Birdie's Tennis Ball

By Brooke Coulter

My favorite season was fall. I loved coming home to the smell of Momma’s apple cider and the sound of crunching leaves beneath my feet as I walked home from school every day. Plus, it wasn’t too warm outside to be drenched in sweat by the time I finished my walk, or too cold that I couldn’t feel my fingers. This weather was perfect. I glanced down at the sidewalk and back up at the sky. As I took a few more steps, I was greeted by the neighborhood dog. He didn’t have a name, but I called him Birdie because his favorite thing to do was chase birds. I’ve been asking Momma for a dog of my own since I was old enough to walk, but Momma has always said it would be too much of a responsibility. Birdie was the perfect dog, with soft brown fur and friendly eyes. I kept a ball in my backpack that I’d throw for him every day after school. I never taught him how to play fetch, but somehow he knew. I lived in a fairly small neighborhood. It wasn’t the nicest, but Momma said we all take care of each other and that’s all that matters. I looked to my right and was greeted by my closest neighbor and my mother’s friend.

“Good afternoon, Jimmy!” she shouted. “How was school today?”

I shrugged my shoulders; school was never good. I didn’t have many friends and usually kept to myself.

“It-it-it was great, Mrs.Chesterfield!”

Mrs. Chesterfield had been living in the neighborhood all my life. She would come over to Momma’s for tea and talk about gardening, while I would play with my Hot Wheels on our creaky floor. I didn’t have much of a problem with Mrs. Chesterfield. However, she didn’t seem to like my best friend.

I looked back down at my shoes as Birdie dropped the ball at my feet.

“G-good boy, Birdie!” I said, praising him.

“Now, Jimmy!” she shouted. “What did I tell you about messing with that mangy stray!?”

I put the ball back into my bag, embarrassed.

“None of us know where that beast comes from. You could get rabies, little boy!”

I don’t know why she didn’t like Birdie. Birdie had never done anything wrong to me. He wasn’t like the other kids at school. Birdie never made a comment about my torn-up clothes or laughed at my stutter. But I wasn’t trying to get myself into trouble, so I continued my walk home.

The house next to the Chesterfields’ was bright green. A mean boy named Jack who went to my school lived there. Momma used to make Jack come over to play Hot Wheels, but Jack never wanted to play with me. The Chesterfields had a bright yellow house, which Momma said reminded her of sunshine, but Mrs. Chesterfield was nothing but a bitter old rain cloud. My house was blue, which I liked because blue was my favorite color. Just me and Momma lived there, and sometimes I felt lonely. I knew almost all of my neighbors, except one.

Every house on my street was colorful, but the one two doors down from mine was different. Its once-white siding was now a musty brown, rotting on the outside. Its windows were blacked out, so there was no way to know who lived there. But there was an old, beaten-up car with one flat tire always parked in the driveway, so someone had to be living there. Cobwebs were dancing around the doorframe. I’m scared of spiders, so I can’t imagine having to walk in and out of that door every day. Maybe the person who lived there never left. Momma warned me to walk fast when I had to pass by that house, so I picked up my pace.

I was finally home. I walked into the house and was greeted by Momma.

“Take your shoes off by the door,” she told me.

I listened, and then followed up with a question that had been bugging me since the beginning of the school year when Momma finally let me walk home instead of riding the bus with all the mean kids.

“M-Momma, who lives in the scary house?” I asked her.

Momma’s face turned cold. She stared at me for a few seconds and then continued folding her laundry.

“Oh, Jimmy, you’re such a curious boy. Now help me carry these clothes into your room.”

I sighed. Momma never liked to answer my questions.

“But-But Momma, is it a man or a woman?”

She ignored me.

“Oh w-wait I know–is it-it a scary old witch? Is it a haunted house filled with g-ghosts and g-goblins? Is it–”

She stopped in her tracks.

“Jimmy,” she said, placing her hands on my shoulders, “I know most of our neighbors are our friends, but we don’t know exactly who lives in that house. Judging from the outside, it’s a very dangerous place.”

I didn’t understand. Why couldn’t Momma just knock on the door?

“W-Well, Momma,” I said. “O-Our house isn’t pretty on the outside e-either. But we aren’t bad people?”

The next day, I was walking home from school again. Jack tried stealing my tater tots again today at lunch, but he didn’t know I had already stuffed a few in my pockets. I looked around at the red and yellow trees and then at the scary house. I wondered if the witch that lived there used little kids for her stew. This frightened me. Halloween was right around the corner; would she turn me into stew? My thoughts were interrupted when I was greeted by Birdie, wagging his tail and eagerly waiting for me to throw the ball.

I looked around, making sure Mrs. Chesterfield wasn’t looking. I threw the ball for Birdie, and when he returned it, I rewarded him with the tater tots in my pocket. Birdie loved me, and I loved him. I tried to throw the ball again, but he was distracted by a flock of birds that flew into the street.

I took a few more steps, walking as quietly as I could past the scary house to make sure I wasn’t captured. Then, I saw Mrs. Chesterfield outside watering her plants.

“Hi there, Jimmy,” she greeted me again.

“H-Hello, Mrs. Chesterfield,” I said.

I paused, looking over into the distance at Birdie and then back at the scary house.

“M-Mrs. Chesterfield?”

She stopped watering her plants and turned to look at me. “Yes, Jimmy?’

“D-Do you know who lives in the scary house?”

She checked her surroundings and then stepped closer to me. “Jimmy, don’t you ever go in that house, young boy. Do you understand me?”

Her breath smelled like hot pickles, but I tried my best to listen.

“W-Why? Do bad people live there?” I responded.

“Very, very bad people,” she said. “One time, I was out watering my garden when suddenly, a giant woman stepped outside. She had red eyes and long green fingernails, and she carried around a broomstick.”

I gasped.

“D-Do you th-think a witch lives there?”

“Oh yes, definitely, a mean nasty old witch,” she responded. “See, we neighbors, we look out for each other. But there’s no way me or your momma are ever going into that house.”

That night, I lay in bed thinking about what Mrs. Chesterfield had told me. I thought about asking Momma if I could take the bus home again, since Momma was too poor for a car and I was too frightened to walk past the scary house ever again. I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t stop thinking about the witch, but eventually, I fell asleep.

Momma said I could take the bus today, but then at school, Jack took one of my Hot Wheels. I knew Jack was going to be on that bus and that he would taunt me, so I decided to face my biggest fear. Today was a rainy day, which made it a little cold outside. I zipped up my jacket and continued on my journey when I felt something sniffing at my feet. I swiftly turned around. It was Birdie.

“H-Hi, Birdie!” I exclaimed. “G-Guess what I did at school today?”

Birdie let me pet him and wagged his tail as he listened to my story about Jack. He sniffed at my pockets.

“Sorry, I don’t have any treats for you today.”

Birdie looked sad, but his expression soon changed as I pulled the ball out of my backpack.

“Go get it, Birdie!” I yelled, throwing the ball down the sidewalk. He retrieved the ball for me, dropping it at my feet. I petted him and told him I loved him. Then, I threw the ball again, but this time, my aim was off. Oh no! I had accidentally thrown the ball into the yard of the scary house. Birdie took off to get the ball, and I tried to stop him.

“Birdie, no! D-Don’t go there! T-That’s the witch’s house!”

But Birdie didn’t listen. He wasn’t scared. He darted off, his paws causing the leaves to fly up like confetti. Next thing I knew, Birdie was doing circles by the witch’s front door.

“C-Come back!” I begged him, but before I could continue, out of the house stepped an elderly man who could barely get around without a walker.

My eyes were wide open; I felt frozen.

“Hello, boy!” he said in a friendly tone.

I didn’t know what to say. This man wasn’t a witch.

“H-Hi,” I said very shyly.

Birdie made his way back to me and dropped the ball at my feet, and I quickly put the ball into my backpack.

“Come here, girl!” the old man said.

Girl? I was confused. I thought Birdie was a boy, but I guess there’s no way to tell.

“S-She’s a girl?” I asked him.

“Yes, sir!” he laughed. “Bella has been my dog for 15 years. she’s an old fart, but she sure does still have that puppy energy.”

I laughed. This man seemed nice.

“Come on in, boy!” he exclaimed.“You too, Bella, it’s rainy and yucky out here.”

I looked around and then decided to follow him inside. The inside wasn’t rotten like the outside. I saw an old couch and a black-and-white TV, but there weren’t any cobwebs or recipes for stew made of children.

“W-Where’s the witch?” I asked him.

“Witch?” he laughed followed by a cough. “I know Halloween is coming up, boy, but I’m way too old for decorations.”

I looked at Birdie, who made her way to a dog bed in the corner. Next to the dog bed was a metal bowl full of dog food, and next to the metal bowl was a coffee table stacked with newspapers and medicine bottles.

“You live in this neighborhood, boy?” he asked me.

“Y-Yes, sir,” I responded.

“You don’t have to call me sir, just call me pal,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “You want some?” he asked.

I began to laugh. Momma never let me drink coffee.

“Nah, I’m just kidding, boy.”

I looked around and then back at the old man, who stumbled as he went to put his creamer back in the fridge.

“You need any help with that, sir?” I asked him.

“If you don’t mind, thank you, pal!” he answered.

I helped him back to the couch.

“I haven’t been getting around too good lately. I got cancer after my wife died a few years back, and ever since then, I haven’t really had nobody to take care of me.”

I looked down at my feet and then at the blacked-out window.

"I'm also losing sight through seeing holes, and so the light gives me a headache. Good thing it's not too sunny out today, right, boy?" He laughed.

The man looked cold, so I reached over to give him a blanket. On the floor, I saw Birdie nibbling at the tennis ball on the bottom of his walker.

“Pssst—hey stop!” I whispered to her.

“Don’t worry about it, pal,” the old man said to me. “Bella doesn’t have a lot of toys left to play with since she’s chewed ‘em all up, and I haven’t been able to go to the store.”

I reached into my backpack and slowly pulled out the ball.

“Well would ya looky there! That boy’s got you ya own ball,” the man said.

I gently threw the ball as the old man sipped his coffee, his hand shaking so hard he could barely get a sip.

“You’ve been taking care of Bella, haven’t you, boy?” he asked me.

“She-she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend,” I responded.

The old man set his cup of coffee down and then handed me a leash.

“I’m getting old, pal, and I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. What do you say, would you take care of her for me?”

I smiled so big I felt my cheeks getting red.

“You got it, pal. And—I’ll take care of you too.”

The old man’s grin turned into a frown.“I’m sorry, boy. I appreciate your offer, but I don’t have a lot of money left to my name and nothing to give to you in return.”

I turned my head to stare at his door and then back at the old man.

“My momma said that we neighbors all take care of each other, and that’s all that matters.”