Everything (3 page)

Bright red hair peeked out from one end of the blanket pile.
 

“So go eat. I thought I told you my window was locked. How did you get in?” she said grouchily.

“You know I don’t want to eat at your table without you. It’s weird. And your door was unlocked. I just walked in,” I said.

“I’m going to have to talk to my mom about drop-kicking everyone who walks in unannounced. I guess you’re going to starve because I’m not getting up. I’m tired. Go away.”
 

“Get up, you troglodyte.”

“Ugh, go away now. No big words. Too early,” she grunted, burying her head under the pillow.

“Don’t you want to hear my aunt Opal story today?” I sang.

That was all it took. Tina lived for my aunt Opal stories like they were Nutella on toast.

“Next time, lead with that, ho.” She emerged from underneath the pillow, shooting me a look.
 

Tina had “a look” for just about every situation known to man, and I always knew what look she was trying to convey without words. It was something I picked up from the sandbox days.
 

As she proceeded to get up, I noticed her tank top and boy shorts with “FREAK ME” written across her ass and rolled my eyes. Tina did not believe in the “more is less” rule. To her, less was less, and better. She wasn’t a slut or anything. She just liked to leave little to the imagination and flaunt what she had, which was a lot. And by a lot, I meant her breasts, which were 36 C; her tiny waist, which I’m sure she inherited from her mother; and her huge ass. That was all packaged in a nice five-foot-five body.

Whenever I stood next to her, I felt...plain. I didn’t consider myself ugly, just plain. I was five feet eight, taller than most girls I knew, and average, not thin.

Coming in at 150 pounds, I was well within my healthy body mass index, according to health class, and had long, wavy black hair that I mostly wore in a ponytail because I was too tired to do anything else with it. But most people noticed my eyes. They were ice blue, my mother’s eyes. Paired with my black hair, that’s what made me stand out.

“So what has the
vieja loca
been saying now?” Tina asked as she made her way to the bathroom that was attached to her room.

Being used to Tina’s Spanglish terms, I knew she basically called my crazy old aunt Opal, well, crazy and old. To Tina, that was a term of endearment.

“She claimed the
Harry Potter
witches were talking to her this time.”

“Aye, Aunt Opal. From boiling cheese—which, by the way, classic—now witches? Where does she come up with this shit?”

“If we knew, I don’t think she would be the crazy one. I have long since stopped trying to figure out her mind.”

“I’m going to get her an agent. She needs an agent and a book and movie deal. That woman spits gold.
Gold
, I tell you!” This she said laughing in between brushing her teeth and spitting toothpaste everywhere.

“We could call it
Opal: The Untold Story
and get one of the
Harry Potter
witches to play her!” I added.

“Okay!” she said, holding her stomach and laughing. “We need lives.”

“No more than normal, but seriously, Opal is being less Opaly and more crazy. She called me Susan today, Tina. It was disconcerting,” I said, sobering up.

“Aww, Spacy Dacey, it’ll be okay. I’ll ask Daddy to recommend some names for some neurologists. I know Opal won’t go, but maybe we can just look into them for her, and if she gets worse, just make her go.”

That’s what I loved about Tina. It was never “you,” it was always “we” or “us.” Even though Aunt Opal was my family, she treated her like she was her family too, and therefore her problem as well.

She almost made me cry. She was always doing annoyingly great shit like that. It was probably one of the main reasons I loved her. “Thanks, Justina-benna.”

“Ugh, what am I, eleven? Come on. I’m a hot piece of ass! I am no longer kiddie-name material,” she said as she cringed at the nickname I hadn’t used since we were in middle school.

“Same goes for me with Spacy Dacey,” I said.

“Touché,” she mocked, surprised. “We are both hot pieces of ass, although
one
of us sees it more than the other. I’m just saying.” She raised an eyebrow at me.

I chose to ignore this comment.

She came out of the bathroom and went into her closet to dress in her normal too-little tank top and, what I’m sure, too tight and too short shorts and sandals, but, hey, remember her rule. Again, I felt plain in my Linkin Park
T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. I rocked the plain.
 

As we went downstairs, I wondered what it would be like, as I often did, to have Tina’s life. To be the only child of two loving parents who loved and doted on her and gave her the moon. To not have to want for anything. It was always a fleeting thought because the Delgados always made clear whatever was theirs was mine as well. I could have had all that stuff. I just didn’t want to seem like a moocher.

“I was just about to call you girls down. The food was getting cold,” Mrs. D said as she poured OJ in a glass.
 

“
Gracias, mami
.” Tina dropped a kiss on each cheek to say good-morning to her mother, as was custom in their house.

I looked at the pancakes and sausage, and my mouth watered. “Hummm, sausage, I love you so.”

Tina made some crude-ass joke about me loving Trevor’s sausage that had me choking on my orange juice as I was taking a sip. I choose to ignore her and continue eating.
 

I had just finished my pancakes and was getting ready to cut into my sausage—Tina’s mom always made the
best
sausage—when my cellphone rang.

“Dacey, no cellphone—” Mrs. D began.

“It’s my aunt Opal. I have to take this. I’m sorry,” I said as I hurried from the table, with Tina right behind me.

Whenever Aunt Opal called me, it almost always meant I had to come over.

“Hi, Aunt Opal,” I said, wondering why she was calling me after I just left her house not too long ago.

“Hello? Hello? How did you know it was me, chile? It must be them witches again.” The last part she said more to herself.

Aunt Opal was lucid, as lucid as Aunt Opal could be. This was a good sign. It was normal Aunt Opal and not abnormal Aunt Opal. This I could handle.

“I have caller ID, Aunt Opal. We go over this every time you call me. What’s the matter?” I asked patiently.

“Oh. Well, you need to come on yonder here. Somethin’s the matter with Rufus. I gave him some o’ dis here chocolate milk and now he don’ look too good.”

“You gave your dog chocolate milk? How much chocolate milk did you give him?” Only Opal, I swear. I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

“I gave ’em the whole gallon! He kept whinin’ like he wanted the whole thing, so I gave it to ’em.”

Oh dear god. “Um, okay, Auntie. I’ll come and take him to Trevor. But in the future, you can’t give a dog a whole gallon of chocolate milk. No, scratch that. You can’t give a dog
milk
, let alone
chocolate
milk!”

“Whatcha takin’ Rufus to ya old boyfriend for?” Opal asked, confused.

“Because, Auntie, Trevor works for the Shaddy Groves Animal Clinic. He can fix Rufus.”

“Oh. Well, whatcha doin’ standin’ ’round for? Hurry up an’ get over yonder here!” Then she hung up. No good-bye or thanks, but I was used to that.
 

I turned to Tina, who had put together my one-sided conversation and already had her purse.
 

“Let’s go, girl. We got a dog to save, and there is no way I’m missing
Opal: The Untold Story
,” Tina said. She told her mom good-bye and followed me out the door as I rushed to Aunt Opal’s for the second time this morning.

By the time we got to Opal’s house, she was outside in her night robe and slippers, flagging me down like I didn’t know where her house was. I pulled into the driveway and got out.

“He’s in the kitchen. Hurry, chile!” Opal was near frantic.

Opal Jean Watson had the look of an eccentric woman. I guess you don’t get the label of being the town crazy without looking the part. At nearly seventy years old, she wore colorful outfits, usually of floral or checkered patterns mixed with loud solids like hot pinks and blues. And she always seemed to miss a roller or two when she was taking them out of her hair, so she walked around with them unless I got to her before she went out. To top it off, she carried around this huge leopard-print bag that had everything—and I mean everything—in it that she thought she would need, as Opal didn’t drive.

Rufus was a very old cocker spaniel that was almost as old and crazy as Opal. He was lying on his side when I came into the kitchen, legs splayed out and panting, stomach huge, I assume, from the gallon of milk he’d ingested. I pulled out my cellphone to text Trevor. He would respond faster by text than if I called, since he wouldn’t be able to actually pick up.

911 it’s Rufus

What’s up?

Opal gave him a gal of chocolate milk.

Symptoms?

Lying down, panting. almost dead?

Not funny, is stomach distended?

Yes

Bring him in, I’ll be waiting

OK, luv u

Luv u 2

“Okay, Aunt Opal. I have to take Rufus in to the animal clinic.”

“What? No! My baby. He gone die! No, Rufus!” she screamed.

“Auntie, relax. He just needs to be monitored to make sure he is okay. I think it’s better for him there. Just let me take him. You can come too,” I said as if I was talking to a child. As I bent down to pick him up, Rufus made the sound that is unmistakable to anyone who has had dogs—the sound that says, “Watch out. I’m gonna blow.” And blow the little bastard did. All over me.

“Fuuuu—!” I tried to put him down or get out of the way, but I was not fast enough. Opal and Tina got out of the splash zone in time, but I was left holding Rufus, and now I was the chocolate milk–covered dog girl. Great.

“Oh, get the dog. Get the dog now,” I cried, as I held him at arm’s length and tried not to throw up.
 

Rufus gave me a look that said, “Please, don’t drop me.”

“Day, hold on. Let me get something! I’ll help you!” said Tina frantically. She ran to get towels to clean up the milk spill, because if I fell in the milk spill...

“Aunt Opal, do you have something, like a shirt or something, I can throw on, so I can take Rufus to the clinic? I don’t have time to change, and I’m afraid he will get sick again if we wait.”

“I have jus’ tha thing,” she yelled and ran—more like shuffled—up the stairs.

She came back downstairs with what looked like a tarp. No, really, it looked like a flowery tarp that you throw over something. Why was she bringing a tarp down?

“Here, throw this on ova your clothes. It’ll cover all that mess up.”

Oh. My. God. It was a muumuu. She expected me to put on a muumuu? She had to be shitting me. “Um, Auntie, don’t you have just like a large nightshirt or something?” I asked.

“Oh, hush up, chile, and put dis here on. Who you tryin’ to impress?” She proceeded to maneuver it on over my head and around Rufus.
 

I had no choice now but to become the milk-covered, muumuu-wearing dog girl. Awesome.

As Tina made her way back into the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks, taking in the sight.

“If you value your life and our friendship, you will gloss over this picture in your mind like you don’t see it and move on,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Noted,” was all she said, then proceeded to wipe up the milk spill while I made my way carefully out the door, silently cursing Rufus to hell.

There was no way I was going to be able to drive and hold Rufus, so Tina grabbed my keys. After placing almost every towel Aunt Opal had in her house in my back seat, I settled with Rufus in a somewhat comfortable position while a semi-hysterical Aunt Opal was in the front seat with Tina, and we made our way to the Shaddy Groves Animal Clinic.

When we pulled up, Trevor was waiting at the door and came to meet us. He was used to Aunt Opal and her antics. He was a hard-core animal lover, which is why he worked hard and graduated early to become a veterinary technician at the only animal clinic in town. With all the people in town like Opal who treated their pets like their children, this clinic saw as much business as a human hospital. People would do anything to prolong the life of their pets.

“I won’t even begin to ask what the hell you have on,” he said as he reached for Rufus. “Or why you smell like sour milk. Ugh, babe,” he said, making a face.

“Let’s just focus on the dog dying in my arms,” I said irritably.

“Dyin’? Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ’bout him dyin’. Oh, Ruuuufus!” wailed Aunt Opal.

“Babe, really?” Trevor chastised. “Did you have to say that?” He turned to Opal. “He’s not going to die, Opal. He’s just sick. Let me take him inside so I can take a look at him. I’ll take really good care of him. I promise.”

“Well, I s’pose that’d be all right,” she sniffled.

Tina patted Aunt Opal on the shoulder to comfort her and leaned over to whisper in Opal’s ear. “I can’t stand him, but the man is good at what he does. Trust him.”

This seemed to make Opal feel better, as her tears stopped. Trevor took Rufus from me, towels and all, and walked back toward the clinic doors. Then he stopped and turned around to say good-bye.

“I would kiss you, babe, but no. And Tina? Thanks for the compliment. I am good at my job, and the feeling is mutual.” He winked and went inside.

Tina shot him a look that said “asshole” and that only I caught, as only I would. I had to stifle a laugh. Here I was, covered chocolate milk dog vomit, wearing a muumuu, and standing in a parking lot with my crazy, hysterical aunt and best friend—and I had to be to school in twenty minutes. The absurdity of it all was just funny.

“Let’s go!” I said. “We still have to drop off Opal back at home, and I’m going back home to change ’cause there is
no way
in holy hell that I’m going to class with this thing on. I’ll take the late mark.”