Blue, Red, and Freddy
or, In the Twilight of Arcadia
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (Read this how it was meant to be read here, or on the substack mirror.)
“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.