Hard To Say Good-bye

Today is Monday.  It is way to early for a Friday Night Story, but I want to get this one down in black and white before it loses its feel…

I am house / dog / chicken / turkey / goose / finch / lovebird / parrotlet sitting for my sister while she is off for a vacation this week.

It is true that nobody in their right mind would volunteer for such a job.  So many animals to feed, put out or bring in, or separate from the others...  But then who ever said I was in my right mind.

My younger sister and an older brother flew down to St. Croix for a vacation.   

She also wants to surprise our youngest brother (who lives there) on his birthday tomorrow. 

She has not been on a real vacation in decades – mostly because nobody in their right mind would take on the job of trying to fill her shoes.  So she was extremely long overdue, and I am so happy for her.

After dropping her at the airport early for her midnight flight, I drove back an hour to the east to her house arriving shortly after midnight myself.

I got out of the car and closed the door ever so quietly.

I snuck in silenttly, and managed not to wake the twelve dogs.  

I went down the hall to my room and checked on the two dozen baby chicks set up in an incubator.  All was well.  They were all alive and ready to peep at me all night long!

I set everything down and patted my front pocket by habit to ensure myself I’d not lost the car keys.  

Nothing.  I lost them already!  But no.  I remember I set them down in the dining room when I turned on the light.

Making my way back down the dark hall, I managed to stumble and woke all the dogs.  Darn it!  The explosive barking of twelve dogs can wake the dead, not to mention the neighbors!

So I crack the door open to the kennel to shush them all before the neighbors lost the thread that would carry them back to their dreams.  And I heard Roxie bark.  My dear, sweet, Roxie.  

(I think I’ve already written about her, but if not, I definitely will.  I’ll have to check on that.)

When I moved in with my sister five years ago, Roxie the Maltese, somehow adopted me almost immediately.  My sister had fewer dogs then, and most of them slept in her bedroom with her. 

But Roxie came to my room at bedtime and simply told me she wanted up.  Nobody told her I'm not a dog person; I prefer cats.  But I was not consulted, and from that day on, it was just a given. 

I didn't want a dog, but that didn't seem to matter.  Like it or not, she was now my dog.  Sometime later Roxie gave birth to babies and no longer slept with me.  I was surprised to find I missed her. 

When her puppies were weaned, she immediately returned to my room and demanded up.  One of her four babies also came in a week or two later and demanded up too.  The cute black and white Malti-poo (a Maltese/Poodle mix) named Kiki also adopted me.

It broke my heart when my sister sold my Kiki.  

And then again when I moved sometime later and had to leave poor Roxie behind.  

She crawled in the car and cried and begged to go with me.   It broke my heart to say no.

So when I opened that kennel door to shush the barking dogs, Roxie pushed her head into the open doorway so that I could not close the door without her.

I laughed and let her out to come sleep with me.  

Then a second dog - a woolly black and white and gray one - shoved its head through and I reached down, not wanting it to follow.  

I  pushed it back before the avalanche began and they all wanted out!

But before I could shut the door again, she pushed her head into the crack of the doorway, squirming and shoving.  

I reached down to push her back in and that was it.  She wiggled and squealed and licked my hand.

It was my sweet, saucy, adoring, rowdy, loving, funny, quirky, unrepenting, rambunctious,  Kiki!  I was so thrilled, and apparently she even more so.

Apparently whoever bought her sent her back later on when they could no longer keep her.  

I let her out and she jumped and squealed and wiggled and danced.  I have never felt so loved.  

So both mother and daughter came to sleep in my room from day one.

Okay, I’ve wandered way off course.  The point was that I am playing zoo keeper this week and camping out at my sister’s. 

As the sun dropped behind the Two Bit Hill to the west of here, I began to crave a hot meal.   

There was nothing to eat in the cupboard, so I decided to take my last $6 of spending money and go to the store for some essential groceries.

Then on the way there, I desperately wanted some instant hot meal.    

Besides, I was too hot and tired to cook after all the ‘farm’ duties of the day.  So I opted for Panda Express. 

I ordered green beans and chicken and kung-pao chicken with chow mein to go.  But as I reached for the door, I decided to just eat it there.  On a nice bar stool facing out the window to the parking lot.

As I enjoyed the food and the animalless serenity, I noticed a man out in the parking lot.  

He wandered, apparently aimlessly, in and out the aisles and between the cars.  

He was clean cut and well  dressed and had a little bling on him, and looked this way and that as he walked.

It occurred to me that he might be looking for a car to break into. 

Had I brought my cell phone with me, I probably would have called for a patrol car.  But I’d left it at ‘home.’

After a few moments of his wandering and looking and making me nervous, he slowly sauntered off.

I ate a few more bites of kung- pao chicken and then noticed another man walking between the cars and through the aisles of the parking lot. 

This man was about the same age as the previous one –  his mid twenties.  

But he was dirty and bedraggled and carrying a bedroll and back pack.

Instead of looking into cars, he walked along looking at the ground.  

He stooped from time to time and picked up a dropped paper cup, and a blowing piece of paper, and another large paper cup, flattened by some car, and then something else I couldn’t see behind a car.

Satisfied that he’d gotten all the visible garbage off the ground, he came over and dropped it in the trash can in front of the store.  

He reached up and pulled the backpack from his shoulders and plunked it down wearily on the bench in front of the closed store next door.  He unlaced the top of his boots and sat back breathing deeply and sighed.

I had just finished eating what I was going to eat and closed up the container to save the rest for tomorrow.  I threw away my trash and went out the door.

I walked over to the young man who was filthy, his dark hair on his beginning-to-bald head, matted.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

He nervously tried to answer without looking up at me, but didn’t really make a lot of sense.  

What he said did not really answer my question.
  
So I asked him quietly again. 

I told him I’d like to buy him dinner.  I had spent the last of my money, but I could put his meal on a credit card. 

He again said something that did not really answer the question, but I eventually understood that he’d had already eaten some crackers earlier in the day.

“But aren’t you hungry now?” I persisted gently.

Finally he said he would maybe like some chow mein.  

I tried to talk him into getting a whole meal – whatever he wanted.  But he said he only wanted some noodles, avoiding looking me in my face.

Then he digressed and began to talk about KFC and not having a microwave and again about already having crackers in the morning.  

He said he didn’t want their orange chicken.  

He usually ate KFC chicken and orange chicken didn’t taste the same as KFC chicken.  

But it wasn't bad.  It just tasted different.

The quiet-spoken young man obviously had mental problems.  

Probably schizophrenia, I guessed.

“Well, if you are sure you just want noodles, I guess I can talk them into getting us just plain noodles,” I said.  

"Are you sure you don't want something else too?"

After a moment or two he finally said that, well, maybe he would eat a little orange chicken.  He sometimes liked orange chicken.

All this time he fidgeted and came very close to looking at me with his dark, darting eyes.  

But he never would look up at my face.

“Alright then!” I said quietly.  “Then I’ll go get you some noodles with a little orange chicken."  I quickly went in and ordered noodles and a double serving of orange chicken to go.

“Weren’t you just in here?” the girl behind the counter asked.

“Yes,” I smiled at her.  “This one’s for a friend.”

I went out the door and found my friend still sitting there on the same bench.  I walked over and stood quietly beside him, careful not to try looking him in the face.  I hung the bag with his meal between us at just about the level of his knees, but not touching him.

“Here you go,” I said.  “Some noodles and just orange chicken.  Just like you wanted.”

He fidgeted with his fingers and hands faster with the increase in emotion.  

He struggled with himself, trying to turn his head to look up, his eyes darting this way and that.  

But he just couldn’t bring himself to look at me.

“Hey, lady,” he said quietly, leaning toward me but looking somewhere between the ground and my knees, “I really appreciate you.” 

Then he finally slipped his hand over to take the plastic bag from my hand.

“Well, I saw you out there in the parking lot picking up all that trash, and you know what, I came out here to let you know that I appreciate you too.”

“Thanks, lady,” he said, still fidgeting and wresting within.  

He fidgeted with his fingers and fought with darting eyes that wanted to look at me but couldn’t.

“You’re welcome,” I said and rubbed his shoulder gently.

He relaxed a little at my touch.  But I felt alarmed at how emaciated he was underneath that heavy wool plaid shirt and insulated hunting vest.

Somewhere, somebody out there loved this poor guy.   I loved this guy, I realized.  

I would have liked to stay there with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.  At least for a while.  

But I knew that even though he probably would like knowing someone cared, it would be too much for his mental state to handle.

So I gently rubbed his shoulder again and softly said, “You’re welcome.  And just remember: I appreciate you.”

He looked at the ground before him and made a chuckling grunt, and I left.

I sat in the car and felt so thankful for the roof over my head and the stove I had to cook on.  

And for the backpack and bedroll I didn’t have to carry around with me always…and for the fact that I don’t have to struggle with the demons that this poor, sweet, mentally-ill, handsome young man did.

He will haunt my dreams, I know.  

And be lifted up in my prayers.

And now I must go.  

I just remembered I didn’t bring the roosters in before dark!  

They have to be caught and put in a crate in the garage at night so they don’t crow so early in the morning and wake the neighbors. 

So I am off into the dark, very back of the property to feel around in large cages for roosters I cannot see!  I tell you: life is never boring!