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Authors: Joy Jordan-Lake
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grinned and drooled beside him.
Sulking, Bobby Welpler slumped his way back to the screen mesh window.
But by the time he returned, the sulk had lost its hold on his face, sliding down to only his mouth, his eyes having cleared up out of their half-lidded glare. And a few baby back ribs later, the sauce basting his nose, the sulk had slipped from his face altogether—ribs’ll do that—and showed only in his shoulders.
We wiggled our bare toes in sawdust as we talked, with barbecued beans and butter from the corn greasing our noses, our cheeks, our chins. Our napkins untouched in a stack, we licked the sauce, heavy with maple syrup and brown sugar, from our fingers and lips. And we took turns letting Big Dog finish our sodas. Her teeth gripping the cans, she tottered on her hind legs to toss back the dregs. She preferred Dr Pepper but would settle for Coke, and because she turned her nose up at Tab, I kept the pink can to myself.
The new girl offered the last bits of her shredded pork to Big Dog, and Emerson turned his cap a full revolution in thanks, while Big Dog slept on Farsanna’s feet.
“The time that is the next,” Farsanna told them, “I will bring with me the dog at my house.”
Em scratched his golden retriever behind the ears. “That’d be nice,” he said to Big Dog, like he’d all of a sudden gone shy about lifting his head. Farsanna crouched down beside Em to stroke Big Dog’s broad, happy back.
It was the same touch Farsanna had used for readjusting her mother’s headscarf, small fingers deft and light now smoothing Big Dog’s ears. The new girl smiled up at my brother, who managed to return the smile.
Jimbo cut in. “It’s a little-known fact that Big Dog has always harbored a hairy fondness for,” he held up his palm, and placed his other fist down and to the right, “Sri Lanka.”
Farsanna considered this for a moment. Then, rising, she lay one hand lightly, quickly, on Emerson’s arm, and one on Jimbo’s. “Then it is Big Dog I have for the kindness to thank. Please tell her for me that I am most grateful.”
My brother and his best friend looked not at the new girl and not at Big Dog, but at each other.
“Well,” I said, changing the subject, “seemed pretty clear to me that Buddy made the best jump from the rope today.” And just as I’d hoped, the male egos present locked horns.
Em snorted. “Then you clearly missed my triple back.” He turned to the new girl. “Farsanna?”
“I saw it,” she smiled at him. “It was indeed splendid.”
Em turned back to us with a self-satisfied smirk. “What did I tell you? Splendid. ”
“But,” Sanna added, with the first sly glint I’d seen in her, “the long spin of L. J. was also most impressive.”
My cousin readjusted his horn-rims and pretended to snap suspenders on the John Deere T-shirt that served as uniform in his daddy’s Feed and Seed. “I call that my Cyclotron Extraordinaire. And I thank you for observing the perfection with which it was executed.”
I waved this away. “I still think Buddy’s drops showed more guts.”
“Turtlest, Sweetheart,” Jimbo put his hand over his heart, “you wound me! Did you not witness the full Dirty Harry with a half twist I delivered, just for your viewing pleasure?”
“Was that the time you slipped off the branch and fell headfirst?”
“Ah, I see you were fooled by my clever display of wit and athleticism.”
“I was worried you’d bust your fool head open on one of those lower branches.”
He leaned in toward me. “But tell us the truth: You’d miss my fool head, if it was to bust open.”
“I would miss,” I said sweetly, reaching my fork to his plate, “your sharing your fried okra with me.”
We dug our toes deeper in sawdust.
I leaned in against Jimbo; he leaned against me. I could feel his landscaping muscles still taut from the day. I lay a head on his shoulder, he draped an arm over my back, and all was right with the world.
Even Welp
Sulking, Bobby Welpler slumped his way back to the screen mesh window.
But by the time he returned, the sulk had lost its hold on his face, sliding down to only his mouth, his eyes having cleared up out of their half-lidded glare. And a few baby back ribs later, the sauce basting his nose, the sulk had slipped from his face altogether—ribs’ll do that—and showed only in his shoulders.
We wiggled our bare toes in sawdust as we talked, with barbecued beans and butter from the corn greasing our noses, our cheeks, our chins. Our napkins untouched in a stack, we licked the sauce, heavy with maple syrup and brown sugar, from our fingers and lips. And we took turns letting Big Dog finish our sodas. Her teeth gripping the cans, she tottered on her hind legs to toss back the dregs. She preferred Dr Pepper but would settle for Coke, and because she turned her nose up at Tab, I kept the pink can to myself.
The new girl offered the last bits of her shredded pork to Big Dog, and Emerson turned his cap a full revolution in thanks, while Big Dog slept on Farsanna’s feet.
“The time that is the next,” Farsanna told them, “I will bring with me the dog at my house.”
Em scratched his golden retriever behind the ears. “That’d be nice,” he said to Big Dog, like he’d all of a sudden gone shy about lifting his head. Farsanna crouched down beside Em to stroke Big Dog’s broad, happy back.
It was the same touch Farsanna had used for readjusting her mother’s headscarf, small fingers deft and light now smoothing Big Dog’s ears. The new girl smiled up at my brother, who managed to return the smile.
Jimbo cut in. “It’s a little-known fact that Big Dog has always harbored a hairy fondness for,” he held up his palm, and placed his other fist down and to the right, “Sri Lanka.”
Farsanna considered this for a moment. Then, rising, she lay one hand lightly, quickly, on Emerson’s arm, and one on Jimbo’s. “Then it is Big Dog I have for the kindness to thank. Please tell her for me that I am most grateful.”
My brother and his best friend looked not at the new girl and not at Big Dog, but at each other.
“Well,” I said, changing the subject, “seemed pretty clear to me that Buddy made the best jump from the rope today.” And just as I’d hoped, the male egos present locked horns.
Em snorted. “Then you clearly missed my triple back.” He turned to the new girl. “Farsanna?”
“I saw it,” she smiled at him. “It was indeed splendid.”
Em turned back to us with a self-satisfied smirk. “What did I tell you? Splendid. ”
“But,” Sanna added, with the first sly glint I’d seen in her, “the long spin of L. J. was also most impressive.”
My cousin readjusted his horn-rims and pretended to snap suspenders on the John Deere T-shirt that served as uniform in his daddy’s Feed and Seed. “I call that my Cyclotron Extraordinaire. And I thank you for observing the perfection with which it was executed.”
I waved this away. “I still think Buddy’s drops showed more guts.”
“Turtlest, Sweetheart,” Jimbo put his hand over his heart, “you wound me! Did you not witness the full Dirty Harry with a half twist I delivered, just for your viewing pleasure?”
“Was that the time you slipped off the branch and fell headfirst?”
“Ah, I see you were fooled by my clever display of wit and athleticism.”
“I was worried you’d bust your fool head open on one of those lower branches.”
He leaned in toward me. “But tell us the truth: You’d miss my fool head, if it was to bust open.”
“I would miss,” I said sweetly, reaching my fork to his plate, “your sharing your fried okra with me.”
We dug our toes deeper in sawdust.
I leaned in against Jimbo; he leaned against me. I could feel his landscaping muscles still taut from the day. I lay a head on his shoulder, he draped an arm over my back, and all was right with the world.
Even Welp
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