“Wilder? You there, bud?” The doctor walked cautiously but with purpose, following the path of trampled, discolored grass, his eyes fixed on the blue horizon. Softly, he called again, careful not to look, to frighten, “Wilder? Bud?”
“Oh – Doc, I uh– ” the boy turned sharply to face the shed wall – ” Ain’t you, uh, ain’t you s’posed to be helpin’ out down there or somethin’?”
The doctor only stood, his hands resting familiarly on his belt, his breath heavy from the exertion of travel, his eyes still on the sky.
“I was just, uh,” the boy sniffed, “you know. . . “
The doctor grunted compassionately, his gaze steady as he removed his hat. Sensing with a gentle relief that the man’s attention wasn’t on him, the boy wiped his swollen eyes as best he could and leaned his back gingerly against the rotting plywood. Three sharp inhales followed by a desperate, sustained exhale marked the remnants of weeping. The doctor’s mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound escaped. His experienced fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the brim.
“How, uh, how are you feelin’?” He said at last, his voice like mud.
“Alright. I guess.” The boy sniffed.
“Good. Good.” The doctor glanced quickly at the boy and then cleared his throat. His left hand fumbled inside the pocket of that once-white coat. “You don’t mind if I, uh -?“
“No, ‘course not.”
“Nice view, huh?” The metallic click of a lighter. The gentle buzz of an inhale. The woosh of an exhale. The aimless wandering of smoke towards an uninteresting sky. “So . . . you wanna talk about it?”
“I dunno.”
“Alright.”
The boy glanced quickly at the doctor. He wondered then, dragging his nose the length of that damp, checkered sleeve, what could possibly be so damn arresting about that sky. Of course, there was absolutely nothing of interest in the flat horizon: the blue was tedious, the topography was plain, the beaming sun hadn’t changed in a gazillion-or-so odd years. Yet still the man stood, ten feet away, silently remarking upon an unremarkable view. Three sharp inhales followed by a desperate, sustained exhale.
“Well it’s stupid anyways.” The boy finally muttered, his horribly soaked shoes newly capturing his attention. “Me gettin’ upset and all.”
“Yeah?”
”Cause . . she wasn’t even my dog” He kicked at the dirt until dust and smoke were one. “But she was a good girl. You know. She was real kind. Real gentle. I, uh – ” Three sharp inhales followed by a desperate, sustained exhale –”I liked her a lot.”
The gentle buzz and woosh of smoke drifting into that uninteresting sky.
“Anand sometimes she would get spooked with the other boys, but not with me. You know, never with me cause we understood each other. The way people do – or, or even better maybe cause we never fought or nothin’. So . . . it’s just – you had to be gentle with her, you know? Be careful not to scare her or be too rough. But she was a real good girl. Wouldn’t hurt nobody never.” The boy could feel the doctor tense, his experienced fingers grasping the hat a little harder. The buzz and woosh of smoke. The dust made the boy’s shoes more brown than red. He sniffed. “She was real sick, wasn’t she Doc?”
“Yeah, she, uh.” He cleared his throat and, placing the hat firmly back on his head, met the boy’s eyes for the first time. The blood on his face had nearly dried. “Yes, Wilder. She was real sick.”
“Yeah.” The boy thought for a moment. “Yeah. It’s stupid anyways. Me being upset about a dumb dog and all.”
The boy returned his gaze to the sky. The doctor did not. He cleared his throat. “You’re sure you’re feelin’ okay?”
“Yeah,” he sniffed, “wasn’t . . . wasn’t even my dog.”
Three sharp inhales followed by a desperate, sustained exhale. The buzz and woosh of smoke. The terrible sound of dripping.
“Hey. Wilder? I, uh, I’ve got this super cool tattoo on my arm. Might cheer you up?”
“My momma says people with tattoos are criminals” The boy muttered, his gaze steady.
The doctor laughed. A sad, wet laugh. “D’you think I’m a criminal?”
“No.” He sniffed “I s’pose not.”
“It’s mighty cool, I promise you. D’you wanna take a look?”
“Okay.”
“It’s right here.” The doctor kneeled down carefully, his eyes locked on the boy, and lifted up the sleeve of his coat to reveal bare, tanned skin.
“Where is it?” The boy asked, peering at the arm.
“You’re too far, bud. Gonna have to come a little closer, alright?”
The boy stumbled forward. The right side of his face scrunched into a mask of disappointment. “Where is it? There’s no tattoo”
“What d’you mean no tattoo, it’s right – what!” The doctor exclaimed dramatically, looking from arm to boy to arm and back to boy. “Now where the heck did that thing go!”
The boy giggled. “I dunno.”
“Darn it to heck – You know what? I completely forgot. You see, this tattoo is a traveling tattoo. It’s summer now ain’t it? The darn thing’s probably vacationin’ on my other arm. ”
“Tattoos can’t do that!” He laughed.
“No, no, no it is definitely on the other arm. See?” The doctor pulled his other sleeve up, his gaze steady, focused, studying. The boy lurched a little closer.
“No! It’s not there!” He squealed.
“What! Oh, hey! I know! I’m thinkin’ that maybe it travelled aaaall the way to your arm. Let’s see, shall we? Can you show me your left arm, bud?”
“Ha. Okay.” The terrible sound of dripping. The doctor cleared his throat, his experienced fingers slowly inching up the congealing checkered fabric of the boy’s sleeve to expose what was left of the forearm. “That hurt at all?”
“Nuh uh.” A sound in between a laugh and a cough. “Why?”
“Cause, uh.” The doctor cleared his throat. The buzz and woosh of smoke drifting into that uninteresting sky. “Cause sometimes my tattoo likes to tickle folks. Huh? Ha. Yeah, that’s pretty silly, ain’t it? Now, you feel any pain or anythin’, you just let me know, alright? I just gotta look for my tattoo.”
‘Okay. Yeah. Doc. I . . . uh.”
“It’s okay, Wilder. You don’t have to talk.”
“I hope you find it.”
A sound between a laugh and cry. “Thanks, kid.”
The dog’s teeth had flayed most of the skin and muscle from the bone. The small, delicate hand, which was being held on by fabric and a few small tendons, sloughed with a horrible thump into the doctor’s lap. He grimaced, pressing his eyes and mouth shut in a desperate attempt to suppress the animal scream rising from the depths of his stomach. The boy only swayed gently, his swollen, red eyes staring blankly towards the horizon.The thick, dark liquid pulsing from the stump stained them both that familiar, deep red.
“She was real sick, doc.”
“Yeah, Wilder. She was.”
“That’s why you had to shoot her.”
“Yeah, Wilder. That’s why I had to shoot her.”
In fact, he had shot her several times. It was not that he had taken delight in the act, but rather that the animal, its foaming mouth drenched with vomit and the boy’s blood, would not seem to die. Now –
The boy threw up, the force of the sickness slamming him into the shed wall and taking him to the floor. The bile mixed with dirt and blood to create a horrible, putrid slop. It took everything the doctor had not to add to the concoction.
“I threw up.”
“Yeah. I – uh, I know. It’s okay though. We can. uh. fuck. It’s alright. We can-”
“I don’t feel good.”
“I know, bud. I know”
The boy dry heaved. He tried to use his hands to support himself, but the left one, still laying in the doctor’s lap, was of little help. Losing his balance, he collapsed into that puddle of muck coagulating by the doctor’s knees. He let out a low, animal groan. The doctor placed his experienced hand sympathetically on the boy’s –
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He thrashed violently before finding a sudden, eerie stillness.
“Alright. That’s alright.” The doctor stood very calmly and stepped a few paces back until he could see the entirety of the boy within his view. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“D’you . . d’you find your tattoo Doc?“ the boy asked, sensing the man’s sudden absence. He was pressing that grotesque stump dully into the dirt again and again in an attempt to right himself.
“Yeah. And, you know what, you can go ahead and keep it. Okay?” He grabbed the pistol hanging familiarly from his belt.
“Just, uh . . . just don’t tell my momma cause. Cause she says, uh, she says that only criminals – “
“It can be our secret.” His hands did not shake
“You promise?”
“I promise, bud.” His experienced finger hovered over the trigger.
“I threw up.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
The boy turned to look at the doctor. Seeing the gun, his eyes shot open and –
The horrible whoosh of smoke. He stared at the doctor, eyes wide, his mouth agape. The hole in the center of his forehead began to weep, the smoke drifting aimlessly from the back of his skull into that uninteresting sky.
“Doc?” he said, his voice too strong. .
“It’s okay, bud.” He cleared his throat. The wound was sobbing now. “You’re okay.”
“What are you –”
“It’s okay” The horrible whoosh of smoke. The body slumped but did not fall. The wound was screaming now, wailing.
“STOP IT! DOC! ST-” Again. The boy jerked his head. His mouth shot open. Again. A horrible, droning cry. Again. Crawling. Limbs. Fast. Again! Wound. Bawling. Again! Teeth. Gnashing. Flesh. Ripping. AGAIN!
The gun clattered to the ground.
Three sharp inhales followed by a desperate, sustained exhale.
Three sharp inhales followed by a desperate, sustained exhale.
Echoing into that uninteresting sky.