Everett turned seventy-three on a cloudless Saturday in October. He was sitting in his recliner while his wife watched television. He lowered the footrest and walked to the fridge, picked up the half empty carton of milk, shook it slightly, then placed it back on the shelf. He then went to the closet and put on a light jacket. As an afterthought he grabbed the dog leash.
“Honey, I’m gonna run to the store for some milk.”
“Okay, are you going to take Skippy?”
“Yeah. Come on Skip.” The little Chihuahua raced across the room.
When he opened the door it smelled like October. He could not put his finger on why, but it was more than just the wood smoke that hung in the air. It was actually warmer than he expected and he probably could have done without the jacket. When he opened the door to the minivan Skippy struggled to climb in. He used to have German Shepherds, back when he had a truck. At least it wasn’t a Shih Tzu.
When he put the van in drive it made the handicap placard swing on the rear view mirror. He had gotten it for his wife, so she wouldn’t have to walk so far. It was nice not having to find a parking space, but he never used it when his wife wasn’t with him.
He passed the store and just kept driving. He drove down by the beach. He used to take the kids here to fly kites, of course not to in October. Today would have been a good day for it though, if the grandkids lived closer.
He turned down a side street, and then to a down a street that said “Dead End.” There were a couple mobiles on the corner and a half finished house at the top of the hill, but the rest was just empty lots with faded green sewer pipe stubbed up at each one. Unfinished projects were an all too common sight recently.
“Well Skippy, this looks like your kind of place.” As he started up the hill near the end of the cul-de-sac a voice shouted, “Slow the fuck down… stop, stop, Stop!.”
Startled, Everett did as he was told. It made sense when a small dog, that he hadn’t seen, trotted from the front of the van to the half finished house. Two kids in their mid twenties were there. One was knee deep in a ditch with a pick in his hand. The other was on the porch still shouting, “What the fuck are you doing? There is no need to drive like that.”
Everett couldn’t help but think that if his kids had talked like that to anyone…
He stepped on the gas, screeching the tires and then slammed on the brakes narrowly missing the construction workers truck and sending Skippy to the floorboards under the dash. He quickly undid his seatbelt and opened his door. Just as he started to step out, the door was slammed against his leg. The ditch digger was standing there, “Don’t fucking get out. What the fuck are you, going to do?”
Then the shouter was there too, “What? You’re going to fight us? You are the one who was driving like an asshole.”
Everett tried to push against the door, but he couldn’t get enough leverage with his leg pinched, and two grown men holding it from the other side. They were poking their fingers through the half open window to emphasize their point. He could feel that he was sweating under his jacket and Skippy was jumping against his right arm, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
Finally Everett spoke, “I wouldn’t have hit your dog; I love dogs.” He could feel his voice crack at the end.
The shouter, calmer now, said, “Well we do too… why are you getting all bent out of shape?”
“Well, you yelled at me.” He hadn’t even thought of it, until the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t been in a fight in over twenty years.
The shouter chuckled uneasily, “well I’m sorry, but you scared the shit out of me. You just don’t need to be driving that fast; there are kids and dogs and everything else on this street.”
“Well… okay, fine.” Everett said, putting the van in reverse. He slowly drove down the street, with his heart still pounding in his chest. He didn’t see any kids, or any sign of kids for that matter.
He made his way through the winding side streets of houses until he reached the store, then drove right back to his house.
Anna was in the kitchen making lunch when he arrived. He could smell the cake in the oven. He handed her a bouquet of grocery store flowers and put his six pack of Budweiser in the fridge minus the one in his other hand.
“I thought you were going to get milk,” she said.
“Meh. There’s about a quart left, we should probably finish it first.”
Everett went and sat in his recliner and Skippy jumped in his lap. He picked up the remote, turned on the news channel, and opened his beer.
