by J. Michael Stanfield Jr.
A stranger is heading straight for the kennel.
For a moment Bobby is certain the odd-looking man will at last see that the parking lot is only a dead-end and be forced to turn around. It’s a common mistake.
Bobby is certain of this until the man passes the red brick building that is the Hillsboro Animal Hospital and continues his deliberate yet labored walk directly toward Bobby and who is seated behind the counter in the kennel’s small lobby.
The man is not the least bit familiar. He is lean and haggard in the fashion of the homeless, with outdated, fashion-less attire. His eyes gaze blankly from sunken sockets, weary and tired, through a tight, expressionless face. As he draws nearer, Bobby guesses his age to be about 65, maybe younger if he drinks.
The stranger stops at the glass door and stares directly at Bobby. The old man’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens slightly. He seems confused or afraid.
Bobby is startled for an instant before he realizes the man cannot see past the mirrored storefront. The man is looking at himself.
A few seconds pass, and the stranger, no less confused, opens the door and moves inside. He pauses in the small, foyer-like room and looks back toward the door which, as usual, has just creaked on its hinges like some strange and loud insect.
Bobby suddenly remembers his distaste for working afternoons alone. “Hello,” he says cordially.
The old man turns and acknowledges Bobby, his smile grotesquely disfiguring his face. “That door squeaks just as I remember,” he says, his voice harsh but gentle.
“Here to pick up?”
The stranger approaches the counter and deposits his hands on its edge. “No,” he says, looking around the room. “I have no dog boarding here.” The stranger’s eyes find Bobby and stop.” I once—well, I used to come here. A long time ago.”
Bobby involuntarily glances at the clock over the door. Ten minutes until six. “Mmm,” he says, nodding.
“And you know, it wasn’t Green Hills Kennel back then,” the old man says. “Instead it was called—”
His mouth abruptly distorts into a sly grin, and he steps to the bulletin board. He carefully manipulates the yellow-rope leashes hanging there and studies the calendar. The posters about various canine diseases catch his attention, and he reads about Bordetella, parvo and rabies. “Well, how about that,” he says. “You know, ‘canine cough’ was once known as ‘kennel cough.’ They changed it because—”
The stranger frowns intently at a discolored area on the floor. He turns to Bobby. “Where’s the water fountain?”
“I’m sorry?”
“There used to be a water fountain here, on this very spot.”
“It must have been taken out before I started,” Bobby offers.
The answer seems to satisfy the old man, and he nods his head as if in agreement.
Again he inspects the lobby, only this time with more scrutiny. He spies the door in the rear of the room, the door leading to the kennel proper, the animals and facilities.
“Do you—would it be okay,” he says, indicating the door, “if I took a look around?”
“I’m sorry,” Bobby says, wishing people would read the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign so plainly posted on the door, “you can’t go back.”
The stranger’s gray brow creases, and his frown deepens, but only for a moment. He glances at the sign on the door and gives Bobby a nod. “I guess not,” he says, regaining his tired composure. He turns to go.
He stops at the door, however, looking past its tinted panes to the parking lot and busy street beyond. He watches a woman and her black cocker spaniel emerge from the animal hospital’s side door and walk to the edge of the parking lot. There, the dog promptly relieves itself in a flowerbed of lilacs, azaleas and gardenias.
“I don’t guess Patti still works here,” he says. It’s barely a question. Before Bobby can answer, the stranger adds, “What about George or Frank?”
“No, I don’t think so,” says Bobby, “but the manager will be here in the morning, and he might know them.”
The door complains loudly as the old man pushes through it. He walks slowly across the parking lot and does not look back. His stroll is as labored and determined as his approach had been. Bobby is relieved to watch him go.
He remembers a story he heard about an ex-kennel worker who, many years ago, went to prison for some sort of murder. He had barely even believed the story, but the appearance of the old man makes him wonder.
The stranger disappears around the corner of the animal hospital, and Bobby laughs. The crazy old man was no killer on parole, he realizes. He was just another weirdo. The town is full of them.
Bobby looks at the clock and sighs. It’s just after six.
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| J. Michael Stanfield Jr. |
3 Comments
Chad
November 11, 2020 at 3:42 amMike, I hope you get to see Bobby soon
Arethusa
February 10, 2019 at 8:08 pmWell-written story. Using the present tense is unusual, and Bobby’s pov lets us, the readers, see more nuance, since I, at least, brought my own thinking into the story right from the start.
With the water fountain I began to suspect who the stranger was, but that may be ‘reading in contest for me’ since it is Minutes Before Six. Bobby at first appears thoughtless, but he is observant, and his observations give us more insight into the stranger. All in all, we get a look at two people and a small incident, but with a lot to say, and many nuances – my current favorite word for literary comments.
I also noted the connection to this website, and the nuances there in the last sentence.
Arethusa
August 31, 2018 at 1:23 pmWell-written story. Using the present tense is unusual, and Bobby’s pov lets us, the readers, see more nuance, since I, at least, brought my own thinking into the story right from the start.
With the water fountain I began to suspect who the stranger was, but that may be ‘reading in contest for me’ since it is Minutes Before Six. Bobby at first appears thoughtless, but he is observant, and his observations give us more insight into the stranger. All in all, we get a look at two people and a small incident, but with a lot to say, and many nuances – my current favorite word for literary comments.
I also noted the connection to this website, and the nuances there in the last sentence.