I Have a Few - William Cass

When I was little, my uncle took it upon himself to teach me things. On my tenth birthday, he gave me a puppy, a cocker.

My uncle couldn’t speak much English. “Be friend and make responsible,” he told me. “Is good.”

I didn’t have many friends, so I think his main purpose was the companionship the dog offered.

I said, “I don’t think so.”

“You try couple weeks. Is not good, I take back.”

I guess the puppy and I got along okay. After a few weeks, I named him “Peaches”, which was my favorite fruit.

But after a while, I lost interest in him, although I still cared for him most of the time. I scratched his head and let him lay against my feet while I was watching television.

Of course, the day came when Peaches passed away. I was at college when the end was getting near, and my mom called to ask if I wanted to come home; the school was only an hour away. I said I was too busy. She told me later that she and my uncle had buried him in the woods.

~

Once, when I was about thirty-five, I bumped into an old crony named Earl. Our desks had been next to one another’s at my first real job thirteen years earlier, and we palled around together for a while. Then I got a transfer out of the area, which was a bit of a relief because he was becoming needy towards the end. I told him I’d stay in touch, but I never did. I let the emails he sent go unanswered.

Out of nowhere, he pulled in at the next pump while I was filling my car with gas. I saw him, but he didn’t see me. I was embarrassed, stopped before my tank was full, got back in my car, and started the engine.

Then I heard Earl’s voice say, “Hey, that you, Joe?”

My window was down. He came over and leaned in with bright eyes. He’d lost some hair.

I said, “What do you know? Hey, Earl.”

With his fist, he gave me a friendly tap on my shoulder. He kept doing that while shaking his head and saying, “Joe…Joey. Damn, I don’t believe it.”

We caught up on things quickly. Over the years, as far as I could determine by what he told me, nothing much of significance had happened for him.

He said, “Say, let’s go somewhere and get a drink.”

I said, “Wish I could, but I have to go.”

The truth was I had nowhere special to go, nothing pressing to do. It was a hot Saturday about 4:00pm, the sort of afternoon when even a drink alone would have been refreshing. Instead, I frowned a little watching him in my rearview mirror standing and waving as I drove away.

~

My wife wanted to go to Nova Scotia for our twenty-ninth anniversary. She found a kind of combination guided bus trip and cruise, but we would have had to take a plane and then a commuter train and taxi just to embark on the ship. She brought it up to me from time to time well beforehand, although she knew I wasn’t crazy about the cost and complications. Once, she took advantage of a window washing project we’d begun together and talked and talked about the scenery we’d see. I just listened and wiped.

Finally, I relented and we ended up going down to a travel agency and talking to a guy who pointed out the unique features of the trip, the itinerary, special meals, things like that. I thanked him and told him we’d think about it. When we left his office, my wife was pretty excited.

Time went along, and I found ways to avoid the topic when she raised it. Eventually, she brought it up less and less, though I’d sometimes find brochures lying around.

When our anniversary came, I gave her a nice red coat instead. She gave me two ties, both of which I wore often to show my appreciation. The brochures went into a folder somewhere, I suppose. She may have thrown them out; I’m not sure.

~

Two summers ago, I was driving down a local rural highway, just after my seventy-first birthday and had become lost. My wife had died, so she wasn’t there to help navigate, as I’d grown accustomed. I’d headed out trying to find a farm stand I remembered that sold fresh salt- and-pepper corn, but I couldn’t seem to find it.

I approached a car parked on the side of the road that had its hood up. A young woman stood next to it, a baby balanced on her hip. She turned her head and our eyes briefly met. I pretended to fiddle with the radio dials as I passed, but the radio wasn’t on.

I drove on several more miles, thinking, not passing a soul. Finally, I happened upon the stand on a side road, bought my corn, and asked the young man behind the counter, “There a garage around here? Mechanic of some sort?”

He pointed. “About twenty miles due west. Grangeville.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded and moved away. It had begun to rain. I looked back the direction I’d come. Surely the woman had found help by then. And I wasn’t even sure I could find my way back. As it was, with the weather and different route I followed, it took me a particularly long time to get home.

~

There are plenty of other incidents of similar ilk. For example, I once reneged on a commitment to buy a grandfather wall clock. I also skipped a nephew’s wedding. I never learned to dance.

I received some sobering news recently. The possibility for a misdiagnosis is practically nil, so I have just so much time left. You can bet your bottom dollar on this: I plan to make the most of it.

Originally published by Beechwood Review 2015

Note from the author: “I've had over 300 short stories accepted for publication in a variety of literary magazines and anthologies such as december, Briar Cliff Review, and Zone 3.  I won writing contests at Terrain.org and The Examined Life Journal.   A nominee for both Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net anthologies, I’ve also received six Pushcart nominations.  My first short story collection, Something Like Hope & Other Stories, was published by Wising Up Press in 2020, and a second collection, Uncommon & Other Stories, was recently released by the same press.”