The Delivery Boy

Throwing rocks. Throwing rocks. Patrick Nailer dug the knees of his blue jeans into the dust of the road, and he searched around in the gray cloud he had made, grabbing rocks with grimy little hands. Throwing rocks. Throwing rocks. One hit equals two points. You get nothing if you miss. He stood up in front of his good pile of rocks. He had picked the best ones in the road. He looked down the road at mailbox 204 Rt. 3. The road was Oak Hollow but all the mailboxes called it Rt. 3. It was Curtis Sheaver’s mailbox, who was a shit. Curtis lived at Kaspers Lake all summer with his family but now it was the middle of October and they had been gone for two months. They would not see him hit their mailbox, they had loaded up their Ess Yoo Vee and gone back to wherever they stay for the rest of the year. Most people did that at Kaspers Lake.

Patty licked at the snot that trailed through the dirt on his upper lip, as he contemplated the distance between him and the mailbox. He hurled the first one. No points. Second one. No points. Third. Too far, no points. He put his heart and soul into the second one, because he pretended that the mailbox was Curtis Sheaver’s face. The rock clanged off the box and left a great big dent next to the 4. Two points, Curtis had no teeth. He began to fling the rest of the rocks as fast as he could, hoping to rack up at least ten points. He missed them all.

He debated collecting another pile but his mother had told him to hurry. He waded down into the weeds in the ditch beside the road and picked up the bag of groceries. He was a very responsible boy, his mother said, very responsible, he just got sidetracked easily. He cut through Curtis Sheaver’s yard, who he had spit on for calling him a cocksucker, carefully planting his feet on the steep path down to the lake. He was carrying groceries to Uncle Henry, who was his mother’s great uncle. That was his chore every Wednesday. Yesterday he had to bring him new medicine bottles, but today was grocery day. His mother called him Uncle Henry, but Patty called him Old Sneezer, because he always carried an old snotty handkerchief in his hand. He never sneezed into the handkerchief, he always sneezed all over his face. Then he had to pry the handkerchief out of his left hand and wipe the snot off his face.

Down at the bottom of the hill there was a path that ran along the edge of the lake. It went right around to Bo Kasper’s house on the other side. This path was one of Patty’s favorite places, especially when summer was over and the lake was quiet. He kicked the leaves in front of him as he walked. Old Sneezer would hear him coming, but he didn’t think it would matter today.

Old Sneezer didn’t like kids. He always told Patty to go away, even though he brought him food. Sometimes he used to swing at Patty with his cane, and hit him on the forehead, but now he needed it to keep his balance, or else he would fall like he did yesterday. Patty hated to visit Old Sneezer, because he smelled bad, and his house smelled bad. But his mother trusted him to do a good job. He was a responsible boy.

When he reached the Trewielers’ cabin he set the grocery bag down next to the trail, took out a package of Twinkies, and ran up the hill to their house. They were never home during the day, but he only wanted to see their dog, Meathook. Meathook usually slept underneath the porch during the day, and whenever Patty passed he liked to give Meathook a treat. Today it was a piece of beef jerky.

Patty dropped to his knees on the thick layer of leaves that covered the ground around the porch. The Trewielers never bothered to rake their leaves--nobody did. He squinted his eyes into the darkness that went all the way under the house. He whistled between the gap in his front teeth.

"Meathook! Here boy! Got some jerky for ya. Meathook!" he said, digging the jerky out of his pocket.

A low, hungry growl bristled out across the leaves. Meathook. He always growled like that. But Patty wasn’t afraid of him. He kept calling. In a few minutes the growl was matched to a pair of eyes, then a round black head as Meathook came shimmying out on his belly. Patty threw the jerky down in the dirt and Meathook dove at it, swallowing it down with a few crusty leaves. Then he rolled over so Patty could scratch his belly. He was covered in scars and flea bites--Patty knew he fought with the rest of the dogs around Kaspers Lake. He had seen him take on three at once one time, big dogs, too. Drool ran down his jowls as Patty scratched at him, brushing the gnats away from his pecker, making his hind leg flop around in the air.

Patty stood up and went over to the porch steps to eat his Twinkies. His mother always put them in as a treat for Old Sneezer, but Patty knew he didn’t like them, so Patty always ate them before he got to Old Sneezer’s house. He slid the Twinkie carefully out of the wrapper and set the second Twinkie next to him on the step. He bit the end off the first Twinkie, them stuck his tongue deep down inside to spoon out as much cream as possible before taking the next bite.

But then that stupid Meathook ran up and slobbered up his second Twinkie before Patty could stop him. Damn him to Hell! He picked up a fat stick and trotted over to where Meathook was lying, smacking his lips. Meathook rolled over to be scratched again. Patty lifted up his fat stick and hit Meathook over the head with it, knocking out a horrible stream of yelps as Meathook scurried back into the darkness under the porch. Patty immediately felt bad, so he left the rest of his first Twinkie on the ground under the porch and headed back down the hill. It was time to see how Old Sneezer was doing today.

Old Sneezer’s trailer was three houses down from the Trewielers’, at the dead end of Oak Hollow. All of the blinds were always shut, and there was a big pile of trash bags next to the back porch, were Old Sneezer threw them. Every once in awhile his mom or Uncle Ricky had to come and clean them up and take them to the dump. Old Sneezer usually locked his door and watched them from the window until they were gone. Patty held his nose as he walked past the trash pile. The worst part, he thought, was probably the smell that came from the diapers Old Sneezer wore. Some dogs had torn open some of the trash bags. Probably Meathook.

Patty opened the door and walked right inside. He had to wait until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Bright light hurt Old Sneezers eyes. He dumped the grocery bag onto the couch, next to the pill bottles from yesterday. Everything still looked just like it did yesterday. The TV was still on, except now it was showing Matlock. Old Sneezer’s slippers were on top of the coffee table, where he always put them. He looked to the other side of the room. There was Old Sneezer, still crumpled up in a pile on the floor where he had fallen when he tried to hit Patty with the cane. Patty had crawled over to take the cane away from him when he fell, to keep Old Sneezer from coming after him with it.

Old Sneezer seemed to be asleep. Patty though he could see a faint rising and falling beneath the flannel pajamas he wore, but Old Sneezer had his eyes closed. Patty lay down on the floor with the cane in his hands, edging it across the carpet to the pile of flannel. He poked the cane into Old Sneezer’s shoulder.

"Old Sneezer? You awake?"

Poke, poke.

"Old Sneezer?"

Pokepokepoke.

Old Sneezer’s eyes popped open and he snarled weakly. He boy drew back.

"Go away, you!" Old Sneezer coughed. "I don’t need you here. I don’t need nobody. I got money in the bank. Go away, now!"

This was what Old Sneezer said every time. Since he hadn’t moved from the spot on the floor all night long, Patty decided that Old Sneezer might need some help. Patty edged along the wall until he came to the kitchen counter. Then he climbed on to the counter an searched through the cabinets until he found two bowls. One bowl he filled with water from the sink. Then he climbed down and went over to his grocery bag. His took out the box of raisin bran with two scoops and poured some into the second bowl. Carefully placing them on the floor, he lay down behind them with the cane and pushed them one at a time across the carpet until they were right in front of Old Sneezer’s face. He was beginning to catch a bad smell, like maybe Old Sneezer had gone to the bathroom in his pants. It was hard to tell, because the whole house usually smelled bad.

"You have to eat up, Old Sneezer," he said. "You have to build up your muscles so you can be big and strong."

Old Sneezer wasn’t talking anymore, just staring at him. His breathing came out very shallow and raspy. He wasn’t breathing hard enough to disturb the bran flakes in the bowl below his nose.

"Is the TV all right? Do you want me to turn it up for you?"

Patty turned the television volume up a little. Surveying the room to see if there was anything he had forgotten, he walked over to the door.

"Well, I have to get back because mom is fixing supper tonight. Nice talking to you. See you next Wednesday."

Patty opened the door to the afternoon sun and headed back down the lake trail. He decided to go past Bo Kasper’s place to see if he could see anything good going on through his bay windows. It was kind of fun to play spy. He was mad that Meathook had eaten his Twinkie, but he should have expected it. He was just a stupid dog. He was proud of himself for not being scared of Old Sneezer this time. And he even felt good about himself for taking care of Old Sneezer, after all, he was old, and had trouble looking after himself.