smell in Geoffrey’s house is no longer sour and gag-inducing. It’s actually pleasant. Lemon. Judy must still be coming over to clean while Geoffrey’s in the hospital.
I check to see that Tickles has food and water, and then I am on my way out when I say, “I’ll check on you tomorrow morning.” I’m starting to close the door, when I look at my house and see that damn blue light emanating from the front room, and the shadow of my dad up and moving.
I stop myself from closing the door and instead go back into Geoffrey’s house. “Never mind,” I say to Tickles. “I think I’ll stay with you tonight.”
I’m making myself comfortable on Geoffrey’s recliner. Tickles is next to me on the ground. “This is nice, right, buddy?”
Tickles looks at me with big brown eyes. His tail wags on the ground.
I adjust myself. It’s not the most comfy chair in the world.
“This is better than seeing my dad. He isn’t even giving a good reason for not letting you stay with us.”
I close my eyes, though I think about how I’m still in my stinky work clothes. I also am thinking about how I’m no longer on the second floor with a fairly unobstructed view, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to see or hear a UFO if one comes tonight, and that’s worrying me.
I think about John’s story and how emotional he was getting from something that happened a decade ago. I could picture the scene as he was telling it. I don’t want to be someone who regrets something that large.
That large . . .
bits of . . .
the wreckage . . . the red blood . . .
My ear hurts as I’m lifted to my feet before I even know what’s happening. My eyes are barely open. “You’re coming home this minute,” says my dad.
I fell asleep.
Tickles yaps and yaps, and growls, but stays a few safe feet back.
“Oww.” My dad’s still pulling at my ear.
He lets go, and I straighten up. We head outside, and before the door closes, I whisper, “I’ll come back for you.”
The moon is out, and bright, and I don’t want to talk to my dad. We trot past barren grass and rocks, from one small house to another.
We get inside, and he says, “Get to bed. And if you decide to sneak out tonight, don’t bother coming home.”
I’m tired enough, so I don’t. Even though that’s all I want to do.