"You Little Son's a Bitches, I see yee these time. I catch you and beat you asses."
A old man waved his cane as he waddled along the outside of the fence, his face flush.
"Shit, It's Gus the Russian Jew!," Count said. Shannie and Count took off.
"You little bastards, I see you. Duke sic."
Ignoring his master, the dog worked on the steak. The old man's curses trailed off as he hobbled along the outside of the fence. When the dog finished, he scavenged for leftovers. "Want company?" Shannie asked?
I jumped, banging my head on the roof. "Owe, fuck." I muttered rubbing my head.
"A little jumpy?" She chuckled climbing into the truck. Count's voice bounced through the junk yard. Duke looked up. Duff and drool hung from his jowls. He barked and trotted after Count's voice. "What's Count doing?"
"He's running screen. We'll meet him at the tree."
I looked into Shannie's eyes. She smiled. I wanted to kiss her. I closed my eyes and leaned towards her. In the distance, Duke Nuke 'em barks chased Count. "We better get out of here," Shannie said.
Shannie led me to the hole in the fence. I held it back as she slipped through. She returned the favor. Shannie slipped her hand into mine and led me up the hill and into the tree. If it wasn't for Count, we would have made out.
"When I tell you to keep your mouth shut, keep it shut," Count barked as he approached the tree. It's advice I struggle with. If I listened, I would have saved many detentions, an occasion black eye, stitches, and public humiliation. Count's advice would have made life with my mother easier. She was constantly irritable. When she bitched to an empty room I felt obligated to advocate for the walls. My father didn't argue. When she nagged, he hid. When it got really bad, he drove away. One Saturday afternoon, he left my mother haranguing the kitchen walls.
"I know why he's miserable. You're the only one who wants the baby," I said.
"Who the hell asked you?"
"I did!"
"You know what? I am sick and tired of your opinion," my mother barked.
"Yeah, so I'm tired of your whining. All you ever do is whine, whine, whine, whine."
"You bastard! You're just like your father. All you can think about is James, James, James."
"Yeah I know." I waved my hand - I picked up the habit from Count. "It's all about James."