Blue, Red, and Freddy

a story about a boy and his dog

or, In the Twilight of Arcadia

“Strong POKEMON. Weak POKEMON. That is only the selfish perception of people.”
—Karen of the Elite Four

1, The Pool

It was like a million degrees out, the world was glowing, and everything looked all wavy in the golden distance. Summer shimmered off the crystal waters of the swimming pool, full of children's urine and chlorine. The clouds above looked like big Jumpluff just drifting along, and the clubhouse cast a long shadow, towering over the poolside like some sort of divine structure, its white exterior dotted with all sorts of nautical imagery, which matched the poolside, itself about two tennis courts wide and paved with cement tiles carved with little Magikarp and Shellder designs. A wooden awning shaded a row of picnic tables littered with coolers and juice boxes and radios and towels and pool toys of all sorts, and the parents who enjoyed the shade watched as their children shot each other with Super Soakers and whacked one another with pool noodles. My parents were hundreds of miles away. There was a kiddie pool off in the corner packed with babies, all buoyantly unaware on account of their gigantic floaties. Red maples swayed green overhead in the sweltering breeze. A lifeguard whistled and shouted as kids ran wild. The felty pops of tennis balls could be heard nearby, alongside the faint melody of an ice cream truck several blocks away, and the giggles of children swinging on a nearby swing set, and the taunting of teenagers playing basketball just beyond that. Palm trees towered overhead, their crazy shadows like Exeggutor on the poolside. And all of this was surrounded by a black metal fence that kids could slip right through, and just about anyone could climb over, with two flimsy gates erected on either side, their latches long broken from years of slamming. And just beyond that, less than a sprint away, was a tranquil fishing pond, and around that were the backsides of houses, one of which was my grandma Susu’s, another was my friend Miles’, constructed of red brick, with these big double doors that opened onto a wooden patio, which you could see from the pool itself, only partially obstructed by all the red maple and palm.

So there I was, poolside, lying out on one of those lounge chairs with the rubbery straps instead of cushions, holding my Game Boy Color way above my face to block out the sun so that I could actually see the image, because back then that’s what you had to do, considering the thing had no backlight and the worst glare ever. The time was 2:38 PM in Johto. The pixels were all bright green and pink. Everything was glowing. I could vaguely hear the tennis balls and the lifeguard and the kids and the parents and the ice cream truck, but it was all secondary to the chorus of bleeps and bloops coming out of those tiny little speakers.

I was busy fighting the Elite Four, leveling a newborn Murkrow, nicknamed Kiki, just hatched after an hour of cycling up and down Goldenrod City. She was this little black crow Pokemon with a head the shape of a witch’s hat. She was a Dark type and a Flying type. Her Pokedex entry stated, “it is said to carry misfortune,” or something like that. I bred her from a Doduo that knew Drill Peck, one of the strongest Flying-type attacks in the game, and I was doing all this at the ripe old age of 10 because, days earlier, a kid in the neighborhood named Carter beat me pretty bad with his Alakazam, so I needed a counter for next time, but I also liked Murkrow’s design, and of course I wanted to be the very best, the best there ever was, and I knew how to do all this stuff because I had Prima’s Official Strategy Guide for Pokemon Crystal back at Susu’s house, which was right there next to Miles’ house, exactly like Red and Blue’s houses in Pallet Town, which is what Miles and I used to call each other back then, Red and Blue.

Miles was Red. I was Blue.

Anyway, what I would do was, I’d put the newborn Kiki in the front row of my party, and then, at the start of each battle, I’d switch her out for Freddy, who was much higher level, so I could easily win the battles, and then Kiki would get half of the experience points, leveling up really fast, because Freddy was unstoppable like that.

Freddy was an Arcanine, a Fire-type, a massive orange dog with big paws, a big fiery mane, and a loyal but adorable face, basically the quintessential boy’s best friend. He was my favorite Pokemon. I had an Arcanine in every Pokemon game I had ever played up to that point, and I always named him Freddy, or Fred, or sometimes Fredrix if I was feeling fancy.

So there I was, in my Pokemon the Movie t-shirt and Poke Ball-dotted swim trunks, laying back on that lounge chair, focused on sweeping up the Elite Four with Freddy, when I heard my nickname being shouted real loud, “Blue! Blue!” which snapped me out of my digital reverie, so I looked away from the Game Boy, sat up, and that’s when I saw Red, his head poking up from the edge of the pool, dirty blonde hair all matted to his forehead, big grin on his handsome face.

“C’mon. Aren’t you getting in?”

“Give me a second, I’m almost done with the Elite Four,” I said before leaning back and lifting the Game Boy above my head again.

Freddy was so overleveled that the whole thing was basically just an exercise in tapping the A button over and over again without dying from boredom, which, somehow, I was really good at, despite the fact that all the doctors said I had ADHD and that I couldn’t focus on anything, because “anything” didn’t interest me, which was also why I wasn’t swimming in the pool at that particular moment. I was too into Pokemon. But also, I wasn’t swimming in the pool because I was pretty insecure about my looks. I didn’t like taking my shirt off, on account of my flabby stomach, which Mom always said was just baby fat, but even at the ripe old age of 10, I knew she was just trying to make me feel better. Also, my dad had given me this awful bowl cut right before summer break, which was something I couldn’t really hide, so I just had to grin and bear that one, but it certainly didn’t help with the insecurity, not one bit. Basically, that summer, I was looking something like an overfed hobbit with a bad farmer's tan. I really was.

Then I heard another voice, something I would have described at the time as a high-pitched squeal, because it was Lauren’s voice, and I didn’t like her very much. She was always trying to spend time with Red alone, which kind of annoyed me. And when we played three-on-threes, she always used Espeon, Butterfree, and Meganium, which was whatever, but I once called Meganium “just a dopey green dinosaur with a flower around its neck,” and that annoyed her real bad, and then things only got worse from there. She was also the only kid in the neighborhood with a printer, and one time, I remember, she offered to print pictures of our favorite Pokemon. Red asked for Charizard. I asked for Arcanine. But when she actually got around to printing the pictures, she printed out the Charizard for Red but she only printed a Lickitung for me. I remember, when she handed me that paper with that Lickitung sticking its tongue out at me, my face got so scrunched up in rage and embarrassment that I felt like I was going to cry, and then when I looked up at Lauren, she was also sticking her tongue out at me, just like the Lickitung, so it was like everywhere I looked, someone was sticking their tongue out at me, and Red was laughing his butt off the whole time this was happening, which also annoyed me, so I crumpled the paper and threw it at Lauren, then ran off in a huff. Red still teases me about that whole thing to this day. I also stole her Game Boy Camera one time. I guess I was jealous of her too, on account of all the time Red would spend with her.

Anyway.

Lauren, flopped over the edge of the pool, said, “He just wants to play Pokemon. C’mon, let’s play Marco Polo with Philip.” And that prompted me to glare at her, because I didn’t like it when people told me what I wanted to do, as if they could read my mind or something. So I considered making a rude comment about her incredibly pale skin, or the fact that her eyebrows were so light it barely looked like she had any eyebrows at all, or something about her freakishly big forehead, or all the freckles. I didn’t like her very much. But I also thought she was kind of cute too, I guess, so instead of saying any of that stuff, I sighed, looked back at my game, and started tapping away at the A button again.

Red was quick with his response. “But I want Blue to play. Philip cheats.”

“Stop calling him that. It’s so juvenile.” Lauren was always using big words like that. She was probably just jealous because we didn’t have a nickname for her, though.

Then, another head splashed up behind the edge of the pool. “Hey! I don’t cheat!” It was Philip. He had this long, narrow head, kinda weasley, and he had this permanent look on his face like he was always stupefied about something, and snot was always dripping from his nose for some reason, even in the pool, you could distinctly separate the snot from the water dripping down his face. And his hair was real short, light brown, tapered around the ears, which was not a normal haircut for a kid back then. His parents were real weird, his mom always wore black dresses, and the few times I met his dad, he just stood around looking zonked out of his mind. They usually didn’t let Philip out of the house, so when he was out, it was probably because his parents were out of town and he was being watched by his big brother or something, because otherwise normally we never saw him, which wasn't any skin off my back, if I'm telling the truth, because I didn’t like him very much. Years later, though, I found out his whole family was part of this weird anti-science cult, or something.

Red snapped back at Philip. “Yeah, you do! You find me even when I’m super quiet, and I saw you peeking last time!” And Red was right. He was always super quiet when we played Marco Polo. He was hard as hell to find in the water to an unfair degree, probably because he was built like a triathlon wunderkind, and he was super handsome too. I was constantly comparing myself to him and never living up. He had all the kids in Arcadia, including me, at a huge disadvantage, at least with physical stuff. I usually beat him in video games, though, but somehow that never felt like much of an achievement, even if I liked to pretend it was.

“That was cause my eyes itching,” Philip said. He had this permanent whiny quality to his voice. It was so annoying.

“I’m bored. Let’s go.” Lauren said suddenly as she pushed off with her feet and spun elegantly off into the middle of the pool. I didn’t like her very much, but she was quite the swimmer, I must admit. She looked pretty, too, doing those spins in the water, but I didn’t like her very much.

“Blue! Come on. Just save the game!” Red was staring me down now, this stern look on his face, like he was judging me, like I was an addict or something. And when I didn’t respond immediately, he waded back some, then with both hands pushed this massive wave in my direction. The tsunami soaked my shirt, which was whatever, but it also soaked my Game Boy Color, which was a big deal because it was one of those semi-clear Atomic Purple ones, and I was very protective of it, so after a pained shout, I delicately rubbed it down as if it were a baby. Then, after all the rubbing, I checked to make sure it was still working, and it was. Lance of the Elite Four had just said his final thing, “As a trainer, you will continue to grow strong with your Pokemon,” and now my little sprite was just idling there, doing nothing. So I saved the game real quick, wrapped the Game Boy in a towel, and put it down gently on the lounge chair. Then I glared at Red.

“Why the hell you do that?” I shouted, pretty annoyed. Then I stood up and, without thinking, with my shirt still on and everything, I burst into a sprint toward the pool, followed by a sharp whistle from the lifeguard. Then I leapt high into the air and landed a cannonball right by Red, which produced something like a comet plume. But I ended up landing on Lauren, who, unbeknownst to me, had been underwater, swimming toward Red at that exact moment.

When she came up, it was as if each of the freckles on her face was on fire. “What’s wrong with you?! Didn’t you see me there?!” Her hair seemed to light up with her mood too, normally it was very light red, but now, when she was wading there in the water, yelling at me, her hair seemed as fiery as the sun, and her eyebrows too. I guess I could have apologized or something, but back then I sort of prided myself on never apologizing about anything, ever. Then, without even letting me defend myself, she shouted, “I’m going home!” and that’s when she climbed out of the pool all in a huff. So I said something like, “What’s her problem?” And then Red turned to me with a grim look on his face and said, “She’s never liked you.” So I just kinda shrugged and said, “Whatever, I don’t like her either,” which was true because I didn’t like her very much, but she was kinda cute when she was mad, I must admit.

Afterwards, Red, Philip, and I played Marco Polo for about ten minutes. When it was my turn to play Marco, I cheated my butt off by peeking through my hands, but I was a less obvious cheater than Philip because I would play-dumb by acting like I couldn’t find anyone until a believable amount of time had passed. Philip, on the other hand, would immediately start going after people even when they were real quiet, so the difference between Philip’s cheating and mine was that, when I cheated, I let people feel like they had a chance to win, even though they never really did.

I always had more fun with Marco Polo at night, when the pool was quiet and the lights were off, when every little ripple and every single Politoed croak was plainly audible, like you were one with nature or whatever. It just made the game more enjoyable, it really did, which is why I never liked playing during the day. There was just too much noise, which is why after about ten minutes or so I decided to call it quits. I waded up to the poolside, leaned over the edge, and shouted for a break. Red and Philip agreed. We all climbed out of the pool, grabbed our towels, and dried ourselves off a little bit. My shirt was still soaking wet, of course, but I didn’t want to take it off, so I didn’t.

“Let’s play Pokemon,” I said,

Red nodded, “I brought my Game Boy, like you told me.”

Philip wiped snot from his nose, “I left mine.” And then he licked his snotty hand. He was gross like that. Then, looking real bratty, he said, “I wanna go to the hill and throw stuff at cars.” He was always wanting to throw stuff at cars, tennis balls and pinecones, mostly, he got a real kick out of it, probably because his parents never let him out, so when he did get out, he went wild.

“I wanna do a quick round with Red first.” I said, sitting on my lounge chair, unwrapping my Game Boy from the towel.

Red pushed a lounge chair against mine, and then, in an instant, he and I were linked with a Game Boy Link Cable. We walked our little sprites to the second floor of the Pokemon Center and talked to the lady behind the counter, and then we were face-to-face not only in the physical world but also in the digital one, too. Philip’s snot-caked face was hovering over my shoulder. I could feel his breath on my neck, and I was pretty sure some snot fell on my collar, so I shuddered and shouted at him to move. Then he swapped sides, looking over Red’s shoulder. And then the battle began. It was standard neighborhood rules, 3-on-3, max level 50, no legendaries, no GameShark’d mons.

Our screens swirled, then the battle music started like a keyboard falling through a vortex of adolescent confusion.

The battle was on.

2, Blue vs. Red

Red bent into his Game Boy and said, “I’m gonna win this mofo.” He was always saying “mofo,” even though I’m pretty sure he didn’t know what it meant, but neither did I, so I never really challenged him on it.

His first Pokemon was Houndoom, a Rottweiler-looking Pokemon, Fire-type, all black with devil horns, nicknamed “Shadow,” because he was always into edgy-sounding stuff, and he was terrible with nicknames.

“GO SCALES!” I shouted, pretending I was in the Pokemon anime or something. Scales was a Feraligatr, a big blue bipedal alligator with red scales poking out of his back. His nickname was Scales on account of all the scales. I guess I wasn’t too good with nicknames back then either.

Shadow had the higher Speed stat, so he went first with Sunny Day, and I raised an eyebrow because it was a non-damaging move that weakened Water-type attacks but boosted Fire-type ones, more strategic than I usually saw from Red. Scales used Surf, which I expected to one-shot Shadow since he was weak to Water, but Sunny Day weakened the attack, letting Shadow cling to life with just a sliver of health, the poor dog all wet and beeping in the red.

“Sunny Day, smart, but I told you before, you can’t win with Fire-types against,” and that’s when I was interrupted by Shadow’s Solar Beam, a Grass-type attack, which normally, under clear weather, required a turn to charge up, but under Sunny Day it came out instantly, and it one-shot Scales, leaving me slack-jawed for a good few seconds before I came to my senses and said, “You’re getting better,” all sarcastically.

But Red didn’t retort or anything, he just had this fierce determination in his eyes. Philip, meanwhile, was watching intently over Red’s shoulder. Some other kids had gathered around too, including Gavin, Red’s little brother, who looked just like Red, just three years younger, and a little more goofy-looking, because he had these big lips and a bowl cut about as bad as mine, but he sure did love his brother, because he was always around, especially when we were playing video games.

“Are you gonna lose this time, Blue?” Gavin said.

I didn’t say anything, but I wasn’t worried about losing, because my next Pokemon burst out of his Poke Ball with a magnificent roar, filling me with confidence. It was Freddy. He stood proud and majestic as boy’s best friend. Now it was dog versus dog.

“Shadow’s faster than that mofo,” Red mumbled, finishing his inputs.

“Don’t call him a mofo,” I said, shooting him a glance, “and Shadow’s not faster than this.”

Just as I said that, Freddy’s sprite flashed, then a wicked slashing animation appeared over Shadow, slicing away the last bit of health the dark dog had left. I had used Extreme Speed, it always went first.

Red blinked, then said, all dumbfounded, “I forgot about Extreme Speed.” Then his expression turned serious as he brought his face closer to the Game Boy, using the shadow of his own head to block out the harsh glare of the sun. “You’ll regret that,” he mumbled, then he added a small “mofo” at the end there, hoping I wouldn’t hear it.

His second Pokemon was Typhlosion, nicknamed Blaze, a long, badger-like Pokemon with big intimidating flames that erupted out of his neck. But I wasn’t intimidated, I actually laughed a little bit, then said, “I told you, you can’t beat me with a bunch of Fire-types. You gotta balance your team.”

But Red had a little twinkle in his eye, and at that moment, both our screens shook. Blaze had used Earthquake, which caught my attention, because Freddy, being a Fire-type, was weak to Ground-type attacks. The kids around us let out a collective gasp. Then Freddy flashed a few times as that super-effective crash noise rang in my ears. I bit my lower lip, watching my faithful companion’s health bar drain, expecting him to faint. But to my surprise, he hung on with just a sliver of health. There was a faint taste of blood on my tongue. The collective gasp turned to ambient pool noise, all the kids hunched over, looking over our shoulders, watching the battle intently. “Red’s getting a lot better.” I heard one of them say.

I was low-key kinda pissed, and my face was burning with more than just sunburn, as if I had become a Fire-type myself. Quickly, I had Freddy use Body Slam, which knocked out about half of Blaze’s health and paralyzed him, which meant that next turn Freddy would be faster than Blaze, since paralysis halves a Pokemon’s Speed stat. Then I had Freddy use Body Slam again. But Red switched out Blaze for Skarmory, a Steel-type bird, which he had nicknamed Razor, and that metal bird tanked the Body Slam, taking basically no damage from it. So, venomously, I said, “I’m just gonna Fire Blast her out of the sky,” because Steel-types were weak to Fire-types. And that’s exactly what I did, I used Fire Blast, expecting an easy one-shot win.

But Fire Blast missed.

Red did one of those laughs that starts out as a long raspberry then turns into a bellyful. Then, when he was done laughing, he said, “Should have just taught him Flamethrower.” And he was right, I should have taught him Flamethrower, because of the better accuracy. But instead of admitting my mistake, I just sort of stared at him, trying to appear cool and collected, when actually I was annoyed as hell. Then something totally unexpected happened.

Razor used Mud-Slap, which was a Ground-type move, which was super effective against Fire-types.

Freddy fainted.

I let out a pained scream, something like, “FREDDY! NOOOOOOOO!” because I kept picturing my dog back home, in pain, writhing and howling in agony. I couldn’t shake the image of him getting hurt for some reason, and it was too much for my little ten-year-old brain to handle. It was probably very comical for everyone involved, except for me, of course. Eventually my guttural “NOOOOOO” trailed off, and I fell over then rolled into the fetal position on that uncomfortable lounge chair, holding my Game Boy into my chest as if it were my literal heart in my hands or something. I could hear the kids around me whispering, and I’m pretty sure one poked me. I also heard Philip say, “I think you killed him,” before loudly snorting snot up his nose. I could sense Red was trying his best not to laugh because I could feel him fumbling around, like he was covering his mouth or something, the Link Cable that connected us going from slack to taut then back again. And, after some time, Gavin put his hand on my shoulder and said, “It’s OK. It’s just a game,” but that only made me flail and shoo him away. Then, for some reason, the lifeguard shouted “NO DUNKING,” which snapped me out of my fetal anguish. So I shot upright and buried my face in my Game Boy, avoiding eye contact with everyone and pretending like nothing had happened. One of the kids said, “Hey, Blue, you alright?” but instead of responding, I just sent out my last Pokemon, Furret, a gigantic brown ferret with a playful expression on her face, nicknamed “Foon.” She was way cuter than I was, especially considering my little tantrum.

Without a word, trying my best to seem all stoic and cool, I had Foon use Thunder Punch, which was super effective against Razor, and it was a critical hit, so she basically punched that dumb metal bird right out of the sky. But it didn’t really make me feel any better because I couldn’t get over the image of Freddy getting hurt. So when Red sent out his last Pokemon, Blaze, who was still at about half health, I navigated to Quick Attack and pressed the A button super hard, as if I was the one Quick Attacking Red himself. Foon flashed on screen, and just like that, Blaze was down and the battle was won.

The kids around us both cheered and jeered, some of them ran off, lifeguard whistling, cannonballing into the pool, getting little droplets of chlorinated water on my clothes, which were now mostly dry thanks to the crazy summer sun. I remember it took every fiber of my being to say, “Good game,” under my breath, as I stared down into the void that was the now-blank Game Boy screen.

“Yeah, was worth it hearing you scream like a mofo,” Red said as he turned off his Game Boy, stood up, and pocketed it. Then he picked up his towel and rubbed it into his hair before wrapping it around his waist. “I’ll win next time, though.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled.

The battle had been won, but Freddy’s fall was still taking its toll on my adolescent psyche, and the embarrassment of freaking out over a video game in a public pool setting was starting to creep in too. I could feel the shame like a weight on the back of my neck, which is why I was just staring down into my Game Boy, breathing real heavy. I could feel Red looking down at me the whole time. It started to feel a little awkward. It was like some sort of shame demon was keeping me down or something.

Then Philip broke the silence, “Can we go throw stuff at cars now?”

Red was rubbing his hair with a towel. “I guess,” he said. He was never too big on mischief making, always tagging along reluctantly to fit in or whatever. Then he added, “Gotta go pee like a mofo first, though.” So he jumped in the pool, and then, after wading in the water for a couple of seconds, he climbed out with a little grin on his face and said, “OK, let’s go.”

Philip turned to me and said, “You coming?”

I shrugged, still upset, thinking about Pokemon, thinking about Freddy, thinking about how my dad was coming down later that day and that he was actually bringing Freddy with him, which meant that summer was almost over, which meant that I’d have to go back home soon. But the thought of seeing Freddy again made me feel a little better, though it also made me feel a little sad, because back then I thought, when summer ends, maybe it won't come back.

Because, when you’re a kid, endings sure do feel like forevers.

3, The Hill

There we were, about ten minutes later, climbing up that hill, that bright green hill. It was Red, Philip, Gavin, and myself, all four of us, climbing up that hill.

It was just a little bigger than a knoll, and it was dotted with black-eyed Susans and hibiscus and Carolina jessamine. And the grass, immaculate, even though I never saw anyone ever mowing it. And the birds, those Carolina wrens and American robins, I imagined them as Pidgey and Farfetch’d, they danced and sang. And the crows, perched up in the palms that hung high overhead, squawking down at us, all territorial, I saw them as Murkrow, waiting to be captured. Because my head was full of Pokemon, and angst, because I was still a little moody and embarrassed from my battle with Red, even though I was trying to get over it, I really was.

When I got to the top of the hill, I lay down on my stomach and looked at the grass real close to my nose, and there I saw a wild Caterpie. I wished at that moment I had a Poke Ball and a Pokedex and maybe some water, because I was feeling really parched, having only drunk chlorinated pool water since coming out hours earlier. I often forgot to take care of myself back then on account of, well, being ten, but also on account of my mind being all polluted with Pokemon, and angst, and TV, all sorts of other stuff.

Just beyond the hill was a long, straight road that connected our neighborhood with another. It ran parallel to the hill, and the occasional car would pass, going anywhere from 10 to 20 miles per hour. Just behind the hill, a little ways off in the distance, were the clubhouse and the pool and a very small pond with a fancy fountain, and there were a few rows of houses with verdant alleys between them all. The hill was tall enough to hide yourself from anyone down on the road, which made it the perfect place to throw stuff from because you could just duck behind the top of the hill afterward, almost as if it were made solely for children to make mischief.

We had been doing this whole throw-stuff-at-cars-from-behind-the-hill thing a lot that summer, and at one point, some mail was sent by the Homeowners Association warning parents that kids were indeed throwing stuff at cars from behind the hill, and those kids, in most cases, were us. Red, Philip, Gavin, and Myself, and sometimes Carter, but never Lauren. But, to our credit, we usually only threw pinecones and tennis balls, never anything that could break a windshield, only stuff that caused a big panic for drivers and a good laugh for us.

In this instance, Philip, always eager to cause mayhem, was the first to get the ball rolling. “You ready?” He had his shirt all rolled up in the front, full of lumps, and when he unrolled it, a bunch of tennis balls fell out into the grass. They rolled down the hill a bit before being caught in some overgrowth. Then he looked at me and said, “You first,” because he was always eager to cause some mayhem, but only after he had implicated someone else first, I guess it made him feel better or something. But I just shook my head, too absorbed in watching the Caterpie in the grass, thinking about Arcanine and Houndoom and Typhlosion and stuff.

Red grabbed one of the tennis balls and quickly poked his head up from behind the hill. A car engine hummed down the road. “I’ll do it,” I heard him say, and then he got into this military-like crouch, as if he were Solid Snake or something, tennis ball clasped in both hands, feathery mess of hair fluttering due to some sudden breeze. The noise of the car engine got closer and closer until, suddenly, Red popped up from behind the hill and chucked the ball. Then Philip did this whistle reminiscent of a bomb drop. And I, suddenly feeling swept up in the moment, shot my head up to track the thrown ball, which ended up totally whiffing on account of a gust of wind, which I could tell left Red a little annoyed because he started mumbling loudly after he ducked down. “It was the wind, I swear, my aim was perfect, I would have hit that mofo.” And he would have, too.

Gavin was watching his brother intently, as if he were extracting and installing behavioral data or something, and then he said, “I’ll get one of those mofos for you.”

Red snapped back at him, “You can’t use that word, that’s my word.”

Gavin ignored his brother's rebuke, grabbing a ball from the grass nearby. After a few seconds, the hum of another car got closer and closer, until, suddenly, Gavin popped out and chucked his ball in a sloppy, limp-wristed fashion. But his aim was true, because he hit that mofo dead on.

I watched that tennis ball belt the front windshield of this little red two-door, making a loud thud, before ricocheting into a holly bush, followed by the sharp sound of squealing tires, as if the driver had just stepped on the brakes real hard.

My head was way down, and my heart was pounding, and my skin felt as if it were sparking like a Pikachu or something, but somehow I worked up the courage to poke my head up again, to get a peek of what was going on, and that’s when I saw the tire tracks leading to the hill, and the red two-door just idling there next to the hill, and the man looking around frantically, and then the man started yelling, “COME OUT HERE, PUNKS,” and that’s when I nearly peed myself, so I quickly ducked behind the hill and took a deep breath.

“COME ON OUT, YOU LITTLE SHITS.”

I looked over to Red to see what he wanted to do, but he was already halfway down the hill, running faster than I had ever seen him run before, and he was heading straight for one of those verdant alleys, the same one that led right to my street, and Gavin was right there behind his brother, just barely keeping up. Philip was running off in the opposite direction, which left me, the portly little hobbit, alone on the hill, all by myself, freaking out.

So, full panic mode, not wanting to get in trouble, I quickly got to my feet and dashed down the hill, but my head was swirling, maybe from the lack of water, and my legs were suddenly pool noodles, flailing all over the place, and before I knew it, I slipped, tumbled down the hill like some seriously out-of-shape Sonic the Hedgehog, and ended up face down in the grass with mouthful of dirt.

I think I might have blacked out or something for a second, because when I came to, rolled over, and looked up, expecting only to see those big Jumpluff clouds in the sky, I instead saw the spitting image of childhood fear itself, a random adult I had never seen before in my life, hovering right over me. He had dark shades on and slicked-back gray hair, very thin cheekbones, and he was wearing something like a dark vest and slacks.

I was stammering, “It wasn’t me. I didn’t even throw a ball. I just wanted to play Pokemon Crystal. Really. I swear. I didn’t even throw one. I swear. I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It was Phillip. He did it. I swear.”

The adult’s eyes were covered, so I couldn’t get a full read on him, but I could tell he was frustrated from the purse of his lips, but, despite that, he held his hand out to me, as if to help me up, but I just started scrambling backwards like a Krabby or something. “No. No. Don’t hurt me. I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”

“Look, kid, sorry for yelling like that. I was just upset, is all.” The adult stepped closer. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to your parents.” He paused before offering me his hand again. “Where do you live?”

“I’m not telling.” I said, slowly inching backwards. “I didn’t do nothing.” I was so flustered even my grammar was suffering.

“Fine. But can you tell me where the other kids live then? So I can talk to their parents.”

My big, shaky blue eyes were scanning him up and down, as if performing child calculus in my head to determine if he was just trying to trick me or something. The calculation was pretty simple, though, because I quickly came to an answer. “No, not telling!” And that’s when I started scrambling back even more, practically in someone’s backyard at this point.

“Then I’m calling the police. They’ll sort this out.” The adult stepped forward. “Come with me.” He bent over and grabbed my wrist, at which point I started flailing like crazy.

“Unhand me! I didn’t do anything! Let me go!” I shouted, but the adult kept tugging at my wrist, which was really freaking me out, so I shouted, “Fine! I’ll tell you where they live.” I was panting like crazy, like a wild dog almost. “Just let me go, please.”

The man let me go, then he stepped away from me, putting distance between us. His eyes were still covered, but his face seemed regretful somehow, as if he now had second thoughts about grabbing me. I could have run at that point. I don’t know why I didn’t. But, instead, I snitched, and I lied. “It was Phillip who threw the ball at your car. He lives down there.” I was pointing behind me, to the left, beyond the little pond with the fountain. “206, I think.”

“Mossy Oak Way?”

“I think so.” I wasn’t real good with names and numbers back then. I just knew where stuff was.

“And was there anyone else with you?”

I blinked, considering if I should snitch on Red and Gavin. I was, after all, pretty upset about Freddy, but I wasn’t that upset, so I decided not to snitch on them. Instead, I did something much worse.

I shouted, “BITE ME,” and then, overcome by some sort of devilry, I spat a fat one right on the man’s vest. Then I bounced to my feet and bolted off into a nearby verdant alley, one that led to my street.

I could hear the man yelling behind me, “COME BACK HERE, YOUNG MAN. APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW.”

But I was already gone, hauling butt through buzzing backyards, jumping over oscillating sprinklers, weaving between picket fences, running past red maple and palm, and barking dogs, and big sunflowers, and pink flamingos, and garden gnomes. Then, arms covering my face, I pushed through a holly bush, right onto Mossy Oak Way.

And then I started running again, never looking back, because if that man thought I was going to apologize to him, well, he had another thing coming, because back then I prided myself on never apologizing for anything, ever.

4, Susu’s House

The door was unlocked, it was always unlocked.

The sound of a bell, the stinger, the old Rush Limbaugh baugh, signaled my arrival, as it usually did around this time in the afternoon. I quietly closed the glass storm door behind me as I tiptoed through the front arch, looking over my shoulder nervously, half expecting to see that man rushing after me, but all I saw was the grass lawn, freshly mowed, and the big maple sticking out of the middle, and the little garden Susu had cultivated near the curve of the garage, right by the driveway that spilled out of the main road like a distributary into its own little pond of concrete. Some AM radio commercial faintly crackled, “What are you going to do when the dollar collapses? When there’s no money left in the ATM and your credit cards are just useless plastic? Are you just going to sit around, waiting for the government to take your guns away? No. You’re smarter than that. You’re a patriot. And real patriots put their money in gold and silver.” The radio voice had this funny gruffness to it, “Confederate Gold & Silver,” but I didn’t have the wits to laugh at it just then, because I was chewing my nails, looking through the glass door, trying to make sure I was in the clear. After a few seconds of staring down the road, I saw the red two-door coming around the turn, the same one Gavin pegged earlier, about to pass right by Susu’s house. I gulped and slammed the front door without thinking, all bug-eyed, then I pushed my back against the door, expecting a knock any second, because I assumed, in my weird adolescent ways, that the adult had somehow divined the location of my home merely minutes after meeting me. I was mentally preparing myself for the inevitable, coming up with all sorts of excuses in my head, nearly hyperventilating, chewing my nails to blood, and that’s when Susu called my name several times from beyond the static, followed by a, “is that you, is that you, honey?”

Still freaking out mentally, I gathered myself physically, and then I popped out of the small alcove into the living room proper, right by the big couch pushed up against the tan wall that was actually a pass-through for the kitchen, meaning it was like a big hole in the middle of the wall that let you see right through into the kitchen itself, where Susu stood by the stovetop, moving a frying pan back and forth, sizzling some sort of unbreaded white meat so plain it didn’t even have a smell. She turned and blinked at me with her big eyes, thick with mascara, then she must have realized that I looked freaked out, so she said, “Everything OK, little one?” to which I stuttered out a “Yeah” before walking into the kitchen, which was wallpapered white with stylized green vines painted at the top, making the whole place feel like some sort of Roman domus. “Well, OK then,” she said. And that’s when I pushed aside the window drapes and was lifting one of the white plastic blinds, trying to get the best view of the street while being as discreet as possible about the whole thing. I could barely hear the radio over the sound of my own heartbeat, expecting that little red two-door to show up, so I sort of jumped when Susu said, “I was wondering when you’d be home,” then, noticing me jump, she followed up with, “Are you sure everything’s OK?” But I didn’t say a word, staring out that window, chewing my nails again, still expecting the two-door to pull up at any moment. Then, after what felt like a full minute, she asked, “Are you hungry?” and, seeing no car pull into the drive, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, dropped the blind, turned to Susu, and said, “Maybe a little.”

I was feeling absolved. I was feeling safe. So, first, I drank a whole glass of water, then I opened the pantry and grabbed a bag of pretzel rods, then I started chomping down on them with these real loud chomps. Susu, now done with her frying pan, turned to me and said, “I meant real food.” Then she brought out two plates and put the strips of white meat on them, then she put those plates on the kitchen table, which was pushed right up against the wall, near the window, under those fake, painted-on vines. “Eat some chicken,” she said. “No breading. Very little fat. Just protein. Exactly what a growing boy needs.”

Her chestnut eyes got all squinty when she smiled. She had barely any wrinkles. Her hair was dark red because she dyed it. She was in her seventies, but she didn’t look a day over forty. People always thought she was my mother. She basically was. She was gentle and honest, sometimes too honest, and not afraid to speak her mind, but she was very kind. She woke up at the same time every day. She was always on a very strict diet. She had one of those weekly pill organizers filled with all sorts of colorful pills, most of dubious effectiveness. She watched Gunsmoke at three, Bonanza at four, MacGyver at five, and she fell asleep to Fox News. She loved her routines. She rarely went out, except to water her tomatoes, go to the grocery store, play the occasional game of tennis, and ballroom dance every Saturday night. She had a series of male friends who were much younger than herself. She had an exercise bike in her room and a pull-up bar on her door frame. She spent many hours a day playing solitaire, alone, on her bed. She used to be a professional dancer. She danced on TV one time, in black and white. She was really pretty. She was my grandma, Susu. I loved her, and she loved me.

Anyway.

Susu sat down at the table and started cutting little squares off the chicken with a fork and knife before taking dainty little bites. I sat on the opposite end, still chomping my rods, little twirls of steam coming off the plain white meat on the plate in front of me. For some reason, the idea of chewing meat grossed me out more so than normal, so I gave my helping to Susu after some bickering back and forth. Then, after another dainty little bite, she looked up at me and said, “You have to take a break on the pretzels, hon, you’re getting a little chubby around the waist.” She was always saying stuff like that. Sometimes I thought everything was about looks with her, but she always treated me like a prince, even if I was a little overweight at the time.

By the time Susu and I were done eating, MacGyver was coming on, so we put our plates in the sink and then went to her room. It was always dim and cozy in there. I plopped down on the massive bed and immediately whipped out my Game Boy Color, flipping the power switch, little coin sound ringing in my ears, but by the time Suicune had shown up on the screen, the sound was already drowned out by the orchestral heroics of the MacGyver theme, which compelled me to hum along as shots of the man himself flashed on screen. He was doing cool light tricks with mirrors and running through the desert and eating ice cream from the cone and making explosives out of silly putty and rappelling down mountains and leaping behind cover as helicopters shot at him and thwarting bad guys all without using a gun, and the hair, that dirty blonde hair, long in the back, short in the front, and that smile, that handsome smile, “starring RICHARD DEAN ANDERSON.”

Man, I loved that show. We loved that show. That was our show.

Susu was sitting there, upright, next to me, pillows stuffed behind her back, little table over her lap, playing solitaire with a deck of cards about as old as she was. I was playing my Pokemon. Then it went to commercial, so I zoned in on leveling Kiki some more, mindlessly bashing A through the Elite Four, Freddy Extreme Speeding all the opposing Pokemon, Kiki now almost level 50, all while Susu was moving and flipping cards around on her little table.

Then MacGyver came back on. It was that one episode, “Kill Zone,” where MacGyver jury-rigs a satellite antenna to his camera to make a video feed somehow. We had seen it about a thousand times before. The plot centered around some scientist girl who toyed a little too much with nature and accidentally created a virus that caused those infected to rapidly age and die. The scientist girl had this fluffy black dog too, and by the end of the episode both the scientist and her dog are exposed to the virus, so they both rapidly shrivel up and die right there on screen, which freaked me out. I didn’t want to rapidly shrivel up and die. I really didn’t. The prospect of it all scared the hell out of me. So I said, “We’ve seen this one like a hundred times.” But Susu didn’t say anything. She just kept flipping her cards around. So I shrugged and went back to bashing A, tuning it out.

Only a couple of minutes had passed before the doorbell rang. My stomach fell about a hundred floors. I looked over at Susu, my eyes huge, practically sweating bullets. She said, “What’s wrong, little one? It’s probably just your father.” Then she lifted her table and put it to the side before she got up and walked out into the living room, toward the front door. I was stalking behind her, keeping my distance as I watched her open the glass door, then the main door proper, and there stood the figure of an adult man, partially obscured by Susu.

I gulped.

But before I could get a good look at the man, a golden blur rushed through the door, zipping right past Susu’s legs. It was all Whirlwind, Heat Wave, and Flash. I could barely react at all before I was knocked over into the plush carpet, pinned down by some crazy force, wetness suddenly all over my face.

It was Freddy.

His big golden paws were on my shoulders, his tongue swinging wildly all over the place, and his tail must have been wagging a thousand miles per hour because I could feel the breeze. When I realized it was him, all my dread went away. I wrapped my arms around him, then started play-wrestling, popping him on either side of the mouth, which always made him do these fake little snarls. Then I got on all fours and started snarling back. I was pretending like I was an Arcanine. We were both bouncing around on all fours like we were littermates, him being the runt, because he was about half the size of a normal golden retriever, on account of being mixed with some other breed we could never quite figure out. But none of that mattered because he was part of the family, weird blood or not. And he found us, not the other way around.

One day, years ago, when I was really young, Freddy had just shown up at our door. I remember my dad had heard snarling out on the front porch, and when he opened the door, there he was, golden and dirty, snarling viciously. We had no idea where he actually came from or how old he was, but he looked maybe half a year old back then. I remember my dad, upon seeing the snarling teenage pup, immediately shut the door, then he turned to us and said, “Freddy Krueger’s at the door. I’m calling Animal Control.” But somehow I convinced him otherwise. We tamed the dog with bacon, and soon he was sleeping in my bed every night. And every day, when I came home from school, there he was, right up there on the top step, waiting for me. And when I would go out to play, he would follow me, as if he were protecting me from all the dangers of the grown-up world. We named him, of course, Freddy. There was no other name to give.

Freddy was my brother, my friend, and my protector, even if he was a little rude and unfriendly to most people, like that one time he bit the delivery driver and then my dad had to convince the driver not to press charges, or that other time when he got out of the house and chased our neighbor who was just trying to mow their lawn, or that one time he knocked a biker off their bike, or all the times we had to put him in the bathroom when people were visiting because he wouldn’t stop snarling at them. He gained a reputation as the neighborhood menace, he really did. But he was never a menace to me. In fact, he was a menace to everyone except me, so I felt super safe when he was around. He was my guardian, Freddy. My best friend. I loved him, and he loved me.

Anyway.

Susu and my dad spent the next hour watching TV and talking. Sometimes my dad would go into the backyard to take work calls. He was in real estate. And he always wore an old baseball cap, even inside. I was mostly playing Pokemon the whole time, on the floor with my back against Susu’s bed, because Freddy wasn’t allowed up there, and I wanted to be near him. Later, Red came over for an hour or so, mainly to ask me what had happened back there on the Hill. I told him everything. He thought it was hilarious that I snitched on Philip, and he was grateful that I didn’t snitch on him or his brother. I told him that I could never do that to him. Then I introduced him to Freddy, who only snarled for about half a second before warming up. Then my dad ordered some pizza, and we ate a couple of slices on the screened-in back porch, enveloped in the sounds of crickets chirping and cicadas droning on and on. The sky was pink and orange as we watched the sun fall. Heat lightning flashed off in the distance every now and then. There was some soft rumbling. My dad said it was steel-guitar weather, whatever that meant. Susu didn’t eat any pizza. She said it was too fattening, so we gave her slices to Freddy, who scarfed them down then stood gallantly by my side, never begging for more, because that just wasn’t his style.

Later, as night settled, my dad told me he would be staying with a friend nearby for two days and that, afterwards, he would take me home for the new school year. I begged him to leave Freddy at Susu’s with me, and he eventually agreed. I remember, before he left, he said, “You’re getting big enough now, so watch out for ol’ Freddy Krueger and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble,” and then he winked and smiled at me.

As I watched my dad pull out of the driveway, I had the strangest feeling that Freddy was going to be the one watching out for me.

I stayed up for another hour, Freddy and I chasing each other around the house like wildlings, until Susu insisted that we go to sleep. I normally slept in Susu’s bed at night, but this night I slept in the spare room on the other side of the house. There was an old television set in there, from the ’80s or something, with knobs, and an old tape player hooked up to it. The bed was nice and comfy. I lay there, trying to fall asleep to the sound of The Simpsons that Susu had taped for me on VHS. She was always taping stuff for me. Freddy was there on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he lay curled up at my feet.

In the middle of the night, a wicked thunderstorm picked up, its lightning flashing like cameras going off, and its harsh wind whipping tree branches against the side of the house. Susu came in and asked if I wanted to move to her bed. I told her no, that I wasn’t scared, because with every snap, crackle, and pop, Freddy’s head would perk up and he’d growl softly, as if trying to scare the monsters away.

I fell asleep that night to the sound of heavy rain and companionship.

5, Carter’s House

The next morning, after Susu had woken up, had her breakfast, made my chocolate milk, and started using the sewing machine in the garage, I stumbled out of the spare bedroom in nothing but my underwear and made my way to Susu’s room. Freddy followed along. I needed to watch my Blue’s Clues and Little Bear, and Susu’s TV was the only one that got cable. I could hear the rhythmic clacking of her sewing machine, muffled in the garage, throughout the house. Sometimes she would spend hours in there making these little cloth pockets with flowery designs painted on them, about the size of an envelope, with magnets sewn into the back so they could stick to a refrigerator and hold things like notes and pens and other knick-knacks. She made a little money selling them at the market downtown. Everyone in the family had one.

I was sitting up against the bed’s headboard, in Susu’s normal spot, closest to the TV, with pillows wedged behind my back, sucking chocolate milk through the straw of a white Power Rangers cup. Freddy wasn’t allowed on the bed, so he was lying on the thin rug in the space between the bed and the dresser, upon which sat the TV set, humming the soft orchestral theme of Little Bear, its quiet horns and strings perfectly accenting the innocent countryside adventures of the titular Little Bear himself. I figured that none of the other kids my age watched Little Bear, and I figured they definitely didn’t watch Blue’s Clues, since both were shows aimed at much younger kids, and I was so aware of that fact that I even went to great lengths to hide it, which is why I scrambled for the remote the moment I heard the door burst open, which caused Freddy to jump to his feet and bark like crazy until he realized who it was.

It was Red. He was standing there, in the doorway, looking right at me with that confident smile of his. He was wearing these ridiculously baggy pants that didn’t fit him at all, either physically or mentally. They were called FUBU pants or something. He was always going on about these pants, but I was in no position to crack a joke about them, because I had pulled the sheets over myself, slightly covering my face, which caused the TV remote to fall to the floor, which meant that Little Bear continued to play, which meant the jig was up, and I was a little embarrassed about the whole thing. I remember the episode was titled “Little Bear's Bad Day.”

“Oh, hey,” I said, kinda taken aback.

“Door was unlocked,” he said, then he turned to the TV, “Are you watching Little Bear?”

I started to answer but was stuttering a little bit.

“I never got into it. That’s why I came over. I find something else to do after Blue’s Clues. I love Blue’s Clues. Don’t tell anyone.”

All I could muster was an “Oh,” followed by a smile at the realization that I wasn’t the only one. It amazed me how Red always took ownership of the things he liked, he was never embarrassed about anything, that was something I always admired about him.

Red hopped on the huge bed and sat, legs dangling over the edge. We watched Little Bear together for a moment. Mother Bear was tweezing a thorn out of Little Bear’s butt. It was a strange scene. We both laughed. Then it cut to commercial break.

“I told Carter I’d go fishing with him today,” Red said, unenthusiastically.

“Why’d you do that?” I said, a little muffled because the sheets were still pulled close to my face.

“I don’t know,” he said, then nervously added, “Can you come with me?”

At first, I didn’t know how to respond. Carter freaked me out. He was two years older than us, and he was quiet, in a spooky way, and the way he looked at me sent the worst kind of shivers down my spine. And even though his house was literally right across the street from mine, his parents never let us in, so we had no idea what was going on in there, only that his garage was always open, full of random junk, but his doors were always locked. I felt as if something weird was locked behind them. He had like a hundred sisters, all redheads, pale, with freckles, and it was almost like new ones kept popping up every other day. We had this running joke that they were multiplying like those single-celled organisms or whatever. Carter was the only boy in the family. The more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want to hang out with him. But then I remembered that he played Pokemon, at least he did at the beginning of the summer. He had a good team, too. The last time I played against him, he beat me pretty bad, and I was still kind of burned by that. The very thought reignited the fire inside. I suddenly needed a rematch. I had raised Kiki for that very purpose. I had to beat him. I had to be the very best, like no one ever was.

“He still play Pokemon?” I said

Red shrugged. “You ask him.”

“I gotta get dressed,” I said, a little defensively.

Ten minutes later, we were outside, shaded by the little overhang above Susu’s front door. Freddy was there too. He didn’t need a leash because he always stuck by my side. Some Pidgeotto zipped by overhead, followed by a few Pidgey struggling to keep up, and Freddy was tracking them in place, his nose all skyward.

I was wearing this baggy blue short-sleeve and big jeans, even though it was hot as hell out. I was trying to hide my chubbiness under big clothes, like I always did, because back then I always felt like people were looking at me, judging me, even when no one really was. And I didn’t like how shorts looked on me because my legs were super pale. Susu always said my legs would stay pale unless I wore shorts, but I didn’t like how they looked, partially because my legs were super pale, so it was kind of like a no-win situation.

The heat didn’t normally bother me much, but this day was different. It had rained the night before, and the heat index was like a million degrees or something, so it felt like the worst kind of sauna in the world outside, so I immediately started complaining the moment we stepped out of the shade.

“I don’t think today is a good day for fishing,” I said, but Red ignored me.

Carter’s big two-story house was right there across the street, garage wide open, two huge pickup trucks parked on his sloped driveway. There was a massive mossy oak in the backyard that shaded the entire house and gave it a haunted-house vibe. I imagined the place like some sort of final boss castle in a video game. Red and I had preferred to knock on the door inside his garage to get Carter to come outside, so in the blazing heat, sweating profusely, we made our way across the street and up Carter’s steep driveway, into his garage. But before entering the garage, I patted Freddy on the head and told him to stay outside until we were back. Freddy looked me in the eye, then he walked up to a little shrub near the garage entrance and lifted his leg, showering the prickly bush as if he didn’t respect the place at all. Red and I thought that was pretty funny.

We then had to navigate a little maze of rusty yard tools, and barrels of old fishing poles, and a rack of spears, one missing, and two different lawn mowers, and boxes labeled with duct tape and sharpie, and some gardening equipment, and a big couch with a small table in front of it, upon which was a full ashtray with like twelve empty packs of cigarettes around it, and there were deer antlers mounted on the walls, and a collection of old-looking rifles, and a huge Confederate flag, and then more rifles, and there were a bunch of framed Army medals all over the place, and there was even a small boat hanging from the ceiling in the corner. I nearly tripped over an old hose that was stretched across the floor like a tripwire. Red had to grab me by the waist to save me from cracking my head open.

As we approached the big metal door to the interior of the house, Red looked at me and said, “You knock,” but I shook my head and said, “I’m not doing it, you do it,” and then he shook his head and said, “No way, you do it,” and then, looking back at the open entrance of the garage, I saw Freddy sitting there, looking like the most regal Pokemon ever, with his long golden fur and confident stare, which in turn filled me with confidence, so I said, “Fine.”

I lifted my hand to knock, but before I could, the door creaked open just a little bit, and I saw, in the crack, a line of eyeballs from top to bottom, some green, some brown, some hazel and blue, some obscured by bright red hair. It was the sisters, and due to the age and height differences, it looked as if their heads were stacked atop each other, their eyes all blinking out from the little crack in the door.

“Yes?” they said simultaneously. It was almost spooky.

“Uh, is Carter here?” I said, trying not to stutter.

“He’s out back,” the girls said curtly, and simultaneously, then they slammed the door.

Red and I shared an incredulous look, then we both shrugged and made our way back through the maze, out of the garage, where Freddy was waiting for us, his tongue hanging out all thirsty.

As we walked around the side of the house, through Carter’s yard, somewhat shaded by the dense canopy of moss and leaves from the huge oak overhead, the grass was all mushy from the rain the night before, and it felt like the water was evaporating in real time, enveloping us in a swamp-like mist, and there were little gnats all over the place too, but at least, shaded by the mossy oak, we weren’t getting blasted directly by the sun’s rays. I figured, at this point, complaining about the heat wasn’t going to solve anything, so I just kept walking, Red in front of me. We were almost at the turn into the backyard when I saw something strange.

When I looked back at Freddy, to make sure he was still there, I noticed something right by his paws, little wooden stakes poking out of the ground. I stopped and signaled to Red, then I crouched down near one of the stakes.

There was a whole row of them, like a path almost, leading from the side of the house to the backyard. The stakes were a little larger than toothpicks, stuck into the ground, and impaled upon them were the bodies of bugs. I couldn’t see them as Pokemon for some reason. The first stake I saw was spiked through the torso of a cricket, some brownish juice dripping down the wood, the insect’s legs still twitching. Something inside me turned. The second stake skewered the wings of a butterfly, its body locked in agony, like it had been trying to fly away but couldn’t.

Red too was crouching down near one of the stakes, which had a cicada impaled upon it, and when he went to touch it, it started buzzing real loud, as if it were screaming for death, which spooked Freddy, who started barking, which must have alerted Carter, because there he was all of a sudden, standing by the turn to the backyard, just a few feet away from us, darkly shaded by the massive oak. A chill breeze blew through. The death buzzing stopped. I could only hear the whistle of the wind.

“I call it death row.”

Carter’s voice was quiet but somehow totally audible, snake-like but cracking a bit in his puberty. He wore a loose camo shirt, woodland style, with matching pants, and a squared-off hunting cap with a short bill, also camo. No hair poked out. There were patches of acne on his gaunt, skeletal face, and his brow was so pronounced that it shaded his dark, sunken eyes. He was pretty tall for his age. And, with both hands, he was holding a lever-action BB gun that looked like a real rifle.

I felt something like fear bubbling up, but then I saw a Spearow dart through the canopy overhead, which reminded me of Pokemon, which made me feel a little better, but my eyes were still kind of shaky, on account of all the dead bugs, which I couldn’t imagine as Pokemon for some reason. Red, on the other hand, looked as confident as ever. And Freddy, well, he was in front of us, growling at Carter, because he wasn’t afraid of anything, or so I thought at the time.

“Whose dog?” Carter said, pointing the rifle at Freddy.

The sight of the rifle pointed at Freddy erased all my fear for a moment. I didn’t even think twice when I jumped forward. “That’s Freddy,” I said, voice raised. “Don’t point that at him.” And I must have sounded pretty stern because Carter lowered the rifle with a shrug and said, “Alright, alright.” Then he turned and started toward the backyard. Red and I exchanged concerned glances. “Come on back,” Carter called, vanishing behind the back of the house. Freddy had stopped growling, but he was looking more heated than ever, his golden hair like fire in the shady summer breeze.

When I turned the corner into the backyard, I first noticed one of Carter’s older sisters, sitting on a stump in the shade of the oak, cigarette between two fingers, she was thick but not fat, strong almost, bright orange hair, and her brilliant green eyes were watching as another boy was swinging a real spear around while making dumb action-movie sound effects with his mouth. They were both near a small table upon which sat three dented-up soda cans. The boy was Philip. He hadn’t noticed me yet. There was also a rusty kennel pushed up against the back of the house, and when Freddy saw that, he growled real low, but I could barely hear him over Philip’s dumb sound effects.

I turned to Red, annoyed look on my face, “You didn’t say Philip was coming.”

Red blinked and shrugged his shoulders.

I tried to turn my back a little bit, so Philip couldn’t see my face, but I was too slow, because in an instant I heard my name, real loud, then he rushed toward me with that spear in hand, lurching at me a bit. “Snitch!” he shouted. But then Freddy jumped in front of me, snarling viciously, which freaked Philip out, causing him to fall down and drop the spear. I shouted Freddy’s name, which caused him to stop snarling, and then I bent down and pet him behind the ear, to calm him down a bit.

Philip was crab walking backwards, breathing loudly, “That dog is crazy.”

“You ran at me,” I said sharply.

Carter butted in, his tone cold, “That dog’s violent, needs to be on a leash.”

“You’re violent!” I shouted.

Then Red jumped in, “C’mon, aren’t we going fishing?”

Philip was back on his feet now. He drove the butt of the spear into the ground, holding the shaft with one hand. He used his other hand to wipe his gross, snotty nose. That’s when I noticed a smear of blood across his face. The spear must have nicked his hand when he fell.

“I’m not going fishing with no snitch,” Philip said. Then he must have noticed his hand bleeding, so he said, “He snitched on me and his dog made me bleed!”

“You made yourself bleed, idiot,” I snapped back.

Carter watched us, motionless, something about his posture unnerved me, like he was enjoying this but pretending not to, or something. Then I noticed Carter’s sister put her cigarette out in the grass and stand up from her stump. She walked up to Philip and grabbed his hand, examining the wound. “Calm down, it’s nothing, really,” she said, “I’ll get you a wrap.” And then she was gone.

Philip was starting to cool down. “Whatever, I just don’t want that dog near me,” he said, wiping his nose again. “Why’d you snitch anyway?”

Trying to think of a better reason than the truth, which was that I just didn’t like Philip very much, and not being one to shy away from exaggeration, I said, “You should have seen the guy. He wasn’t going to let me go unless I gave him a name or something. I thought he was going to kill me. I swear. I really did. He was crazy. And he was pinning me down.”

“But it wasn’t even me who threw it.” Philip was swinging the spear around again, acting all macho. “You’re lucky only my brother was home, ‘cause if Mom found out, then I’d really have to stab you.” And just as he finished saying that, he thrust the spear clumsily into the trunk of the mossy oak and left it there. “Wasn’t even me,” he mumbled with a lot of attitude, “was Gayvin.”

Red, perched on the edge of an old, moldy slide that was part of a rundown backyard playground, spoke up, annoyed. “Told you to stop calling him that.”

Then I said, “Couldn’t think of any other address, sorry.” But I wasn’t really sorry.

That’s when Carter’s sister appeared and wrapped up Philip’s hand, then she was gone again. Then there was a weird silence before a pop echoed nearby. It was Carter, he had his BB gun raised eye level, and he had just taken a shot at one of the soda cans. I watched him pump the lever and take another shot. Freddy was watching too, silent but alert. Then Philip pulled the spear out of the tree and started swinging it around again, making those dumb action-movie noises.

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I called out to Carter, “Hey, you still play?”

Carter lowered the rifle and turned his head just so. “Play what?” he asked in that cold tone of his.

“Pokemon.”

“That kid’s game?” He pumped his rifle and took another shot, but it missed. “Haven’t played in a few weeks.” I noticed his hands trembling slightly, his face scrunched up like a contained explosion.

“I want a rematch.”

There was another pop, another miss, and his aim was even shakier now. There was something malevolent about the whole scene, so as I watched him, I started to imagine him as the rival character from Pokemon Crystal, Silver, who was pretty much just a huge dirtbag with no respect for anyone or anything.

There was yet another pop, followed by a metallic clang, then a fallen can.

Silver then spoke two words.

“Your funeral.”

6, Blue vs. Silver

Silver’s RAICHU, which had no nickname, only the default caps, came out of its Poke Ball crackling. Its orange, ponderous sprite looked menacing with its long, thunderous barb. It wore the most devious expression I’d ever seen, with a little grin full of human-like teeth and those big black eyes slanted the bad way. The mouse was malevolent, that’s for sure, and it looked like it wanted to kill my Pokemon, Scales, who was leading my team and, unfortunately, very weak to Electric-types. I was panicking a little bit, internally, to tell you the truth.

“Never seen you use Raichu before,” I mumbled, trying to keep cool. My face was buried in the Game Boy as I sat on one of those stumps near the derelict playset. Silver was sitting nearby, on his own stump, all link-cabled up to me. His link cable was really long, thankfully, so he was a good five feet away. Red, though, was standing right behind me, moving his head back and forth, trying to get a good view of the screen.

Silver looked up from his Game Boy, it was one of those slime green ones, which was quite dented up and dirty, and he said, with his signature coldness, “I use more than the same three Pokemon.” And Philip, who was standing behind Silver, opposite Red, chuckled some at this remark, as it was obviously a slight against me.

“I use my favorites, not just the most powerful,” I said with some snark, because I was kind of easily offended back then but didn’t like to show it. I guess Silver and I were similar in that way. Thankfully, Freddy was sitting right by my stump, watching the game intently like he was just one of the boys, and him being there calmed me down some and also filled me with all sorts of verve and gusto, so I just went for the riskiest opening gambit possible, figuring dogs’ luck was on my side.

So this is what I did. Knowing Silver’s personality, I assumed he had taught RAICHU Thunder, which was the most powerful Electric-type move in the game, but it also had a 70% accuracy rate, which, in Pokemon terms, might as well be a 20% accuracy rate. I also knew RAICHU was faster than Scales, meaning if I kept Scales in the fight and Thunder hit him, he would be defeated in one turn, putting me off to a very bad start, but I also didn’t have another Pokemon that could safely switch into Thunder without taking serious damage. Freddy could survive one blast of Thunder, but he certainly couldn’t survive two, and my third Pokemon would just faint outright from any Electric-type attack. So that’s why I decided to take a chance. I left Scales in and hoped for Thunder to miss. The ace up my sleeve was that Scales knew Earthquake, which was super effective against Electric-types, so if my assumption was correct and Thunder missed, then I would hit that malevolent mouse with a super effective Earthquake and be off to a good start.

So, I selected Earthquake and prayed. And my praying must have reached the right video game gods, because RAICHU immediately used Thunder, missed, and then took the full brunt of Earthquake, which left him in the red, beeping. I was beaming.

“Thunderbolt’s more reliable,” I said, then caught a quick glimpse of Silver to gauge his reaction, but he only made this little grunt, keeping his head down, deep in his Game Boy, sunken eyes wider than normal, and he was kind of trembly if you looked closely.

On the next turn, Thunder actually hit, and it took Scales down before I could get another Earthquake off. But that was okay, because RAICHU was in the red, about to faint, and the next Pokemon I planned to use was Freddy, who could finish RAICHU off with Extreme Speed.

As Freddy came out on the field, I patted him on the head, ruffling his golden fur. Then I selected my inputs and looked up at Silver, because the screen still said WAITING, which meant he hadn’t input his selection yet. But instead of seeing him head-down in the game, he was actually staring right at Freddy with this deadpan look on his face, his sunken eyes huge and monstrous, as if he were imagining using Thunder on Freddy for real. The stare was so malevolent that Freddy himself started with these low growls. Then, after a few seconds, I said, in this shaky tone, “uh, it’s your turn,” at which point I watched Silver slowly avert his gaze from Freddy to his Game Boy, and then he said something I’ll never forget.

He said, “That dog needs to be put down.”

I couldn’t tell if he was talking about Freddy the Arcanine or Freddy the dog sitting right next to me, but they were both the same in my mind, and the way he said it gave me a terrible chill. I shivered. I really did.

On the next turn, Freddy went first, with Extreme Speed, knocking out the last of RAICHU’s health, causing that poor rodent to faint right then and there. Then the screen said WAITING again as Silver was prompted to select his next Pokemon. I remember he was eerily silent at that point. I was watching him with that Blue smirk on my face, really feeling like the very best, like no one ever was, so I said, “Extreme Speed always goes first,” as if I were giving helpful advice, but really just rubbing it in.

And I must have rubbed it in good, because Silver lifted his gaze, all slow and silent like, as if he were trying to intimidate me while simultaneously trying to appear cool and collected, but something about his pupils, and his slight tremble, and his nostrils, dilating, gave him away, there was a rage boiling underneath, it was obvious. I could see, just beyond his eyes, something crazy, but also something like despair, or both mixed together. I don’t know. But, at the time, it made me feel kinda good, because it meant that I was getting to him, which meant that I was winning. We both just sat there looking at each other for some time, like two sides of the same coin, me all smirky, him all full of malice. The battle music repeated that anxious, high-energy barrage of MIDI piano solos. And Freddy was no longer growling, instead just shifting his snout back and forth between Silver and me, as if taking measure of us both. Philip and Red seemed to be staring at each other too, as if the weird energy had taken over everyone in the vicinity. Then Silver broke the silence, deadpan, he said, “I know about Extreme Speed,” as if he had been thinking about what to say this whole time. I nodded slightly, my smirk a little more incredulous now because I was starting to think that maybe he didn’t actually know about Extreme Speed, maybe he was lying, so that he didn’t have to admit that I knew more about Pokemon than him, even though he had called it a “kid’s game” earlier. Then I wiped my brow, which was beaded with sweat despite my being in the shade of the massive oak. And I could tell that Silver’s malice was fading a little, from the look in his eyes, but he was still staring straight at me, and then, before things could get any weirder, Philip shouted, “C’MON, GO ALREADY,” and that’s when Silver craned his head back into his Game Boy and started pushing away at the buttons.

His next Pokemon was Alakazam. No nickname, just ALAKAZAM. A human-like Pokemon, thin and angular, yellow-skinned, kind of like Silver himself, only Alakazam had this epic Fu Manchu mustache and held these crazy spoons. Obviously a Psychic-type because he was freaking me out. The last time we battled, this same Alakazam defeated my entire team with the move Psychic. I was totally unprepared for it back then, and Silver clearly remembered this, because this time he broke his forced stoic posturing and was looking right at me with this little smirk I had never seen before, which was a tell, because even before I input my command, I knew, just by looking at him, that he had selected Psychic, and that he was expecting the same results as last time. “Your funeral,” he muttered. But I wasn’t afraid this time, because this time things were different.

I withdrew Freddy and out came Kiki, the Murkrow, a Flying-Dark-type, totally immune to Psychic-type attacks. And just as I had predicted, right on cue, ALAKAZAM used Psychic, but it had no effect on Kiki, who was just hovering there, on screen, all dark with her little witch’s hat. She was looking positively gloomy and cute as hell and, most importantly, totally unfazed.

Wanting to catch his reaction, I looked up quickly at Silver, who was staring very intently into his Game Boy, saying nothing, his sinister eyes much wider than before, which told me everything I needed to know. He had not expected this. I raised Kiki for exactly this moment, and he never expected it. And now, I knew he was planning to switch ALAKAZAM out with his last Pokemon, because he had no other choice.

So I quickly input my next attack, Pursuit, a Dark-type attack which does extra damage if the opposing Pokemon tries to switch out. And just as predicted, that’s exactly what Silver tried to do, he tried to switch ALAKAZAM out. But Kiki wasn’t having it. She swooped right into that ALAKAZAM for boosted super effective damage and just like that, ALAKAZAM was down.

It was now two to one. Advantage, Blue.

Red, whose head was right over my shoulder at this point, yelled one of those dumbfounded “WHAT”s real loud right into my ear, then started laughing as if he had just seen the most epic play of all time, and then he was clapping, repeating, “Oh man, oh man,” over and over again. Philip, on the flipside, unamused, bent into Silver’s ear, muttering, “You got this, you got this, it’s just a dumb bird, man.” And then Philip pointed at something on Silver’s screen, as if offering some sort of advice, but Silver, in a rare flare of emotion, jerked the Game Boy away and said, “I don’t need your help,” all quick and venomous.

Kiki was still hovering there, all dark and cute, and Freddy was right there by my side, and I was giving him some quick ear rubs, which he enjoyed very much. Then Silver’s third and final Pokemon showed up on screen.

It was Tyranitar, a Rock-Dark-type Pokemon. Default name, TYRANITAR. It looked like a camo-green Godzilla with a pupa for a torso, brow like a caveman, eyes full of fascism, spikes jutting out all over its back, and it had this thick, drill-like tail, which I imagined was for impaling opponents. It was all bent over with its little dinosaur arms outstretched, as if it were ready to slice me open before eating my flesh and sucking my bones dry. It looked like a right monster, it really did. And its cry rattled my entire Game Boy. The whole thing shook me a little bit. And when I looked at Silver, he was looking back at me, deadpan, but it was almost like I could see Tyranitar in his face, like he was a Tyranitar himself or something. I gulped. I really did.

But I was determined to defeat Silver, determined to formulate a battle plan, determined to win. The thing about Tyranitar was that it had nearly six type weaknesses due to its combination typing. But despite that, it was strong, physically, and it was a Rock-type, which was super effective against both Fire-types and Flying-types, which happened to be my two remaining Pokemon. I was at a big disadvantage. But Tyranitar was also slow, slower than both Kiki and Freddy, at least according to Prima’s Official Strategy Guide for Pokemon Crystal, and I had taught Freddy the attack Iron Tail, which was super effective against Rock-types, just for this sort of unfavorable situation, and, remembering that, I started to feel more confident, so I turned to Freddy and said, “Don’t worry, boy, we’ll be OK,” and then I gave him another scratch behind the ear, which he really liked, his tongue hanging out, because it was blazing hot out, and he must have been quite thirsty, like me, despite the shade of the massive oak we sat under, on which I noticed a family of Sentrets climbing up at that very moment.

Philip wiped his snotty nose, then shouted, “You’re done! Tyranitar owns all your Pokemon,” but Red spoke up on my behalf and said, “Don’t count him out yet, Blue’s smarter than he looks, you know.” And that made me smile a little bit, it really did.

The plan I had formulated required Kiki to take one for the team, which I wasn’t happy about, but I knew that in order to be the very best, the best there ever was, sacrifices had to be made. So I used Drill Peck, which was Kiki’s strongest attack. It wasn’t very effective against the kaiju tyrant but did more damage than I was expecting, about 25% damage, around there. Then TYRANITAR countered with Rock Slide, which pummeled little Kiki with hundreds of rocks for super effective damage, knocking her out, at which point I was wincing and getting a little nervous, sweating more than ever, and not just because of the blazing summer heat.

Now, it was one versus one, Freddy versus TYRANITAR. I had a slight advantage, however, because TYRANITAR was missing some health, thanks to Kiki’s dying blow, but despite that, I still had a big type disadvantage. It was very likely that even one Rock Slide would kill Freddy. But I went for it anyway. I selected Iron Tail, and Freddy glowed all silvery, then leaped forward all majestic, swinging his big fluffy tail at TYRANITAR. Before the attack had connected, Silver hid a gasp, then said, “It’s going to take more than that to kill my Tyranitar.” But then the crash sound effect went off, TYRANITAR’s sprite started blinking, and his health bar started dropping, dropping, dropping. I was holding my breath, hoping for the best, one hand nervously gripping Freddy’s scruff, but to my surprise, the health bar kept dropping and dropping until eventually there was no health bar left at all, then TYRANITAR’s sprite also dropped, because he had fainted.

In Gen 2 Pokemon, every attack has a 6.64% chance of being a critical hit, at least according to Prima’s Official Strategy Guide for Pokemon Crystal.

I had won the match, but I didn’t get much of a chance to revel in my victory, because the next thing that happened I could barely believe.

Silver stood up fast, yanked his Game Boy back, ripping the link cable out, which caused me to lose grip on my own Game Boy, dropping it in the dirt. I quickly picked it up and looked up at Silver, my eyes narrow and harsh, and that was when I watched him rear his arm back above his head then chuck his Game Boy right at Freddy as hard as he could. The Game Boy crashed into Freddy’s big black nose, followed by a sharp yelp, and then Freddy snarled louder than I had ever heard him snarl before, and then he lurched at Silver, so I screamed, “NO, FREDDY, STOP,” but he was already galloping at Silver, who was bolting around the side of the house as fast as he could, with Freddy snapping at his ankles the whole way, leaving a trail of snarls and slobber in his wake. I could hear Silver screaming, shouting, “GET THAT DAMN DOG AWAY FROM ME,” the words trailing off as he ran for his life.

Red and Philip had taken off behind them, but I was huffing and puffing, trying to keep up. By the time I got to the garage, I heard a door slam, at which point Freddy turned back to me, snarling, vicious as hell, before recognizing that it was me. Then he slowly walked up to me, whimpering a little, his head hung real low, so I lifted it with my hands, and that was when I saw his nose, all scuffed up with some blood smeared across it.

I had started wiping blood off Freddy’s nose with my shirt when Philip said, “He’s right about that crazy dog, he needs to be put down.” Then he got on his bike, which had been supine in the yard this whole time, and started turning it toward the street with shaky balance. Red, standing right by Philip, said, “Carter threw a Game Boy at him, what do you expect?” But Philip only rolled down the driveway and yelled, “KEEP THAT DOG AWAY FROM ME,” as he pedaled down the turn of Mossy Oak Way.

I was bent over, stroking Freddy’s head, biting my lip, nervously thinking about all the things Silver might be telling his parents right now, about how Freddy just randomly attacked him or something, and how maybe that would prompt his parents to call the pound or, worse, try to put Freddy down themselves. It was starting to freak me out, so I stood up and said, “C’mon, Freddy, let’s go home.”

And that’s what we did. We crossed the street and went home. Red followed me, and when we got to the front door, he said, “I guess we’re not going fishing with Carter today.”

“Carter?” I said, all confused.

Red raised a single eyebrow.

“Oh. Silver. Right. Yeah. I guess not.”

7, Back at Susu’s

The AC washed over us, chilling our heated souls. We made our way into the kitchen to grab some juice boxes out of the fridge, and that’s when I heard the radio going off from the garage, the door wide open. It was Art Bell. Susu listened to that guy all the time.

“My name is Amelia, from Mexico.” Clack, clack, clack. “OK, Amelia, what do you have for us today?” Clack, clack. “Well, when I was seven, I witnessed an abduction.” Clack. “OK, sure, go on.” Clack, clack. “I was out with my mother, and my little brothers, who were a big handful, and we were at the park, at the playground, and it was kinda, like, twilight outside, you know.” Clack, clack. “OK, sure. Keep going, we have a few more minutes here.” Clack, clack, clack. “Well, I go play on the swing, and then, I don’t know how much time passed, but I saw this bright light in the sky, and it kinda blinds me, so after, I go look for my mother and brothers, because I couldn’t see them anywhere, and after a little bit I see my mother walking back up the path, but my brothers aren't with her.” Clack, clack, clack, clack. “Interesting.” Clack, clack. “My mother was crying, she said they were abducted by aliens.” Clack, clack, clack. “Really. Huh. Did they ever show up, I mean, later on?” Clack. “Never.”

Susu was in the garage, sewing.

Red and I were sipping juice boxes in a funk, the radio breaking the silence between us, and also Freddy, who was lapping away at his water bowl, right next the table, and then he started munching kibble real loud out of the bowl right next to it. He seemed to have forgotten all about the incident with Silver, but I certainly hadn’t. I felt like I was going to cry my eyes out, for some reason, as I sat there, slurping up the last of my Juicy Juice.

“Where in Mexico was this?” Clack, clack. “Baja California.” Clack. “And you never saw them again?” Clack, clack. “No, never again.” Clack. “Where was your dad in all this?” Clack, clack, clack. “He was at home.” Clack, clack. “And what did he think about it?” Clack. “Well, he was very upset about the whole thing.” Clack, clack.

Then Art Bell did that low, incredulous chuckle he was so well known for, the one that sounded both understanding and a little patronizing at the same time, then, between the clacking, he said, “Alright, well, we have to cut to commercial, but, you heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen, don’t take your kids out in the twilight of Baja California, they might just get abducted. Anyway, thanks for that, and you have a good day, Amelia, sorry about your brothers.” Clack, clack. Then the stinger went off and someone started talking enthusiastically about used cars, at which point the clacking had stopped, and Susu was now standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Oh, hey boys, are you hungry, need something to eat?”

“No thanks, Susu,” Red said, followed by the dry gurgle of juice box.

“We’re OK right now,” I added.

“Well, you boys just let me know.”

Then I said, “Hey Susu,” kind of somberly, and she turned to me, and I told her the whole story, about what had happened with Freddy and Silver. I told her about the game of Pokemon and how I won and how it made Silver really upset and how he threw the Game Boy at Freddy and how Freddy chased him off and how Philip said Freddy needed to be put down and how I never thought victory could feel so bad. My eyes were watery the whole time. Red was just nodding along, silently confirming the whole thing. And after I finished telling Susu the whole story, she just smiled and said, “Come here.” So I stood up and went to her. She wrapped her arms around me, my head pushed up against her chest, and she said, “Everything’s going to be OK.” And that’s when I started crying a little bit, not because I was sad or scared or anything, but because of this overwhelming feeling of compassion washing over me. “Nothing’s going to happen to Freddy,” she said, like it was simply a matter of fact. And then she let me go, and I stepped back and wiped my eyes and nose. Red was sitting there, at the table, empty juice box, twiddling his thumbs, looking awkward. Then Susu said, “I never liked that boy anyway, something’s off about him.” And then, suddenly, feeling a lot better, I said, “Can you make us some Bagel Bites?”

“Certainly.” Susu’s smile was warmer than a beautiful summer afternoon.

Red and I ate our Bagel Bites to the sound of Art Bell and clacking, then we watched some SpongeBob on Susu’s bed, and I played a little Pokemon, too. Neither Silver nor his parents nor any of his sisters showed up. I guess Silver didn’t tell anyone about what had happened. I didn’t know why not, at the time, I just figured I had lucked out, again.

After about an hour of cartoons and Pokemon, Red turned to me and said, “How about you and me go fishing?” He was always wanting to go fishing for some reason. I shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess, as long as I can take Freddy,” and he was fine with that. So I grabbed my pole and tackle box from the garage, and we made our way to the front door.

As we were leaving the house, Susu called out to us, “If you boys see a bright light, come right back home!” She actually believed in all that stuff, always on the lookout for alien life, as if life on Earth just wasn't exciting enough for her or something.

Red and I just looked at each other, eyebrows raised, shaking our heads, then I shouted, “Love you!” back into the house, and then off we went, to the fishing pond.

8, The Pond

The fishing pond was just beyond the verdant alley on the side of Susu’s house, in front of the clubhouse, right near Red’s house, which was two stories of red brick, surrounded by red maple and palm. The pond itself was the jewel of Arcadia, it was the perfect size, with waters so clear you could see Goldeen swimming right through, and grass full of Ledyba if you looked close enough, and cattails dotting the banks upon which Squirtle lounged all day, and Magikarp jumping for days. The only things out of place, really, were the two overflow pipes, one big enough to sit on, or swim into if you were feeling crazy, the other just barely large enough to stand on, yet even those gray pipes added to the pond’s charm, a certain suburban flair, and there was this urban legend that Feraligatr sometimes crawled out of the big one, but no one I knew had ever seen one, so I wasn't scared at all.

I remember, on our walk there, we disturbed a murder of Murkrow, and they took off high in the blue Jumpluff sky. And when we got to the pond proper, we saw Silver’s older sister, sitting on the edge of the big overflow pipe, her pale legs dangling as she casually smoked a cigarette, her long, orange hair fluttering in the summer breeze a little bit. She was all decked out in camo. Their whole family dressed like that, as if they only shopped at Bass Pro Shops or something.

Red and I stopped and looked at each other curiously. We both wanted to avoid her, but we also had to walk right past her to get to the good fishing spot, just a few feet away from Red’s back porch, where all his fishing gear was stashed away. So there was really no getting around her.

“Hey,” she said in her smoky voice as we walked by and pretended like she wasn't there. Then she raised her voice a little bit, “Hey!” but we kept walking. Then she raised her voice a lot, “HEY,” so I stopped, but Red kept going right up to his porch, because he was smooth like that, unlike me, always a sucker for girls. Anyway, I turned to her, and she was staring right at me with those big green eyes of hers, which were a little alluring but also intimidating as hell. But I wasn’t too nervous, because Freddy was right by my side, his eyes narrowing in on her, as if trying to determine if she was a threat. But he didn’t end up growling or anything, which was a good sign, because I had come to realize that Freddy was a fine judge of character.

“What, what is it?” I said meekly, putting my tackle box and pole down in the grass.

She dragged on her cigarette, then exhaled a huge cloud of smoke. “What’d you do to my brother?” she said.

“I, I didn’t do anything.”

“Then why’d he run inside, screaming his head off?” she said, kicking her legs back and forth between drags.

It suddenly dawned on me why no one came over to my house earlier, because Silver was too proud, or too ashamed, to tell anyone about what had happened. So I told the truth, as I knew it, “Because he threw his Game Boy at my Pokemon.”

Silver’s sister looked seriously confused. “Your Pokemon?”

“I, I mean, my dog, Freddy,” I said, stuttering because I was no good at talking to girls.

She genuinely laughed, then she put her cigarette out, between her legs, on the rim of the overflow pipe.

“It’s not funny, he made Freddy bleed,” I said as I placed a hand on Freddy’s head and started scratching behind his ear, which caused him to close his eyes, point his nose to the sky, and look blissful as hell. Then I said, in a very nasty tone, “There’s something wrong with your brother.”

Red appeared next to me, fishing pole in one hand, a cheap foldable chair in the other.

Silver’s sister didn’t say anything for a few seconds, only the chirping of Pidgey and croaking of Politoed and the occasional splashing of Magikarp could be heard. She took the quiet time to slip another cigarette between her big lips, then she suddenly jumped to her feet, balancing on the overflow pipe, patting her pants down, presumably looking for something in her pockets. But after a few seconds of patting, she said, “Either of you got a light? Guess I left mine back home.”

“I’m ten,” I said.

Red didn’t say a word, he just unfolded his chair, placed it by the edge of the pond, sat down, and cast his line out with a satisfying zip, all in one quick motion somehow.

“I smoked when I was ten,” Silver’s sister said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and placing it behind her ear, which poked out of her hair like an elf or something. Then she jumped off the pipe and walked closer to us, stopping right in front of me. I had to look up to see her freckled face, because she was pretty tall for a girl.

“Look, Carter’s got anger problems,” she said, looking down at me, “you have to be careful not to make him mad.”

“How’s that my problem?” I said, my tone very bratty.

“It’s not,” she said, “just something you should know.”

“OK, well, thanks, now I know.” I was being extra bratty, on account of the whole thing.

“And it’s not his fault, you know,” she said before removing the cigarette from behind her ear, “You sure you don’t have a lighter?”

“I’m sure.”

“What about you?” she threw her voice at Red.

“I’m also ten,” he said, focusing on his line, which wasn’t moving at all.

I was kind of annoyed at Silver’s sister for making excuses for her brother, so I said, bratty tone turned up to eleven, “How is it not his fault?”

“Well,” she said, turning to the pond and looking out reflectively at the clubhouse, “it’s our dad, he’s not very nice.”

“My dad’s not very nice all the time either,” I said, very snotty, “Doesn’t mean I can just go around doing whatever I want.”

“I mean, he’s,” she trailed off, then closed her eyes as if trying to hold something back, and opened them again after several seconds. “Our dad’s very, very not nice, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, sorry," I said, turning away from her, being quite dismissive and bratty. Then I grabbed my fishing pole and let the line zip out into the pond after one clumsy swing. I didn't actually know how to fish, I just pretended like I did.

There was a brief quiet, only the rippling of water and the laughter of far-off children in the pool could be heard.

Then, after a good ten seconds, she said, “That’s not how you cast a line, kid,” as she stepped closer, literally towering over me. Freddy, who was sitting between Red and me, wasn’t snarling or growling or anything, so it seemed like he fully trusted her, even when she reached out her hand to help me with my fishing pole.

“Here, let me show you,” she said. But I jerked the rod away and said, “Just leave me alone, you and your mean dad or whatever can go hang out with Silver, I don’t care, it’s not my problem.”

“Fine,” she said, turning away all in a huff, about to walk away when Lauren showed up through a break in the hedge between two nearby houses, on the opposite side of the pond. I swear I saw a few Spearow fly out from behind her. “Hey, Katie Belle!” she shouted across the water. And that’s when Silver’s sister, who I guess was called Katie Belle, waved back and ran around the pond to meet Lauren, at which point Lauren shouted across the water, “Hey, Miles! Want to hang out?” But Red just shook his head and shouted, “Can’t! I’m fishing like a mofo!” So Lauren shouted, “Fine, come over later!” And then, just like that, Katie Belle and Lauren vanished through the hedge.

I looked at Red, kind of flabbergasted. “I didn’t know Lauren hung out with Silver’s, I mean, Carter’s sisters.”

“I didn’t either,” Red said with a shrug.

Then a few minutes of nothing happened as we sat there, poles in hand. I swear, at one point, I saw a Seaking jump out of the water for a second, but other than that, it was pretty boring.

Until something crazy happened.

Red’s line went taut, then it tugged a bit, so he leaned in, super focused, and started pulling and reeling like crazy. But after several intense seconds of reeling, the line snapped, and I guess Red was pulling so hard that, when it did, the force of it sent him back in his chair, causing him to fall backward and knock his head on his tackle box. Freddy was lying down on his belly between us, relaxing with one eye open, his tail outstretched as far as it could go. I tossed my pole to the side, then stood up and offered Red a hand, which he firmly grabbed and used to pull himself up. But when he got to his feet, he took a step forward and accidentally stepped on Freddy’s tail. And that’s when it happened.

He must have stepped real hard, because Freddy yelped louder than I had ever heard him yelp before, and then, in a flash, like a whirlwind, Freddy jumped up and chomped down on Red’s leg, right through the calf, like a feral beast or something, then he let go and sulked back, whimpering, as if realizing he had done something terrible.

Red let out a chilling scream, then he started yelling, “HE BIT ME! HE BIT ME!” He had fallen over and was writhing in the grass. “HELP! MY LEG! HE BIT ME!” he shouted, voice cracking, grasping at his leg with both hands, blood oozing out between the cracks of his fingers. The grass was red. “DAMN DOG BIT ME!” The screams were blood-curdling. I had no idea what to do. My eyes were supermoons and my body had taken on heinous gravity. Something had stolen my voice, because I was trying to say something but nothing came out. Freddy was hiding behind me, whimpering.

Red’s dad must have heard the screaming because I saw him burst out of the big porch doors and rush down the small flight of wooden stairs. He made a beeline to his son and instantly kneeled by him, placing a hand on his son’s head to calm him down, which worked because Red stopped screaming and was now just looking up at his father, wide-eyed and trembly, the first time I ever saw him afraid. His father, who looked just like him but more gruff and outdoorsy with snowy stubble, said, “Let’s see the wound.” Then he moved Red’s hand out of the way. The blood had stopped flowing but was now caked around the fang-shaped holes, skin all swollen, deep purples and greens spreading out from around the torn flesh. But Red’s dad didn’t seem that concerned. He just picked his son up, like some sort of superhero, and said, “It looks worse than it is.” Then he looked at me and said, “What happened?”

Enough time had passed for me to regain some semblance of composure, but I was feeling a mix of fear and anger, fear for the repercussions that would fall upon Freddy and me, and anger at Freddy for even doing this to begin with, for putting us in this situation, for hurting my best friend. So instead of answering Red’s dad’s question, without really thinking, I turned to Freddy and started shouting at him.

“BAD BOY! WHY’D YOU DO IT?!” I shouted, as if expecting a real answer. My hands flailed at Freddy, whose head hung low, whimpering. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” He was cowering like I had never seen him cower before, like he thought I was going to hit him or something. Maybe I would have, I don’t know. “BAD DOG! STUPID DOG!” I screamed. But he just looked up at me with these big, shaky eyes, then in one quick motion turned and bolted through a gap in the holly hedge near Red’s house.

“NO!” I cried, suddenly overwhelmed with this awful feeling. “I DIDN’T MEAN IT!” I shouted, taking off after him. “COME BACK!”

Then I heard Red’s voice, pained, harsh, and terrible, from his father’s arms, “I knew you liked that dog more than me!” And this stopped me like a Stantler in headlights. I was suddenly conflicted. So I turned my head to Red, then back to where Freddy had run off, then back to Red, then back to Freddy, who was now completely out of sight, lost in the wilds of Arcadia. I felt as if I were about to make the most important decision of my life. I remember Red’s father glaring at me with these sharp, judgmental eyes the whole time.

There I was, at this devastating crossroad, stay with Red or run after Freddy.

So I ran.

9, The Grove

I ran through overgrown alleys of wild grass and tall weeds, pushed through prickly holly, and leaped over fallen logs from the massive oaks and maples that hung over the hissing summer lawns I trespassed, trampling dandelions and breaking Sunflora in my wake, following my frightened friend like chasing one of the Legendary Pokemon across Johto, and as I bolted across yet another street into yet another lawn, where a group of Sentret, who were starting to look a lot like squirrels, scampered away, and I was refreshed by the cooling waters of a sprinkler, I had nearly caught up to Freddy, who had not broken his stride at all, but as I got closer to him, he stopped only for a moment, looked back with these sad eyes, then bolted again, faster this time, boosting into a wooded area full of red maple, oak, and palm, right behind the backyard of a tall brick house. I imagined him as Entei, sparks and embers trailing as he charged through the wood, where he eventually stopped in a shaded grove within a circle of trees, where only a few rays of sun poked through the canopy, like hope on the worst day ever.

“I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t mean it,” I stuttered after catching up. I was bent over with my hands on my knees, huffing loudly, totally out of breath.

Freddy just stood there, in the very center of the grove, stray sunbeams all around him, looking all legendary and majestic and sad.

I dropped to the ground, bottom first, hands behind me, propping myself up, then I lifted my face to the canopy and let out a long sigh.

“I didn’t mean it,” I said. “You’re not stupid, you’re not bad.”

Freddy, of course, said nothing. I don't know what I was expecting.

“I just, I just don’t know why you did it.”

Freddy was watching me, tongue now draped out of his mouth, panting softly.

“Why’d you bite him?”

Freddy hung his head, whimpering a little bit at the question.

“Now everyone hates me.” I sat up lotus, glaring at Freddy. “I don’t really care about Silver,” I said, “but Philip, sometimes I hang out with him when I’m bored.” I paused to make sure Freddy was paying attention. He was. “And Red,” I said, frowning real hard. “I don’t think he’s ever gonna hang out with me again.”

A big cloud must have passed overhead because it got real dark all of a sudden. There was some heat lightning off in the distance, followed by a far-off rumble. When the cloud passed, suddenly, almost like magic, everything was dim, and the little sky I could see through the canopy looked like someone had spilled pink and orange paint on a dark blue canvas, and there was only enough light to just barely see Freddy, standing out there in the center of the grove.

“And, and tomorrow Dad’s coming to pick us up, and I’m gonna have to tell him what happened.” My eyes welled up and my voice was cracking. “And, and what if,” I couldn’t get it out. “What if they,” I stopped, my voice shaky as hell. “What if, what if they have to put you down?” Now I was really crying. “I, I don’t,” I really couldn’t get it out. Then I covered my face with both hands and started doing these big dry heaves, unable to speak but trying my best.

“I, I just don’t know what I’d do.”

Then I felt something wet on the back of my hand, so I stretched my fingers open and looked through them. It was Freddy’s big black scuffed-up nose, so I lowered my hands and looked straight into his big canine eyes. I could see my reflection there. I looked awful. Then he gave me a big slobbery lick across my entire face. I started laughing a little bit. Then he licked me again. I started laughing a lot. Then I wrapped my arms around his fluffy neck and started play-wrestling, getting on all fours, horsing around, pretending we were both Pokemon. We were play-fighting like crazy. He was snarling in his funny way and I was laughing my head off. There was a flash of heat lightning. The low rumble in the southern sky turned into a light drizzle, which barely made its way through the canopy, but we ignored it, we just kept playing, and for a moment there I had forgotten about everything and I was truly happy. I really was.

Then, after some time, I fell on my back, out of breath, stray droplets hitting my forehead, and that’s when Freddy, standing over me, licked my face one last time before turning away.

He turned away as if he knew what he had to do.

I sat up, watching him closely, my eyes welling up again, as if I also knew what he had to do.

Then he started walking away, into the depths of the grove.

I called, softly, “Freddy, Freddy, where are you going?”

But he did not look back.

In that moment, it didn’t feel right to follow him or make him come back, like he would have been sad or something if I’d tried. I don’t know why I felt that way, but that’s how I felt. That’s how I felt as I let him go. That’s how I felt as I watched him walk away. That’s how I felt when the heat lightning flashed real bright, and just like that, he was gone.

And then I felt all alone.

10, The Next Day

The next morning, I didn’t watch my Blue’s Clues or my Little Bear, and I didn’t drink any of my chocolate milk. I tried to play some Pokemon, but I just couldn’t get into it. Susu said she would put up signs, but I told her it didn’t matter. I told her Freddy was gone, that he wasn’t coming back.

Later, Miles’ dad came over. He wasn’t mad or anything, but he wanted to talk to my dad, so I called my dad from Susu’s home line. I told him that Freddy bit Miles, but I didn’t tell him that Freddy was gone for good. I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I just didn’t feel like it. He said it was okay, the biting thing, but he sounded really disappointed. Then he talked to Miles’ dad on the phone for a while, and afterward, he faxed over some of Freddy’s papers, for rabies or something, and that was the end of it. Neither Miles nor his dad wanted to press charges or anything. I asked Miles’ dad if Miles could come over, but he said that he needed some time or something. I told him I just wanted to see him before I had to go back home, but he repeated that Miles just needed some time, so I told him that I understood, but I didn’t really understand. Then Miles’ dad went home, and it was just Susu and me for the rest of the day.

At some point, I packed up all my stuff, except my Game Boy, in case I wanted to play it. My dad was coming later that night to pick me up and take me back home for the school year. I felt pretty uncertain about the whole thing. It wasn’t like I had any friends here anymore, but I didn’t have any friends back home either, so I was kind of in the same boat either way, no friends anywhere at all. I started thinking some serious doom and gloom. I kept telling myself that nothing really mattered, that we all die eventually, so who cares. I was pretty nihilistic or whatever, even back then. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddy, what he was doing out there in the wilds. I kept thinking about how he was going to find food, how the other animals out there might be treating him, and where he was sleeping at night. I imagined him like one of those strays you see sometimes, behind houses and restaurants, all dirty and wet, ribs showing, going through the trash, and that made me real sad. So, to cope, I started telling myself again that nothing matters, but then I thought, if nothing matters, why am I so sad?

So I spent most of the day just lying on the bed in the spare room, starving myself like some sort of repentance for letting him go, but I also wasn't very hungry, on account of being so sad or whatever. Eventually, after like hours of moping, Susu came in and started talking to me.

She opened with, “Why didn’t you tell your dad about Freddy being lost?”

“He’s not lost.” My voice was all shaky.

“What is he, then?”

“He’s gone,” I said, “he doesn't want to come back.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“He wanted to go.”

“He’s a dog, honey.”

I rolled over on the bed, not saying anything.

“He won’t survive out there.”

“Stop,” I said.

“He needs us.”

“STOP,” I shouted, shooting up, “just leave me alone.”

She didn’t say anything more. She just shook her head and left the room, leaving me there all alone for some time until eventually she brought in some tater tots and chicken on one of those paper plates. I barehanded a few tots, but I didn’t eat the chicken. I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t stop thinking about Freddy. And I also couldn’t stop thinking about Miles, how I probably would never see him. Then, suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the thought that I had to see him at least once more before I left. I had to do something. I had to make him like me again or else I might just be alone forever. This realization was like an electric shock, jolting me out of bed.

The clock read around seven, so it was getting dark soon, which meant my dad would be showing up any minute now. But I didn’t care. I bolted into the living room, grabbed my Game Boy, pocketed it, then rushed to the front door. Maybe I could trade Miles some rare Pokemon or something, maybe that would make him like me again. I didn’t really know what to do, all I knew was that I had to make amends somehow. I also had to find Freddy, because Susu was right, he couldn’t survive out there all alone, just like I couldn’t survive out there, all alone, without him.

When I went to close the front door behind me, I saw Susu standing in the doorway of her room. She was watching me. I think she was smiling, but she was far away so I couldn’t really tell. I waved goodbye to her, and she waved back.

The sky above was like yin and yang. One side gray, with pillow-fort clouds, a soft rumble rolling through them as heat lightning flickered here and there. The crescent moon was up there too, waiting to drop like a guillotine. The opposite side was clear and bright, streaked with orange and blue, and the sun hung low in the humid air. I remember thinking it was like darkness and light duking it out up there. And it was like a million degrees out.

I cut through the verdant alley by Susu’s house, like always, and made my way through the red maple and palm, to the fishing pond. When the back of Miles’ red-brick house came into view, I saw Lauren and Katie Belle sitting on wire chairs on the porch. I awkwardly stepped up the small flight of stairs and sort of waved at them as I passed, then went up to those big double doors and knocked real hard. The girls let me knock a few times, they were giggling a little before they interrupted me.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Lauren said.

“Oh,” I said, sort of kicking my feet. “I get it.”

“And he’s not here, either,” she added.

“Where is he?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Lauren said coldly, “his parents are gone too.”

Katie Belle was looking me up and down, like she knew something, lit cigarette dangling from her lower lip, smoke twirling past her nose.

Figuring I was too late, I walked down the steps, into the grass, head hanging low, feeling defeated. But then something came over me in that hissing summer lawn. Maybe it was the guilt, or the tranquil pond noises, or maybe it was all that making-amends stuff, I don’t know. But, for some reason, I turned to Lauren and just started pouring my heart out.

“Look, I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry for all the mean stuff I said to you. I’m sorry I called your favorite Pokemon a dopey green dinosaur with a flower around its neck. I’m sorry I stole your Game Boy Camera that one time. And I’m sorry I jumped on you in the pool the other day. I don’t know why I did all that stuff. I think I’m just jealous. Yeah, that’s it, I’m just jealous. I really am. Look, again, I’m sorry. You don’t have to believe me or nothing, but I am. I really am.” Then I sort of paused for a moment, looking down at the ground. “And I guess I kinda like you, too, or something,” I mumbled. “I don’t know. I’m gonna go now.”

I was feeling a little embarrassed, and I was certainly blushing, so I turned around real quick to leave, but Lauren shouted, “Hey!” so I turned and blinked at her for a moment because she was just sitting there on Miles’ porch, looking down at me with those big, intelligent eyes of hers, and after a short awkward silence, she said just one word.

“Thanks.”

I did this shy little nod and tried to leave again, but this time Katie Belle spoke up.

“He’s at my house,” she said.

I froze, something shifted in my stomach.

“You OK?” she added, blowing smoke.

“Why’s he over there?” I said solemnly.

“I don’t know, guess he doesn’t have anyone else to play with now.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled, then I turned and bolted through the yard, right past the fishing pond, through the red maple and palm, into the verdant alley, where I paused for a moment to catch my breath. I considered going over to Carter’s house, to find Miles, but I was feeling insanely jealous, and that jealousy was turning into anger, and that anger into pure adolescent rage. I shouted, at no one in particular, perhaps the world itself, “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”, but I instantly felt bad about it, so I hung my head low, slowly resigning myself, in that verdant alley, to a fate that did not include my best friend, or any friends at all, or even my dog. I was getting all nihilistic again. I was really starting to believe that I was destined for obscurity, and that that was OK because nothing really mattered.

But then I heard something, a yelp, a pained yelp, from a dog, then barking, distressed barking.

My head snapped up, my eyes went wide. I knew that bark. It was Freddy. He was in danger. All my jealousy, self-pity, and rage were gone. It had all melted away. My body surged with newfound energy. I honed in on the sound of the barking, then bolted off in its direction, running fast as hell.

The bark took me past Susu’s house, across the street, into Carter’s empty driveway, where it stopped for a moment, replaced by the whistle of wind and the rustle of leaves from the massive oak overhead, and in that eerie quiet, I looked into the wide-open garage, where I could see some spears missing from the old rack, and one of the rifles near the Blood-Stained Banner was missing too. I felt sick, but only for a moment, because then there was another pathetic yelp, this time from the backyard, so I tore off around the side of the house, past the row of mutilated bugs, then ripped around the corner into Carter’s backyard, and that’s when I saw something that made my heart nearly explode.

“CARTER!” I screamed.

I was furious as hell.

11, Death Row

“LET HIM GO!”

I was snarling like a wild dog in that backyard, which was otherwise oddly silent, not a single summer sound could be heard.

“No,” Carter said, cold as ice, rifle pointed right at me.

He stood there, taking aim, in these green camo pants with no shirt on. I could see greenish-yellow discoloration around his stomach, and he had these long scars across his shoulders. Exposed upon his bare chest was this little golden cross, dangling, its glimmer gone in the shade of the massive oak. And despite it being hot as hell outside, not even one bead of sweat rolled down his bare chest. It was unreal. His brow hung over his sunken eyes, which seemed to me full of tyranny, and when I looked into them, I pictured spikes bursting out of his back and him growing this drill-like tail, which I imagined him impaling me with before eating my flesh and sucking my bones dry. He looked like a right monster, pointing that rifle at me, he really did.

Maybe it was the adrenaline or something, because I wasn’t afraid, but I was feeling betrayed, because Carter wasn’t the only one there, both Miles and Philip were there too, also shirtless, and they were holding these long spears, the same ones from the garage. They looked kind of like the savages you’d see on TV. Miles had thick gauze wrapped around one of his legs, and when he first saw me, he quickly looked away, as if he didn’t want to make eye contact. Philip, on the other hand, looked ecstatic, even with snot oozing from his nostrils. They were both standing next to Carter, on either side of him, just a few feet away from a rusty metal cage.

It was an old kennel, locked with a sliding bolt. Freddy was inside.

His jaw was locked around the metal bars. He was growling, desperately, shaking his head like crazy, rattling the whole cage, trying to tear his way through. Blood trickled down the bars. His once-golden fur now matted brown, caked with dirt and mud, and he was all wet. He looked hurt and helpless. I had never seen him like this before. I couldn’t stand it. I was furious as hell.

Maybe that’s why I wasn’t afraid.

“LET HIM GO, CARTER.”

“What are you going to do, tell your grandma?” Carter’s lips curled into a devious smile as he turned the rifle back on Freddy.

“Don't worry, Freddy,” I said, stepping closer to the cage.

When Freddy heard his name, it was as if he snapped out of a violent trance because his jaw released and he turned to me with these big, pitiful eyes. Then he pointed his scuffed-up nose at the moon, which looked like a guillotine being lifted, not yet ready to fall, in the still-bright sky, and he howled. He howled a painful howl. It was like nothing I had ever heard before.

I stepped closer to the cage. “It’s gonna be OK, buddy.” I nearly had my hand through the bars when I heard Carter pump the rifle and shout with more emotion than I had ever heard from him before. “STEP AWAY FROM THE CAGE, WEAKLING.” He sounded like a full-grown man for a second, he really did.

So I stepped away from the cage and put my hands up because I had seen MacGyver do that on TV. I was dissociating, feeling like a different person, a TV person, I really was. Then I said, “Relax, I’m unarmed, I was just checking out the craftsmanship of the cage, is all,” because it sounded all cheeky, like something MacGyver would say, but Carter didn’t find it funny. He just pointed the rifle at Freddy and said, “This isn’t a joke. Your dog’s a menace.”

I noticed Philip was grinning ear to ear, muttering, “do it, do it,” over and over like he was some sort of mad monk. And Miles, well, he was looking at Carter with these wide eyes, a weird expression on his face.

So I said to Miles, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

Carter responded for him. “He don't have to tell you why. You know why.” He took one step closer to the kennel, rifle lifted up to his face, one eye closed like he was an expert marksman or something. “Your dog needs to be put down, he's violent.”

“You're the one with a rifle,” I snapped back.

“That damn dog tried to kill me,” he said. “I'm just defending myself.” Then he grinned as if he had just come up with some brilliant insight. “Actually, I'm defending the whole neighborhood from a violent beast.”

“Yeah, you're a real hero, killing a dog.”

“Do it, do it,” Philip mumbled.

“You saw it, you saw him try to kill me,” Carter said, looking down the barrel.

“I saw you throw a Game Boy at him,” I said, channeling MacGyver, trying to coolly reason with him.

Carter scoffed, shifting his aim back and forth between me and Freddy. “He hurt Miles too,” he said, his eyes flashing. “Didn’t he, Miles?”

Miles started stuttering, “He, he bit me, on the leg.”

“You stepped on his tail!” I shouted, cool fading, face all scrunchy and mad. “It was an accident! And you know it was an accident!”

Miles was looking at his feet, shaking his head. “No, no, it wasn’t, it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was! And you know it!” I shouted. “That’s why I don’t understand why you’re doing this!”

Miles kept shaking his head. It was really starting to piss me off.

“Tell me!” I stomped. “Tell me why you’re doing it!”

Carter tried to chime in, “He doesn’t have to tell you,” but was cut off by Miles, who was now looking straight at me, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“I’ll tell you why,” he said, lifting his spear with one hand and pointing it at me.

There was sudden chill, a breeze, the oak whistled.

“It’s because,” Miles lowered his voice, “it’s because you left me.”

“What? What do you,” I started, but the words didn’t come together.

His eyes were shaking, then he lowered his spear, then his gaze, then something sparkled to the ground, like a small crystal.

“You, you left me at the pond,” he mumbled.

“But your dad, your dad was,” I stopped because when he looked up at me, tears were streaming down his face.

Then his sadness shifted to anger, and his spear was up again, pointing right at me. “You like that dog more than me!” he shouted. “And I’ll never forgive you for that!”

I had never seen him cry before. I didn’t understand it. It actually scared me more than Carter ever did. It scared the hell out of me. So I stepped back, stunned, eyes stuck to the dirt, trying to think of some excuse, some justification for why I ran away, some good reason why I left him there at the pond bleeding out, something that he would accept. But I couldn’t think of anything. I couldn’t think of one damn thing. I could hear Freddy whimpering behind me, and Philip chanting, “do it, do it, do it.” But I just kept replaying the moment in my mind, that moment at the pond, the moment I ran away. I kept replaying it, trying to figure out if I had done the right thing, but I couldn’t figure it out. I just couldn’t figure it out. Then, like some sort of contagion, I started tearing up too, so I closed my eyes real hard, and then, all of a sudden, like a truck or something, it hit me.

“See?” Carter said, aiming the rifle at me. “Everyone hates you,” he smirked, “and they hate your dog too.”

Philip shouted, “Yeah, and you snitched on me!”

But it was all just background noise now. I looked up at Miles, his spear limply pointed at me, and then I said two words.

I said, “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time I had ever said those words to him.

He didn’t say anything in response. He was just staring at me, blinking tears.

So I held out my hand to him, gesturing at the spear, and said, “C’mon, let’s go.”

“He’s not sorry,” Carter cut in.

“Am too,” I said firmly. “I am sorry, I really am.”

“He’s just sorry that we’re about to kill his dog,” Carter said, shifting his eyes between me and Miles. “That’s all he cares about. That dog. He cares about that dog more than you.”

Miles was glancing back and forth between Carter and me. There was uncertainty in his big, trembly eyes.

“Don’t listen to him,” I said.

“Spear the dog, Miles,” Carter said in this low, hypnotic voice. “Spear him good.”

“Do it, do it, do it,” Philip was repeating.

Miles took one step toward the kennel. His spear was limp and trembling. He was seemingly unable to look at Freddy because his eyes were locked on the ground, but Freddy was looking right at him, not afraid at all for some reason.

“Miles,” I said, my tone so fake-confident it was actually confident, “Carter is just mad that I beat him in Pokemon. That’s it. He’s a sore loser. Don’t do what he says.”

Miles shook his head, slowly trying to lift his spear.

Then, after a few weirdly quiet seconds, as if he had been stewing on my words, Carter spoke up. “Mad?” he said. “That you beat me?” he chuckled. “In Pokemon?” His voice sounded strange, different, like the ice was shattering or something.

I gulped but narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s, that’s what I said.”

“It’s not about that at all,” he said sharply. “It’s about weakness. That’s what it’s about. It’s about how this world is full of weaklings like you and your stupid dog and how strong people like me rule over the weak.” He readjusted his aim, nearly speaking into the rifle. “It’s about how the weak should obey the strong.” He was starting to sound older. “And how, when they don’t, they should be put in their place, taught a lesson, punished.” He paused and licked his lips. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, boy?” His eyes shifted faster than a reptile. “You’re a weakling, that’s all you are,” he grinned. “You wouldn’t survive a day out there, kid.” His voice took on a totally new sound, like he was channeling a full-grown man who smoked twelve packs a day. “Think you could survive out there in the trenches, eating old corned beef and drinking slop from a thermos, bombs going off all around you, vomiting blood, watching your friends get maimed and decapitated and blown to bits?” Something was glimmering in his eyes. “And getting used to it! That’s the worst part, getting used to it!” His eyes shut hard for a moment, and when they opened the glimmer was gone, replaced by a sort of sorrowful madness. “Never knowing when some gook is going to pop out from the trees, or the bushes, or the goddamn soil!” His rifle was shaking. “They’re in the goddamn soil, Carter, that’s what we used to say. Not just the enemy, but friends too, in the soil. And they were right, Carter, they were right, ghosts and bones, all around us. I don’t wanna drink, but what else can I do, they’re everywhere, Carter! They’re all over the goddamn place, they’re even in the soil! I don’t want to do this, but I have no choice.” He paused, trying to steady his aim, “Don’t you understand, boy?” And when he didn’t get a response, he shouted, “DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?”

I was wide-eyed and freaked the hell out, having no idea what he was talking about. I stepped back, closer to the kennel. All my fake confidence and MacGyver posturing, gone. I wanted to turn and run, but something compelled me, kept me glued to this new version of Carter. I could hear Freddy, whimpering, filling me with dread. I suddenly felt like Carter was about to do something really crazy, like this wasn’t just kids messing around anymore. This was for real. Suddenly, I felt like I had to do something. I had to stop Carter. But I didn’t know what to do. I dug into my pockets, hoping to find a miracle, something I could maybe throw at him, but there was only my Game Boy Color. I gulped. I didn’t want to break my Game Boy. I really didn’t. So instead, I looked at Miles, hoping he would do something, but he was just standing there, too, staring at Carter, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he was just as freaked out and confused as I was.

Carter adjusted his rifle one last time, then looked down the iron at Freddy, who was whining helplessly, and then he said, “They're in the goddamn soil, Carter.”

I watched his finger inch around the trigger. I felt helpless and weak. I couldn’t focus. My mind was going a thousand thoughts per minute, and one of those thoughts was Freddy, lying in a pool of blood, and this caused me to step forward and scream the loudest NOOOOOOOOOOOO I had ever screamed in my entire life, then I slid the Game Boy Color out of my pocket and chucked it right at Carter’s face as hard as I could.

There was a loud, smoky bang, followed by a sharp, pained howl. Carter fell backward into the grass, the antique rifle spinning as it hit the ground, barrel trailing smoke. Philip bolted, his high-pitched shrieks echoing off the houses as he ran down Mossy Oak Way.

For a moment I just stood there, stunned, staring down at Carter. Then my senses kicked in, and I hurried to the kennel. Freddy was there, eyes wide and ears back, looking shaken but otherwise unharmed. I sighed relief. Then I knelt by the cage, hands trembling as I fumbled with the bolt, and that’s when I heard Miles mumbling nearby.

“He, he told me it wasn’t loaded,” his voice was cracking up. “He told me, he told me it would just be a funny joke.” There was a soft thud as his spear fell to the ground.

My hands were shaky, so I was having the hardest time with the bolt, and it didn’t help that Freddy was licking me through the bars. I couldn’t for the life of me get the gate unlatched. Then I heard something behind me, something that twisted my stomach into a terrible knot. It was a deep roar, as if from a wild animal, so I turned around and that’s when I saw Carter trampling toward me on all fours, blood spiraling out of his nose, dirt kicking up in his wake.

He leapt off his back legs, arms up like some sort of mountain lion mid-pounce. I tried to dive away, but he caught me before I could move. We tumbled a few feet, then, our arms twisted together, we both wrestled violently for control. I was trying my best to push away, but he was clawing into my arms and chest and face and quickly got the better of me, then he had one hand around my throat, straddling me, pinning me to the ground, looking down on me with these wild eyes, blood dripping from his twisted nose, drooling all over my face like some sort of rabid dog. “YOU MADE ME DO THIS, CARTER,” he shouted. Then he lifted his free hand high above his head as if to pound my face in, and that’s when a golden blur zoomed by, and all of a sudden, just like that, the whole thing was over.

I rolled over on my left side, where I saw Freddy pinning Carter down with his big, golden paws, snarling, canines real close to his face, dripping saliva, looking ready to tear the kid apart. But he wasn’t. He was holding back. I mumbled, “Good boy,” then I rolled over on my right side and saw Miles, kneeling by the kennel, gate wide open. He gave me a solemn nod then a little thumbs up. I nodded back.

Then I rolled onto my back, my mind so overwhelmed it was blank. Freddy’s snarling was the only sound I could hear. My chest heaved up and down, and my eyes stayed wide open, staring up at the sky through the shady oak canopy. There was no more gray up there, just smears of light blue, pink, and orange, like the sun was reflecting off the horizon, and the horizon was an old kaleidoscope or something. It was beautiful, but there was also something a little sad about it, too. Then, all of a sudden, cicadas started buzzing, drowning out the snarling, then more cicadas, then crickets chirping, then even more crickets, and then frogs croaking, a whole chorus of frogs. The backyard had suddenly become a full summer orchestra, as if life was returning to this once-dead place.

As I pushed off the ground to prop myself up, my hand landed on something hard and plasticky. I picked it up and stared at it. It was my Game Boy Color, but the screen was shattered outward from a dime-sized hole in the middle, bits of melted plastic all over it, and all the buttons popped out. It was fried, still hot to the touch. I slid out the Pokemon Crystal cartridge, and it too had a hole through the middle, right through Suicune’s face. I started laughing, at first just a little, but it grew louder and louder, and then I could hear Miles laughing behind me too, and then I had to wipe my eyes with the collar of my shirt because they were getting all watery.

When I got to my feet, I turned to Freddy, who was still pinning Carter down. Carter had this terrified look on his face, but he wasn’t trying to escape or anything. He seemed paralyzed there, accepting of his fate, almost. And as I stared down at him, I started feeling sorry for the guy. I really did. I even considered offering him a hand, if you can believe that, but decided against it, because I didn't want him to break my wrist or something.

So, instead, I just said, “C’mon, Freddy, let’s go.”

But Freddy only turned his head slightly, giving me a very narrow side-eye. He was still snarling, and his canines were still showing, and his tail stuck straight up like a wooden stake.

“C’mon, buddy, let’s go home.”

But he just kept snarling.

“C’mon, buddy.”

Carter’s eyes were big and trembly as he stared up into the void that was Freddy’s open mouth, warm saliva dripping onto his face.

“Freddy, let’s go,” I said firmly, my voice deeper, more mature.

The snarling faded. Freddy turned his head again, but this time his floppy ears were pulled back, which scrunched his brow and made him look like he was deep in thought. He stayed like this for a moment before stepping off Carter, then slowly came to my side, where I gave him a scratch behind the ear. He opened his mouth, panting, which happened to look like a big goofy smile.

“You thirsty, buddy?” I said. “Let’s go home.”

Before walking away, Miles and I exchanged a brief glance. I thought about thanking him or apologizing again, but in that moment, words seemed unnecessary, as if they could only do harm, so I just nodded, and he nodded back.

Then we left that backyard, never looking back.

12, Twilight

Stepping from the shade of death row, the sky had become a darker blue, and the pink and orange had merged into one, making the sky appear as if it were on fire. It took my breath away, it really did. And at that moment, despite everything that had happened, I didn’t want the day to end. Most of all, I didn’t want summer to end, but I could see the ending right there, across the street, in the form of my dad’s blue compact, parked right there in Susu’s driveway.

“Let’s go fishing,” I said.

“But isn’t that your dad’s car?” Miles said.

“Yeah, so what?”

“Well, aren’t you supposed to be going home now?”

“I don’t want to go home, Miles.”

Freddy was sitting there watching the sky, looking all dirty and wild.

After a brief silence, Miles said, “Wait, you’re calling me Miles now?”

I looked at him with a faint smile and said, “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure, but you’re always gonna be Blue to me,” he said, laughing.

Then, all of a sudden, I took off down Carter’s steep driveway, across the street, past my dad’s compact, weaving between red maple and palm, into the verdant alley, pondward bound. Along the way, I pushed low-hanging branches away from my face, leapt over stray logs, and tried not to trample patches of flowers. Freddy was a golden blur beside me, and Miles, though he got a late start, was easily keeping up because he was in much better shape than I was.

All our running must have disturbed the crows, because just as we arrived at the pond, a murder of them took off from a nearby hedge, soaring right over the water and vanishing into the deep blue sky, its fiery horizon rippling off the surface as a fish leapt out of the water and plopped back in. The crickets, cicadas, and frogs were already in the middle of their summer songs, and all three of us stood there by the edge of the water, awestruck by the majesty of it all.

After some time, I turned to Miles and said, “It sure is pretty out here.”

And he said, “Yeah.”

Then I said, “What do you call this time of day, anyway?”

“I dunno, I think I heard my dad call it twilight once.”

“Twilight,” I repeated to myself.

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Freddy barked and, in one graceful motion, jumped and bellyflopped into the pond with a huge splash. Miles and I started laughing our heads off. Then, after Freddy dog-paddled back to the edge, he climbed out and sauntered right back up to us, golden and renewed, and despite our “no no no, don’t do it,” he did the wet-dog shake, getting us all wet, which just made us laugh even harder.

And we laughed for a long time.

But when the laughter stopped, and there were no words left, I found myself staring into summer’s end, off the fiery blue, so I sat down at the edge, to take it all in, and that’s when Miles and Freddy sat down too, right next to me, and then we all just sat there, for the longest time, in the twilight of Arcadia, not saying a word, just taking it all in.

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If this story made you feel something, feel free to contact me at f0rrest@pm.me.

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