The End of Summer (An original short story)

Hi There,

Usually, I write a story by the already existing idea and then I select characters that fit that idea. This story and two other one came from a character that unexpectedly appeared in my mind. Therefore, I cannot even say what exactly the point of this story. This character is neither good or a bad guy, but rather a somewhat strange type of guy. Well, judge for yourself.

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The humming of electrical saws curved into the morning silence of the street.  A brigade of workers dressed in the orange jackets swung high in the tree tops chopping the branches, maintaining timber hygiene – a sign of Autumn.

Seeing cut out limbs scattered on the concrete, Art felt strange belonging to this scene not being able to place whether the affinity existed with the workers or with the trees.  The buzz reverberated inside him like the sexual desire that was not directed at anyone specific and only circulated all over his body as if separate from his very existence.

His wife died in a car accident a year ago at the age of forty-nine.  Since the moment when he returned home from the funeral he felt frozen. 

Art worked as a surveyor for a city and had the opportunity to meet many people. Ladies, especially divorced women, were interested in him.  Art had a low pleasant voice, which women found sexy, was in good shape for his age had clean habits and a nice four-bedroom house. Art had no strings attached; his son got a job in another city and moved out a while ago and daughter was married and lived with her husband twenty minutes away.

If he couldn't avoid a situation when he had to share a dinner with a lady, he had a coffee at her place or paid for a motel.  The thought of sharing a bed where his wife used to sleep with someone else, seemed absurd.  Avoiding self-analysis, he pushed these attempts into the future when he "will sort things out".

Art went to several Oriental massage parlors and tried different girls.  Eventually, he selected one whose physic made him feel like granite cliff and erupt like a volcano of Vesuvius.

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She had some kind of accent where her "bad" sounded like "bud."  Similar to the character of the Beatles song "Rocky Raccoon" she called herself Lil.  After visiting her in the parlor for a couple of months, Art asked her for private meetings.  Lil agreed and come to him two times a week at a fifty dollars a pop.  They had sex in his office on the sofa.

"You are a good looking man.  Why do you have to do this?" she asked once when he handed her the cash.  "There are many women who would like to accommodate you."

"It's more honest this way baby," Art chuckled, "cheaper too."

"Oh…you're one of those…"

"You see… I don't want to get into a relationship.  All I want is to have a good sex a couple of times a week.  You are a professional and you are not going to sue me for a sexual harassment." Art winked slapping her on a butt.

Not that he was thrilled with the idea of paying for sex.  Rather he didn't want to pay a moral price of a new relationship, invest into understanding and accommodating of another person, to do any adjustments in his habits or schedule.

More than that, he was afraid of the consequences the bad relationship might have on him or on the other person involved in it.  Simply put - it was easier without them.

When his wife was still alive, he appreciated her company and advice. With her death, the large part of his life was cut off like dried out branches of the tree that lay now on the concrete along the path of his morning jog. 

***

Weekdays Art came late from work and after going to the gym was falling asleep accompanied by the noise of TV. Chores filled his weekend mornings.  Paying bills, fixing a broken sprinkler or changing the oil on his Honda kept him occupied. It was weekend afternoons when loneliness grabbed him by the heart with its callous hand.

One of those lonely afternoons when Art remembered Lil's words "Why don't you get yourself a dog?  A dog is not going to sue you for sexual harassment as well."

The idea was wavering in his mind for several weeks until it came to a practical implementation.  His neighbor Ron had a German Shepard Kelly who just had a litter of puppies. Art stopped by several times and watched the little pups crawling all around her and sucking her tits.

He especially liked the one whose name was Buster. 

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When Art squatted to pet Kelly, Buster – a little fur ball stood nearby on guard and looked straight into Art's eyes as if measuring when to intervene and rescue his mother from a suspicious stranger.  "He'll be a good watch dog" Art gave Buster his finger, which the puppy bit lightly.

Buster turned out everything he hoped for.  He had his share of playfulness and foolishness, but quickly he found out where his place was and waited quietly and patiently in the yard while Art was at work. 

***

At around three o'clock Art was in his bedroom flipping the channels while Buster sat on the floor looking at him with the eyes of a devoted lover.   Both enjoyed that special tranquility that the noise of TV can only accentuate.

The phone rang.  Feeling lazy, Art let the machine to pick it up.  However, hearing his daughter's voice, he got up from the bed and picked up a receiver.

"Hi, Jessica, what's up?"

"Hi, dad. Oh, I am glad you're home.  David and I are going to the concert and we have no one to leave Roger with."   Roger was Art's four-year-old grandson.  So far, Art had a little participation in his life.

Although Jessica's request made Art a little uncomfortable, he didn't communicate with little boys since the time his son was of that age, he was intrigued by the opportunity and wanted to see what kind of man Roger was.

"Sure, hon.  Bring him over."

As he put down a receiver, he remembered that today it was the day when Lil was supposed to come over.  He called her cell number attempting to reschedule their appointment.  However, the number turned out to be disconnected – realization that made Art a little uneasy.

***

While Jessica gave Art directions compiled in a laundry list of safety precautions, Roger sat quietly on a sofa, but once his mother left he went to investigate the house.  Followed by Art, he stamped around the rooms touching, twisting and turning things around until he came to the yard where he noticed Buster.  In fact, they both noticed each other simultaneously and looked very interested.  For several moments, they just stood there studying each other, casting inquisitive looks at Art "Who is he and what is he doing here?" Until Art made a formal introduction: "Roger this is my Dog Buster."

"Yea. You can play with him too. He is still a pup."

"Grandpa, how big is Buster gonna be?"

"Probably this big." Art pointed to the mark above his knee, which also corresponded to the current Roger's height."

"Wow, that's very big."

"Very big indeed."

From this moment on both Roger and Buster had a lot to do with each other from a sophistication of throwing and catching a stick to bare essentials: running around, rolling in the grass and licking Roger's face.  Art stood in the door opening, looked at them and smiled. 

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The ring in the door torn Roger from the stagnant childish joyfulness he shared with both youngsters, back to the reality of his adult life.  Lil stood at the entry door.

"What's up?  You look like you didn't expect me. Is everything ok?"

"…Yea.  Just get comfortable in my office, I'll be right back."  Art quickly went back to the yard and said:

"Roger, I'll be busy for about fifteen minutes.  You can still play with Buster."

Roger stopped playing with Buster and asked him looking from underneath his hand. 

"What are you going to do, grandpa?"

"Well, just to take care of some unfinished business."

"What kind of business, grandpa?"

"It's kind of hard to explain you, pal.   Just trust me on this.  And when I'll be done we can go to McDonald, OK?"

"OK."

As Art closed the door of his office and preparing to get into the groove of the adult life, he heard the knock on the door.  Art and Lil stopped trying to hold their breaths.

"What's going on?"

"Grandpa, I need to go poopoo."

"Just go to the bathroom.  It's down the corridor and to the left." Art answered patiently.  Lil was holding her mouth trying not to laugh.  Hearing Roger's departing steps, Art carefully reinitiated his movements.  But as soon as he got himself settled, the knock on the door has returned.  This time it was sojourned by the scraping of the nails and joyful barking.  "Roger must have let Buster in.'

"Grandpa, can I pet him?"

"What's now?" Art tried holding his breath even.

"Grandpa," Roger said with the voice that was breaking into a cry.  "I couldn't find the bathroom."

"So what happened?" Art as if smelled some trouble.

"I pooped in my pants." And Roger started crying.  Feeling his frustration Buster barked and jumped scraping the door of the office.  Not being able to control herself anymore Lil broke into laughter.

"Goddamn!"  Art spitted rhetorically.   Even though realizing the irony of the situation, he was at the point of no return.  "Goddamn!" he screamed out loud. 

"Goddamn." He said already quietly, putting his clothes back on and asking Lil to do the same.

When they both were ready, he opened the door and saw crying Roger standing by the door and Buster jumping around him and barking in excitement.  The smell of trouble was now far from being virtual.

"Come on man.  It's not a big deal.  Happens to the best of us." Rodger stopped crying for a second and looked at Art very inquisitively.  "Just hold still, let me take the dog outside." Art grabbed Buster underneath his belly and slammed the door in front of his nose.  When he returned, neither Roger nor Lil were there.  Art heard the sound of running shower from the bathroom. 

"Give me a towel and another pair of underpants?" she asked looking out from the bathroom.  Art gave her the towel right away but couldn't find the underpants.  

"It's ok.  Buy him a new pair in Target."

When everything was over, Lil said goodbye and left, Roger asked Art.

"Who was this lady, Grandpa?"

"She was just a friend, pal.  Just a friend."

"But what did you and she do in your office?"

"We had some unfinished business."

"What was this business Grandpa? Was it a secret?"

"No really."

"But why did you close the door then?"

"Hm.  Well, my friend.  Someday I'll explain to you why.  So you want to go to McDonald now?"

"Yea…Are we going to take Buster with us."

"Sure thing. But will have to leave him in the car."

Prior to going to McDonald though, they stopped by Target and bought Rogers three new pair of underpants. 

Later, when they were returning from McDonald, Art told Roger

"Listen, pal. I want to ask you for a favor."

"What is it, grandpa?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes."

"Don't tell your mom about Lil, ok?"

"I can keep the secret if you can. I won't tell mom about Lil and you don't tell her about the poop. OK?"

"That's sure thing pal, sure thing."

***

After they come home, they both lay on the bed and watched TV until Roger fell asleep. Hugging his warm little body, Art felt something that he didn’t feel for a long-long time, the joy, the origin of which he couldn’t explain himself and that couldn’t probably be explained by the deductive reasoning of an investigator or psychiatrist.

He felt like an old and tall tree whose branches were cut in preparation for winter, but whose roots were sucking juices of new life deep from the soil.