Walkin' the Dog by Chris Lynch

Author:Chris Lynch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: S&S Books for Young Readers
Published: 2024-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

9. Momma’s Boys

MY PLAN IS TO MAKE an unscheduled trip over to see Ma and tell her all about the pleasant Cyrus surprise. I think she’ll be happy to have him for a visit, but as I said, nothing’s taken for granted now.

It’s a sausage morning. After a whirlwind tour, all eighteen of our legs hammering holy hell out of the pavement, I drop the lovable links back in their garage. Which is wise, because Ma is, of course, a vegetarian. I’m well on my way to the Knoll, striding with purpose and certainty, when a familiar, low, and menacing rumble burbles up from the pavement, through my legs, into my torso.

I used to love the whole Harley-Davidson thing. I found it hypnotic, muscular, and it had just the right kind of outlaw about it. So, weirdly, did Ma, in her hippieish way.

But no longer. No, no, no, no longer. Mr. Davidson now sounds to me like a big, fat blowhard who likes nothing better than the sound of his own relentless farting. I suppose it’s not Ike’s fault, exactly. Though it’s not not his fault either. Noise pollution is the pollution that bothers me more than all the others. Because I’m so aware of it, and it’s so intrusive, as if it’s directed at me. The thing is, it comes to me, comes after me. Feels personal, is the thing. Sure, I’m probably inhaling fifty million particles of horror with every breath of air I take, but I’m not aware of each of those particles as I do, so it’s not so bad. Noise irritates me personally. Seriously.

The Harley is just so much louder and more aggressive than it needs to be. And it seems to me more and more that Ike is too. He’s the Harley-Davidson of humans, and so frequently irritation sails in on rolls of H-D thunder. There is no irritation like Ike-on-a-bike irritation.

I’m well aware of the motorcycle coming up behind me. Perhaps unconvincingly, I pretend not to notice and continue strolling along. Maybe Ike will buy it, who knows?

As far as brains go, my brother has very big muscles.

“I said,” he bellows, “wait up!”

I turn to see him curb crawling, and I answer while continuing to walk backward. “Can’t hear you,” I say, pointing to both my ears in order to help him out as much as I can. I’m good like that.

“I said…,” he says again.

I heard him the first time, but anyway.

I continue backpedaling, pointing to the Harley now with one hand and making a slashing motion across my throat with the other. “I can’t hear you. Maybe if you cut the engine…”

I rudely turn my back to him.

He politely cuts the engine. It’s rare, and should be acknowledged, that Ike is trying harder than I am.

I continue walking away.

“If you keep going…,” he says.

It doesn’t sound like much, but we both know. As of those words, the number of directions this could take is a very small, painful number.

I stop, turn, and stroll casually back to where he’s sitting.

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