Symby (5 page)

Spud had lost track of exactly how long it had been since his little friend had come into his life. Ten days? Twelve? One of the characteristics of his lifestyle was that each day was virtually indistinguishable from the next. He wasn't even sure exactly what day of the week it was most of the time. Today, he would find out. He was just about out of supplies. He would have to head back into town if he wanted to avoid starving.

Spud surveyed his camp site. The place had undergone a total makeover. Some of his freshly washed clothes were hung neatly from a clothesline between the trees, and the rest of them were folded neatly and packed away in his backpacks. Plastic bottles filled with water from the river were lined up next to the fireplace, awaiting their turn at sterilization. The refuse had been gathered and lugged to the dumpster behind the restaurant near the highway. He had thought about stopping to forage through the dumpster for food, as he had done many times in his sordid past, but he was suddenly finding garbage food less appealing than it used to be. In any event, there was no longer a need for him to eat from garbage bins.

A few yards from his tent, neatly arranged beneath a tree, was a massive pile of large, white, plastic bags he had found during his intensive cleanup. The bags were filled with bottles and cans. He estimated that the deposit returns from his white plastic mountain would total at least four hundred dollars. He hadn't seen that much money for a long time. The mountain was the result of long hours of hard labor every day, even the rainy days. So many times in the recent past, he would force himself to collect a few bottles and cans and then immediately head into town, cash it in and binge all night. Sometimes he couldn't even find his camp site, so he'd just lay down wherever he was and nod off. He'd been rousted a few times by the cops and threatened with jail when he collapsed downtown. He was lucky he didn't have a record, though he knew it was coming if he continued his wastrel lifestyle much longer.

In his mind, he was beginning the beginning of what he hoped might become a better life. It might be unreasonable to expect that his life would ever return to what it had been when he was younger, but he was going to try. He stared at the little ball of fur, which appeared to be sunning itself on a rock near the tent. His personal renaissance had begun within hours of his little companion's arrival. He was probably dead wrong in his opinion that the little creature's droplets had something to do with his rejuvenation, but that was how it felt. He had taken to sleeping with the little creature attached to him, at least until it emitted a few droplets of that weird liquid onto his skin. He would pull it off at that point, but stroke it, talk to it and allow it to sleep next to him.

A few days ago, he had begun to feel foolish about his feeling that the droplets were playing a role in keeping him sober. He had placed the creature into a covered pot with some food for the night to make sure it was protected, just in case. The next morning, the familiar cravings had resumed. Towards the end of the day, it was all he could do to avoid walking into town to buy a bottle. He slept with the creature again that night, praying that the precious droplets would ooze onto him again. The creature obliged him. The next morning, he was off and running again. The cravings were gone.

The creature needed him too, he was fairly sure of that. The poor little thing could barely move on its own. Sure, it could jump a couple of feet with the flutter technique that had saved it from his boot on that first night. It could also move inch by incredibly slow inch by arching and flattening. Neither of these motions would save it from becoming a snack for the other creatures in the woods, though. As he looked at the creature, he realized that it was quickly becoming more than just a snack. It was now approximately three inches in circumference, and shaped more like a ball than a disc. It was also eating more food, though it still wasn't much. Oddly, Spud had never seen it excrete anything except the droplets. Why didn't it ever poop or pee?

Spud approached the pile of white bags. It was going to take a herculean effort to convert these into cash. He was a fairly big man, but he certainly couldn't carry more than two bags at a time.

"Time to get on with it," he thought with trepidation. He picked up two of the bags and slung them over his shoulders. They were heavy, and he had a long way to go. He wasn't going to let this stop him, though. As he passed the fireplace, he put the bags down and picked up the big lobster pot.

"Sorry, little dude, no tanning today," he said as he placed the creature into the pot and placed the lid over it. "I'll be back soon, so just relax and go to sleep." He wasn't really sure whether the creature ever slept, but it made him feel better to think his little buddy wouldn't be freaking while he was gone.

He picked up the bags again and began his long journey into town. The day was hot. He was cool enough in the shade of the woods, but the sun beat down on him mercilessly when he exited the woods and began walking along Main Street into town. He was dripping with sweat and gasping for breath by the time he finally reached the supermarket at the edge of town. He ignored the stares of the patrons. He may have been clean by his standards, but his beard, his wild hair and his ragged clothes stamped him as the homeless person he was to the rest of the world. He lugged his bags over to the deposit return machine and began pushing his treasure into the machine. The supermarket's air conditioning cooled him down and infused him with another dose of energy. His spirits soared he watched the total rise on the digital money counter. When the last bottle was devoured by the machine, the counter read "$55.30." This was at least fifteen dollars more than he had hoped for. He glanced up at the instructions on the machine, puzzled.

"Wow, fifteen cents apiece?" Just a few weeks ago, the payout had been set at ten cents per bottle. He punched his fist in the air in celebration. Already, he had received a fifty percent raise in his new full-time job. He pulled the bills and the change from the dispenser, marveling at his good fortune.

"This town is going to be clean as a whistle by the time I get through with it," he vowed.

He grabbed a shopping cart and wheeled it up and down the aisles. It was hard to resist buying the expensive stuff that he loved, like beef jerky and potato chips, but he had gotten used to resisting temptation. He started at the last row of the store and worked his way backwards. He wanted to get the stuff he really needed before he faced the test of the first row. By the time he confronted the first row, he had placed three cases of store brand canned beans, a case of cheap dark tuna, several large jars of peanut butter, a sack of potatoes and three loaves of plastic-wrapped rye bread into his cart. He kept his eyes from straying to the first row as he checked out. Desperate for human conversation, he tried to strike up a conversation with the pretty cashier. She averted her eyes and barely acknowledged his presence. He couldn't blame her. As he made his way towards the automatic door, he kept waiting for the magnetic pull of the first row to work its evil upon him, as it always had. He wasn't feeling it this time, though. As the magic door opened for him, he passed through with profound relief. The beer and the wine remained on the shelves in the first row.

He still had twenty-five dollars left, probably less than he needed for the capital investment he was planning for his new business. He pushed the shopping cart down the street, far past the edge of the supermarket parking lot. If anybody had failed to peg him as a homeless guy before, he was assuming the classic homeless pose now. The groceries he had purchased were heavy, and he needed a way to transport them. He stopped in front of a hardware store and parked the cart outside. The old man behind the counter eyed him suspiciously. He decided to take the direct approach. Striding up to the counter, he spoke to the old man.

"Hi, I need a sturdy, big wagon. Do you have any?" The old man raised his eyebrows and stared down at him through eyeglasses perched on his nose.

"Aisle seven, on your right," he answered.

"I wonder if you could help me out," said Spud. "I've been homeless for a few years. I finally managed to quit drinking, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be able to stay that way from now on."

Spud could tell from the look on the man's face that he felt he was being conned. He continued anyway, hoping the man wouldn't stop him and throw him out.

"I've spent the last couple of weeks collecting a gigantic pile of cans and bottles. I just cashed out for fifty-five dollars at Shop-fresh, and I bought some food with it. No booze, just food. I need a way to get the food back to my camp site, and I need a wagon so I can start collecting even more bottles and cans. If I can save enough, I'm going to try to start a business. I've got twenty-five dollars left, and if I get a wagon I can bring the rest of the cans and bottles back and pay for the rest of the wagon."

The old man glared at him. "Yeah, right. I think you can tell by looking at me I wasn't born yesterday. Get out."

Spud tried one more time to plead for the wagon, to no avail. Just when he thought all hope was lost, a female voice from the back of the store spoke.

"Come on back here and we'll get you a wagon," the voice said. From behind the shelves a woman who looked as though she had stepped right out of a thirties movie appeared. She was old, but her face was kindly.

The old man protested feebly, but the woman prevailed. It was obvious who wore the pants in the family, and it wasn't the old man.

Spud walked over to aisle seven as the portly, pleasant-faced woman walked ahead of him. She motioned to the shelves. There were only two wagons to choose from. One of them was small with tiny plastic wheels that probably wouldn't last a week in the woods. The other was huge, approximately three feet deep. It was constructed of heavy, rust-free aluminum. The wheels were large and made of solid rubber. The choice was obvious.

"How much for the big one?" asked Spud.

"Eighty dollars," she responded. Spud winced, but resolved to do whatever it took to leave with the wagon in tow.

"I've got twenty-five dollars, and I can bring you the rest tomorrow, like I said. I'll be honest, if I said the same thing a few weeks ago, you could count on my never coming back. But I promise you, I'll be back tomorrow. What do you say?"

"I can't take twenty-five dollars," she said, and Spud's heart sank. "You'll have nothing left. Just give me twenty and take the wagon."

Spud grinned from ear to ear. This was one nice lady. He pulled the twenty dollars out, only to hear the old man speak up again.

"Thelma!" he cried.

"Burton!" she replied. "I own half the store, and I'm giving him the wagon out of my half."

Burton protested again. "It doesn't work that way, and you know it. You'll never see that money."

Thelma looked deeply into Spud's eyes. "I know I will," she stated, in a tone that conveyed that this was the end of the conversation.

"You take the wagon and come back tomorrow if you can. If you need more time, take it, but keep yourself on the righteous path, that's the most important thing. Bless you, and good luck to you."

Spud wanted to hug her, but he suspected that might unseal the deal. He clasped her hand and thanked her profusely. He handed her the entire twenty-five dollars and refused the five dollars she offered back. After all, five dollars was just enough for a cheap bottle.

Spud was back out in the hot sun in less than two minutes, towing his groceries behind him with his right hand in his new wagon and pushing the grocery cart in front of him with his left hand. He paused long enough to push the grocery cart back into its rightful parking lot, and continued on his way, whistling classic rock songs as he went.

Several weeks had passed since Snuffles had delivered his little gift to Jody, the most awesome weeks of his life. The little, furry creature had become his constant companion at home, at least when his mom wasn't looking. Every night he slept with the little thing, and every morning he awakened with a dampened t-shirt. Snuffles had continued to sleep at the foot of the bed in his room, no longer choosing to sleep outside. They were a solid threesome.

Jody kept improving, slowly at first and then at an accelerated pace. He became obsessed with improving his time on his walk to school. Like a track athlete, he would check the time before he left and check it again when he arrived. Every day without fail his time improved. He finally reached the point where he could not walk any faster. So he began to run. It was awkward at first. He would lurch forward, move jerkily for a few steps and then stumble. Occasionally, he fell. He kept at it, though.

Today he had finally managed to jog all the way to school. He arrived panting and sweating, but he hadn't fallen once. His eyes widened in astonishment when he checked his watch. Only ten minutes had passed since he had left home. He wanted to climb the steps of the school and pump his fists in the air like Rocky on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but he quickly rejected the idea as uncool. He did not reject another idea, though. Today would be the day that he finally told Missy about the little creature. He had hidden the secret up to this point even from his mother, spending his time around her walking slowly and awkwardly to conceal his miraculous recovery. Eventually, he would surprise his mother. For now, he wanted Missy to be the first to know.

Missy hadn't arrived yet, so Jody took a seat on the wall at the top of the stairs, the same position she normally took waiting for him. He had finally arrived at school ahead of her and he couldn't wait to surprise her. He waited patiently as the minutes ticked by, thinking about how he would break the news to her about the little creature. After ten minutes had passed, his thoughts about breaking the news to her began to fade, replaced by worry. Where was she? This was the first time she had not arrived at least fifteen minutes early. When the bell for first class rang, Jody stayed on the steps, still hoping she would arrive. She never did. A teacher finally prodded Jody into the school. His moment of triumph had dissolved, replaced by an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong, he was sure of it, but there was nothing he could do. He would have given anything to have a cell phone, but his Mom had told him she couldn't afford it.

The day passed agonizingly slowly. He prayed that she would greet him at lunch, but he sat alone, barely able to ingest a few mouthfuls. He walked into Mr. Belden's class, fretfully scanning the back of the classroom. There was no sign of her. He couldn't concentrate on his class work. His History teacher compounded his misery, calling on him and chastising him in front of the class for failing to "join the rest of us in the learning process."

At long last, the final bell rang. Jody hurried out of the building, walking until he was out of sight of the school. When he was sure he was out of sight, he broke into a trot. He was halfway home when he pulled up abruptly. Approximately fifty yards ahead of him was a figure he instantly recognized. It was Jimmy.

"Jeez, not now!" he exclaimed. His hopes that Jimmy just happened to be on his path were dashed when Jimmy called out to him.

"You set me up, crip," he blared. "Now it's my turn!"

Jimmy was still serving his suspension. It had taken the school a while to dismiss Jimmy's appeals, but ultimately the original week-long suspension had been levied.

Jimmy moved rapidly towards Jody. Jody considered running, but he didn't think his newfound running ability would be sufficient to outrun Jimmy. Jimmy didn't waste any more time or words when he caught up with Jody. He simply pulled his fist back and launched it at Jody's jaw. The punch snapped Jody's head back. His jaw throbbed. Unbeknownst to Jimmy, the punch infused Jody with something else besides the pain. All of the years of taunting and threats unleashed a force in him that he had never experienced. He exploded in rage. Quickly recovering his balance, he wrapped his left arm around Jimmy's head and pulled it downwards as he brought his right fist up into Jimmy's head. Jimmy howled in pain and surprise. Keeping his left hand wrapped around the back of Jimmy's head, Jody repeatedly pounded Jimmy's face with his other hand. Jody kept hammering away until Jimmy went down, his arms and legs splayed. Jody stood over Jimmy, still loaded with adrenalin. Jimmy's face was bloodied, and Jody noticed something else dripping down his face. Tears mixed with the blood, causing it to thin and run faster down his cheek.

"Don't try to get up," said Jody. "I'm going to walk away now, but if I see you get up, I'll hurt you again, understand?"

Jimmy was in no position to argue. "All right, all right, I give," he croaked through his tears.

Jody exploited his victory. "Don't ever come near me again, or you'll be sorry. And don't ever call me crip again, got it?"

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, okay, I got it."

Jody began walking backwards towards home, keeping his eyes on Jimmy as he went. Just a few weeks ago, walking backwards would have been impossible, he reflected. Jimmy propped himself up on one arm, but obeyed Jody's command to stay put. When Jody turned the corner, he resumed walking forward. The adrenalin that had sustained him in his battle with Jimmy stayed with him for a while. He pumped his fist into the air repeatedly, finally allowing himself the luxury of imitating Rocky. By the time he returned home, though, thoughts of Missy had eroded his mood.