Buddy
The Broadside’s Roof, Late September, 1995
“I hate that name.” Jerk had been standing in the doorway of the bulkhead, listening to the last bit. “It’s a name you call a dog.”
“You were such a happy kid. Everyone’s friend.” Tiny said, beer empty and his cigar a stub.
“A dog that doesn’t bite when you kick it, Tiny.”
Kid looked at Jerk, bemused. “Buddy.” The word was a puzzle they turned over in their mouth. They smiled. “I kinda like it for you.”
Jerk looked at Kid. “Please. Don’t.” His face and tone were flat, but his eyes looked like he’d just pulled a tack out of his foot. He sighed and reached for the last Genny, sitting down.
“Late got to see me have a second seizure in the ambulance.” Jerk said, cracking the beer open and taking a long sip. “I guess it was a long ride.”
“They didn’t have a CT or an MRI in that whole county.” Tiny was annoyed a decade later. “Forty-five minute ambulance ride to Memorial.”
He grumbled, toying with the extinguished stub of his cigar wishfully.
“And then there was Late’s mother.”
Corning Memorial Hospital. Albany, NY. Early July 1985
“You fat son of a bitch.” Late’s mother was charging across the ER before her cabbie drove away. Her face was Happy Hour red and her target was clear:
Tiny.
“Excuse me?” Tiny stood as she approached. “I’m a son of a bitch?”
“You. Your shitty store.” She had the breath of someone who used Jack and Cokes as mouthwash. “Your creepy son.”
“Mom, Buddy’s not–”
“I’m not losing my living son to your goddamn schemes, Tiny.” She glared at Late. Late hid behind Tiny.
“Marilyn Eileen Early.” Tiny voice was quiet thunder on a Sunday morning. “I carried your husband on my right shoulder to his final resting place.”
Late’s mother look like she’d been splashed in the face with cold water despite the crimson shade. He peeked around Tiny, saved from the bull’s charge.
“Tiny, I’m sorry. It’s just– Your boy–”
“My boy? You mean the kid upstairs getting his brain examined with micro rays?”
Late’s mother let out something that started as a hiccup and ended in a burp. A sour acid note on top of the Jack and Coke aroma. “He reminds me of so much of–”
“Stephen.” Late said, stepping from behind Tiny. “He’s smart and protects me like Stephen did.”
The Broadside’s Roof, Late September 1995
Tiny stopped and looked at Late. Late looked at Jerk. Jerk looked at Kid.
“I wasn’t going to ask.” Kid motioned to Jerk for a sip of Genny. Jerk obliged and Kid took a sip, swishing the can before handing it back.
“You could have asked.” Late tipped back his coke to get the last few drops. “My brother. He was valedictorian of his class at Ilium high.” He rubbed his arms. “He jumped the day he was supposed to graduate.”
Jerk didn’t understand people who jumped, but they did it anyway.
“He was a good kid… gentle.” Tiny cleared his throat. “World chewed him up before he was eighteen. They never found his body, Witch took him.” Tiny crossed himself over his heart, Late too. A ward against the Witch.
Corning Memorial Hospital. Albany, NY. Early July 1985
“But he wouldn’t have done it without backup, Tiny. My car…”
“You mean the car you taught him how to drive so he could drive your drunk ass around?” Tiny crossed his arms. “Did you even tell him when you lost your license?”
Late’s mom looked like she’d been slapped across the face. She sat down on a bench, face in hands. “After Rusty died I kept it under control, but when Stephen–” She sobbed. “Tiny, what do I do?”
Tiny sat beside her, the bench squeaking. He put an arm around her. “Fucked if I know, Marilyn.”
Late’s mom laughed through her tears. “Now you sound like Rusty.”
“What I know is I need a temporary replacement for my most dependable employee.” Tiny looked up at Late. “This boy offered to do the job.”
“I asked Tiny for help paying you back, mom.” Late shifted side to side, not making eye contact. “By September I’ll be old enough we can register the new car in my name.”
“And Marilyn. I’m going to give you a number. Jimmy Ray. Remember him?”
“The guy who became a priest? What’s he do, run an AA?” She laughed bitterly.
“That’s up to you to ask him about that.” Tiny leaned in conspiratorially. “Buddy calls him Brother James. Vice principal. Teaches math. Member of the scholarship committee.” He looked at Late. “What do you say we get your boy a better education?”
The Broadside’s Roof, Late September, 1995
Late stood up, smiling now. “I nearly killed Jerk and what did Tiny do? Does me three favors in a row!”
Kid stood too. It was cold and all the drinks were empty. “Three? You wanted to go to Academy too?” Kid wrinkled their nose.
“Academy sucked! But I had my own cadet uniform, passed my driver’s test, and had a car to visit Sarah that November!” He began picking up empty cans.
“All just side effects of things that benefited me.” Tiny said, pushing off the bulkhead wall where he’d planted himself. “I needed things done and to know someone was there for my boy at Academy while he recovered.”
“I was fine alone at Academy. I’m always fine.” Jerk had stood and was placing the crates back under the deck, Kid handing him the last one. Late and Tiny said their goodbyes, trash in hand. Tiny was bound for 401 and Late a nap before his shift.
“You want to read together?” Kid asked as they descended the stairs with Jerk.
“That story always makes me feel really tired for some reason.” Jerk said blankly as they entered the Squat. “I think I’m just going to sleep. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Laying in bed that night, Kid kept turning the name ‘Buddy’ over and over in their mind until they fell asleep.