Part 11 (1/2)
”Elementary kids write haikus when they study j.a.pan. I had to read one while wearing a homemade bedsheet kimono at the Cultures of the World Festival, back in the day, when I was only a wee one.”
”Do you remember the haiku you read?”
”No.”
Private Jackson didn't say anything in response.
”Why did you write me back this time?” I asked him. ”Why did you send me a haiku?”
”I don't know. I didn't want to. If we're going to be honest, I now wish I hadn't.”
”Why?”
”I don't really like people.”
”Why?”
”Dogs are better than people. I have a dog. That's all I need. Dogs are easy. People are complicated.”
”Tell me about it. Dogs are way better than people.”
”It was rude of me to slam the door in your face. My actions troubled me for days. It was rude. Unkind. I feel as though I have accrued bad karma.”
”No worries. People are rude to me all the time. I'm totally used to it. My mom's boyfriend slams the door in my face all the time. At least you didn't call me a b.i.t.c.h, right? Oliver's a grade-A a-hole.”
PJ didn't laugh at that joke but said, ”You looked like the type of person who likes dogs.”
”How can you tell?”
”You have a kind dog-loving look about you.”
”Thanks.”
”I wasn't complimenting you. I was just stating a fact.”
”Un-thanks.”
He laughed slightly at that one, covering his mouth, as if he had burped, and then said, ”I thought maybe if I sent you a haiku, and you understood what it meant, that would prove that you'd like to see my dog run, and then-after you saw Ms. Jenny run the bases-we'd be even.”
”That's a pretty elaborate plan, Jackson.”
”Please don't make fun of me.”
”I wasn't making fun of you. I was just stating a fact,” I said, because I love a running joke.
”I'm not going to write you any more letters. This is a one-shot deal. I want to be upfront about that. I'm not looking to make a friend. I just wanted to erase the bad karma I created when I slammed the door in your face. I didn't ask you to come to my door, but the universe sent you and I acted poorly, so I have to reverse that before I go back into my house where I can be alone with Ms. Jenny.”
”Cool. Letters suck,” I said, even though I really dig letters. I was sorta figuring out that PJ was a little nuts by this point, but I still dug him. He didn't seem mean, and he was trying to make up for slamming the door in my face. People don't often make stuff up to me. ”So why did you write me a haiku?”
”I write haikus all day long. That's what I do. All I do.”
”What do you mean that's what you do?”
”I mean, I get up in the morning, walk and feed Ms. Jenny, write haikus until five PM-keeping my thoughts concentrated and pure-walk and feed Ms. Jenny, read the haikus of other more talented poetry masters at night-keeping my thoughts pure and concentrated-and then I go to bed at eight PM.”
”Every day?”
”Yes.”
”No bull?”
”It's what I do. Not very interesting, I'm afraid.”
”Are you kidding me? That's the most interesting hooey I've heard in-like weeks.”
PJ smiled at that one, but in a confused sorta way-like he maybe had to pa.s.s gas. ”You're teasing me.”
”No way. I really dig haikus. Five. Seven. Five. Seventeen syllables. That's the bomb.”
”You're making fun of me.”
”Why would I make fun of you?” I asked PJ.
”I'm not used to taking walks with people.”
”Neither am I.”
”We're here,” PJ said to me, and when I looked up and around, I realized that we were on the town baseball field. She runs the diamond. ”Watch this. It's beautiful. The opposite of a door slammed in your face.”
When he let Ms. Jenny off the leash, the little thing started sprinting around the baseball diamond. She ran really fast and hard, but her legs were so little that it took her quite a long time to make it all the way around, which was so frickin' cute that I had to follow her on her second lap, which made her bark and start to run circles around me as we made our way around the bases. When I hit home plate, I looked over at Private Jackson and he was smiling at me in this very strange and almost eerie way, so I picked up his dog and held her to my face, giving her a kiss, before we walked back to PJ.
”So do you forgive me for slamming the door in your face? Are we even now?” he asked me.
”You bet. That was great!”
He kinda smiled in this really sad way, and then I couldn't think of anything else to say.
On the walk back to his house, Ms. Jenny peed on a tree and p.o.o.ped by a bush, but neither of us said anything.
When we arrived at his house, I said, ”If you ever feel like writing me another haiku, I'd love to read more of your work.”
”Don't make fun of me,” he said.
”I'm not. Can I send you some of my haikus? Maybe you could critique one or two for me,” I said, even though I hadn't written a haiku since third grade. True.
”I just wanted to make up for slamming the door in your face, and now that I have erased the bad karma, I'd like you to leave me alone. Please. It's what I most want.”
That bit muted me.
He turned and started walking toward his door, and I kept waiting for him to look back over his shoulder and say something nice, or give me some sorta sign that he really wanted to see me again and be my friend, but he didn't look back or anything, which made me feel sorta mad at first, but then that madness turned into a sadness that stuck with me for many days, until I got this crazy idea: I would send Private Jackson a hopeful haiku every day, and every one of the haikus would be about dogs, because that was the only thing I knew he liked.