Mountain Dog (8 page)

a candy bar. He'd get convulsions.

He could die. Writing about danger

makes me worry—what would I do

if anything ever

happened to Gabe?

He sniffs my hand, as if he can smell

the invisible fingerprint

of my thoughts.

I wish we could both smell

the future.

 

22

GABE THE DOG

CHASING THE MOON

Tony talks about a future,

but I don't know what he means,

so we go outdoors, where he throws

a yellow glow-in-the-dark ball.

When a foolish squirrel runs

right in front of me, I don't chase it

very far, because my teeth are already

biting

the brightness

of my light-catching

moon wish.

I can't imagine ever needing

to do anything but play, right here,

right now, together.

 

23

TONY THE BOY

DANCING ELEPHANTS

Gracie sends a note of approval

all the way from India, shouting

an all-caps BRAVO! for my bear-

and-berry entry in the Dog Nose blog.

She adds an animal note of her own,

a poem called “Elephant Step Dance,”

about the way the soles of huge feet

can hear the drummed vibrations

of elephant messages

made by stomping

boom boom

on dry

hard

earth.

The poem is funny, but is it true?

I rush to find out, and my research

tells me that yes, elephant feet

really do act like extra ears,

absorbing sounds.

I picture loud Gracie

on the other side of the world,

making sure that her own

booming voice

is heard

in verse.

A few days later, there's another

useless phone call from Mom.

Gracie's poetic drum rhythm

helps me think about my own

pounding fury

each time I have to hear

the lies.

The last time I went to the prison,

I was

the silent

sullen

one

but now

I'm noisy

and vicious.

Anger is like a disease.

You can catch it.

You can give it.

 

24

GABE THE DOG

THE SMELL OF A VOICE

When Tony yells into the phone,

I run and hide

in a dark

closet—

my cave.…

I won't come out. I won't.

Yelling isn't like thunder, far away in high sky.

Screaming is close. A shouting voice hurts.

I feel the slap of each word

as it spills

the bitter odor

of danger

into my nose.

 

25

TONY THE BOY

FOUND AND LOST

Loser, loser, loser! I feel so terrible

about scaring Gabe by yelling at Mom

over the phone. I feel so horrible,

so awful, so lost!

But Gabe forgives me right away.

He always forgives everyone.

If Tío gets mad at him for breaking

the No Chasing Squirrels rule,

they make up quickly, but I never

seem to get over things

swiftly

and easily

like a trusting dog

or a really smart

grown-up.

Why does 50 percent of my mind

always seem to be stuck

in unhappy mode?

There's only one way

to take my thoughts away from

Mom's prison cell of rage.

Searches. Finding the lost. Helping.

My uncle tells me that before

the invention of GPS gadgets,

there were searches almost every day.

Hardly anyone knew what to do

with a compass and map, or how

to navigate by the stars.

Now, with GPS and fancy new

satellite phones that can get a signal

anywhere—even in the most remote

wild places—lost hikers often call

forest rangers

to ask which trail to choose

at a crossroads.

With all the modern technology,

wilderness searches are needed

only once in awhile, but they're

still just as urgent as before.

Life or death. All or nothing.

One night, an autistic teenager

wanders away from a cabin.

The next week, two fishermen

fail to find the trail back downhill

from a high mountain lake.

A Swiss thru-hiker is rescued

when he gets disoriented

from dehydration.

There are crime scenes, too,

searches so gross that Tío won't

let me hang out at base camp.

All I know is what I hear later,

when he and B.B. talk,

holding hands.

As soon as I see

how their fingers

touch

I start to wonder

what will happen to me

if they

get married.

My uncle's cabin is too small

for all of us.

How long will it be

until he sends me away?

Every time I start believing

in safety,

something happens

that makes me feel

like an old toothbrush

in the lost-

and-found

box

at school.

Nobody wants someone else's

trash.

 

26

GABE THE DOG

SHARING

Tony smells

so lonely

that I try

to share

my food

my water

my toys

but all he wants is company

so I take him outside and we run

round and round in dizzy circles

until finally, we fall down

and laugh

together.

 

27

TONY THE BOY

SHORELINES

Summer turns into a season

of mysterious migrations.

One morning, there are thousands

of bright red ladybugs.

The next day, it's shiny blue dragonflies,

swooping across soft green meadows.

Suddenly, only the tiniest spiders

float overhead, each one dangling

from a natural parachute

of silky white web.

Roaming wild creatures

don't worry about where

they'll end up, but I do,

I really do worry, so when Tío

invites me on a vacation road trip

to a distant beach, I'm excited,

but I'm also not sure how I feel

about leaving the comforting

mountains.

We ride with open windows,

Gabe and I both sniffing the breeze

as we zoom right past the prison,

turning west, then driving, gliding,

until we finally reach the bright,

endless ocean, and the warm,

sun-gold sand.

When Gabe chases shore birds

into frothy waves, I follow, running

and splashing, even though I know

I'll never be able to catch any creature

with wings.

I don't even want to catch birds,

but it feels so great to act like a tiny

kid again, romping with new puppies

that have never

been hurt.

Pelicans slide across the bright sky.

Sea otters roll around on blue water.

Everything is so peaceful

that I wonder if it's possible

to feel sad and scared

on any beach

anywhere

in the huge world.

That night, under brilliant stars,

I ask my uncle a question

that I've wondered about

for a long time.

How did he feel when he floated away

from his home island? What was it like,

drifting on a raft in a storm,

then wrecking, being washed ashore

in a nameless place, without food

or a dog.…

I can't picture my uncle before Gabe.

They belong together—how did Tío survive?

After a long, quiet moment, he speaks

of his childhood on the troubled island

where he had to be careful about rules.

Strange rules. Censored books.

Rationed food. Secret police.

Neighborhood spies.

By the time he was a teenager,

he was in trouble with the authorities

for buying bread on the black market

and for reading forbidden stories

and listening to outlawed radio stations

that played illegal foreign music.

Illegal music? No wonder my uncle

and Mom both fled their homeland.

Did she listen to the wrong songs too?

Was she always a rule breaker?

Was there a time when she knew

which rules deserved breaking?

Tío goes on to describe his parents—

my grandparents. They aren't alive

anymore, but when I ask, my uncle says

maybe someday he'll be able to take me

back to the island, to meet all my cousins.

The story of Tío's youth ends

with his escape from the secret police,

on a homemade raft, in hurricane season.

Then the sea, the wreck, being stranded

on that nameless spit of sand, and finally,

surviving on rainwater, shellfish,

and seaweed. After a fisherman

found him, rescue became Tío's passion.

Nature had fed him, God and people

helped him. He was determined to do

the same for someone else.

He received asylum in Florida,

learned English, studied forestry,

then worked in the Everglades,

Yellowstone, and Yosemite,

before choosing to patrol

the most remote places

along the Pacific Crest Trail,

places that seemed almost

as vast and perilous

as an ocean.

Wherever he went, he always

experimented with wild foods

and survival skills. He experimented

with wild feelings, too, trying out

different emotions

the way people in cities

try on clothes.

He had to decide which feelings

could be trusted

and which ones would poison

his mind.

Anger was useless, fear deadly,

and despair was the most dangerous

emotion of all. He realized that hope

was the only feeling strong enough

to keep him alive.

When Tío falls silent, I gaze up

at beach stars, gather my courage,

and ask about Mom.

What was she like when she was little?

Did she fight, was she cruel, did she care

about people and puppies?

My uncle's answer makes me feel

as clear and limitless

as the starry sky.

Mom was ordinary.

Something changed her.

But she could change back.

And I'm not like her.

I'll always be free

to be myself.

 

28

GABE THE DOG

BEACH DREAMS

Sleeping in a tent on the moon-bright sand

I dream

swim-run-swim

and in the morning

I can still smell the dreams

of my Leo and Tony

because they were swimming with me

so that even alone on the water

I was never

alone.

 

29

TONY THE BOY

WHEN ELEPHANTS JUMP

By the time we drive back

from our cool beach vacation,

I've collected a few experimental

feelings of my own

along with sand dollars

and seashells

and a gooey bag of chewy

saltwater taffy for Gracie,

who's due back from India.

She arrives in a loud burst

of hilarious jungle poem-stories

about elephant sunscreen (mud)

elephant pizza (squashed trees)

and elephant dreams (jumping,

because when they're awake,

elephants are the only mammals

that can't leap).

After her welcome-home

nonelephant pizza party,

all I expect to do is sleep,

but a call-out comes at midnight,

and Tío takes me with him.

I wait restlessly at base camp,

wondering if I'll ever master

the frustrating art

of patience.

The lost person is a teenage boy

with a homemade bow and arrow.

There is no place last seen—so Gabe

has to search a huge area, off leash

and eager, as he races against time,

because the boy is diabetic, and if he

doesn't get his medicine,

he'll die.

His family brings candles, food,

flowers, and a makeshift altar.

They pray in a language I can't identify.