Strays by Ron Koertge Page A

“Thanks, Teddy.”
    “So are you ready to go?”
    “In a minute.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, where a science-fiction movie is playing. “I want to see the thing with all the arms again.” He motions to C.W. “There was a black guy, but the monster ate him first.”
    “Now, ain’t that the way it goes, though.” He saunters over to Astin. “Word on the street is you and Ted were makin’ out in the Gap.”
    “Fuck you.” He waves me toward him. “You’re in this movie, too, Teddy.”
    “Yeah? Which one am I?”
    He points. “Mr. Thoughtful there in the glasses. He’s next on the menu.”
    “Where you guys goin’?” C.W. asks. “When you go?”
    I answer for both of us. “Megan’s.”
    “She’s Belle’s friend, right?”
    “One of ’em,” says Astin.
    “Belle’s cute. She was watchin’ us play ball the other day.”
    “Teddy here’s fixed up with Wanda today.”
    “Which one is she now?” asks C.W.
    Astin cups both hands and holds them in front of his chest. “Curly hair, real white skin, big rack.”
    C.W. leans into me. “There you go, Slick. Live off the fat of the land. We make a player out of you yet.”
    “Ted! Can I see you a minute.”
    We all look at Mr. Rafter, who came out of nowhere.
    I tell him, “Sure.”
    “I’m not waitin’ till your movie’s over. Meet me out back.”
    “Oh, man,” says C.W. “He chewed me out yesterday for leavin’ the hall light on. Now it’s your turn.”
    Astin shakes his finger at me. “Just don’t drag those garbage cans. Lift ’em. That way they last longer.”
    C.W. points to the screen. “Here comes the monster.”
    Outside, Bob is turning the trash cans so the OSH labels face the same way. “Want to give me a hand here, Ted?”
    We carry the first one out of the little corral he made for them, up the driveway, and almost to the street. Then on our way back, he says, “Let me show you something.”
    We skip the rest of the trash cans and go right into his workshop, which is spotless. The saw blades gleam, the drill press is immaculate, all the tools hanging on the wall have white outlines like bodies at a crime scene.
    “I spend a lot of time in here,” he says, “because everything is where it’s supposed to be when it’s supposed to be there. Are you following me here?”
    “I think so.”
    “Sir.”
    “I think so, sir.”
    “So when you’re supposed to be down for breakfast at seven thirty, that’s what I mean.”
    “But I do come down at seven thirty.”
    “Five.”
    I look up at him. “Pardon me?”
    “Seven thirty-five. That’s when you came down yesterday.”
    “Oh.”
    “Measure twice; cut once. Screw up twice and you’re history.”
    “I’ll get up earlier.”
    “Good for you. You’re not much trouble, Ted. I’ll give you that. You don’t whine to your social worker or give me any lip. But you can always do better.”
    He leads me outside again. I know what I’m supposed to say. “I can take care of the rest of these trash cans. They’re not heavy.”
    “That’s the ticket,” he says. “Now, listen up — when Astin leaves in June, we’re not taking another boy. That room is yours. The same goes for C.W. if he lasts that long. You two are it. Don’t upset the applecart and you can age out here. Then I’m going on a cruise to Alaska: all you can eat and bears to look at through the binoculars. Barbara can come if she wants to or she can sit in her rocker with that doll. It’s all the same to me.”
    “I understand.” I pick up one of the green cans.
    “Don’t drag it, and it’ll last longer.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Make sure you finish up out here before you do anything else.”
    “Astin and I are just going over to Megan’s.”
    “Well, police this area first, and when you rake that little patch of dirt over there, I want to see all the lines in one direction.”
    Astin starts the Harley, and I climb on behind him. I used to think I was like the feral cats my