J.T. Rives
Stories of transformation, identity, and the moment everything shifts.
J.T. Rives writes fiction rooted in transformation—stories that begin in the familiar and drift into something stranger. Her work explores identity, memory, and those moments when reality no longer behaves as expected.By day, she is a technical writer, shaping complex systems into clear language. Her fiction moves in the opposite direction, drawn to ambiguity, liminal spaces, and the tension between who we are and who we become.
The Chosen Gods
A NOVEL IN PROGRESS | J.T. RIVES
Taniveer worships illusions. The Chosen Gods are worshipped not for who they are, but for what they appear to be—beautiful, perfect, eternal. Yet their divinity is a cage built on stripped memory and erased emotions.Tull, the last Divinius, begins to unravel as the silence inside him stirs with forgotten feelings. Delina, chosen to succeed him, sees her trials falter and her own beauty begins to crack like a mirror. Aven, dismissed as unworthy, descends into sabotage in a desperate bid to save her. Beyond them, the Arkhezi whisper of truths that the Verdalis Chosen would rather bury, and the once-mindless Detached begin to awaken.As illusions break, so too do loyalties, faith, and the fragile order of gods. To survive the coming Sundering, each must face what lies beneath the mask of divinity—and what it means to be human when humanity itself is forbidden.
Short Stories
SHORT STORIES AND FICTION | J.T. RIVES
As I develop my fiction writing, I find myself drawn to transformation—how people endure, evolve, and re-form under emotional pressure. My stories tend to reflect this, whether they take place in modern-day worlds, evoke coming-of-age nostalgia, or are set in a dystopian future.I’m particularly interested in writing that changes not only how we see others, but how we view and come to understand ourselves.I am currently unpublished and working hard to change that. I am also at work on longer fiction that continues to explore similar themes of emotional and psychological change.
Yellow Cat Fever
J.T. RIVES
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
There is a popular engagement farm on social media that goes something like this:Did '80s kids really run around all day long with no supervision like feral kids?Naturally, legions of Generation X accounts can't help but respond and shout things like:"Yes, we drank straight from the hose!""Yes, because we didn't have smartphones and Xbox consoles to ruin our attention spans!""We made forts in the woods and went unseen for weeks at a time!"I have since learned not to respond to these clickbait posts (after about a hundred times), but it did stir a bit of nostalgia to think back to what we got up to when we were running around in the days before high school. Back before we were "cool".Thus, this story was inspired. A story about pre-teen kids in the late '70s, early '80s, and what went on during the day when parents were at work. And specifically, a story about the end of innocence when we realized that the things we have always thought about our childhood may not actually be true.
One fat drop of sweat slides a trail down the ridge of my dusty nose. Perfectly centered, it drops before I even know it is there. My eyes don’t move from the feral tomcat. I clench an early-season pine cone in my right hand, the hard and green kind, and a thick, gnarled stick in my left. Best I could find at short notice. I only got the Yellow Cat Operations alert, what we call a YCO, five minutes ago, and you’ve got to be ready quick when they come. My hope is to stun the mean bastard with the pine cone and then bash it with my stick. He senses something is wrong, though. He moves cautiously, one paw lifted while sniffing the air and twitching what’s left of his tail. I try not to move. Where the hell is Stuart?The tomcat is a light orange short-haired breed but we call him the Yellow Cat. He’s dirty with patches of his fur ripped out in places, and a chunk of one ear is missing. He's a scrapper and he's been killing kittens. In spite of his appearance, the only time I've ever seen him bleed was the one time Stuart managed to get close enough to peg him with a rock, and even then, it wasn’t much. The Yellow Cat claws at something in the dirt, and I relax. I don't think he has seen me.Stuart, damn him, appears and ducks down behind a bush on the other side of the tom, and I see it stiffen. "Shit!", I mouth. Stuart just plain can't hunt. That's probably why we haven't caught the thing yet. If you are going to call a YCO alert, you can’t let yourself be seen when you try to take the field. That’s my opinion, but it’s also a fact. Yet, here he is wearing a bright red, "Use the Force!", Star Wars t-shirt because it's his favorite movie right now.The tom spooks and bolts for the open field to its left, and I'm up and running. The bushes scratch at my knees as I crash through them, but I hardly feel it. I see Stuart out of the corner of my eye, trying to flank. He’s running on his tiptoes. He walks on his tiptoes, too. He's still pretty quick, though. I know the cat will outrun us in a matter of seconds so I wing my pine cone at it, hard as I can, yelling. Stuart starts yelling too. My cone lands between the Yellow Cat's hind legs and I see it bounce up and hit the feral's stomach just as Stuart hurls a rock at it. His rock shoots way past the tom and crashes harmlessly through some bushes to its right. See? Can't hunt. Predictably, the cat darts left away from the rock and I sidearm my stick, sending it whirling like a boomerang into its ribs. I whoop in victory. It is the first time I've hit the Yellow Cat! My stick was too little, though, and my left hand is definitely weaker than my right because the cat doesn’t even flinch or register the impact, just keeps booking it. It is across the field in moments and soon enough, we are too far behind to catch it. Besides, we're out of weapons too. Stuart only had that one rock. He didn't even have anything in his left hand. I can only shake my head at his lack of preparation.He runs up to me, panting, a grin on his face. I can’t help it, I grin back at him, excited."Did you see?" I nearly shout. "I hit the fucker!" We both laugh, and Stuart wipes the sweat from his brow then reaches down and pulls up his tube socks that have fallen during the chase."I saw! We almost had that bastard. I wish I'd seen it just a little bit earlier to sound the alert." I decide maybe he's not such a bad hunter. He did sound the alert after all."If you hadn't let him see you go behind that bush in your red shirt!" I say and punch him in the arm."If you had hit it with your pine cone!" He returns."I did, asshole. It bounced up and hit his stomach.""Yeah, right. Anyway, I'm probably going to the movies again today so I need to wear this." I roll my eyes, but let it go.By unspoken agreement, we start to walk back to his house. We always get some sweet tea from his momma after a hunt. Plus, I bet he's not supposed to be this far away from home."Your momma home?" I glance at him, and he nods. He doesn't talk very much about that.Stuart is a year older than me, but his parents don't let him do anything around the neighborhood so maybe that's why they take him to the movies so much even if it is the same one over and over again like Star Wars because of his love for Han Solo. They even bought him all of the figures, including at least five Stormtroopers, which makes setting up battles much cooler. But then again, he can't even ride his bike around the block without them sitting on their front porch and watching so I'm not sure it's worth it.Meanwhile, my brothers and me are alone all day because both my parents work. Stuart says sometimes that he can't believe my parents let a girl run around and even go swimming by herself. But I think he only says that because he wishes he could too. Besides, he sneaks out or I sneak in to his house when his parents are gone. We just monitor the windows for their car to pull up in the driveway, so I can sneak out the back door and over the back porch railing so I don’t get caught.Stuart and I walk up the steps to his back porch and cats swarm around our feet. His momma, Ms. Joan, has about fifteen of them in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They start meowing right away like we are going to feed them. I don't know why, though, because we never do. Ms. Joan does that. She loves it. When I'm mad at Stuart, I call his momma the Cat Lady and he gets pissed as all get out. He calls me a bastard. It riles me up even if it’s true. So I guess we’re even."Let's check on them before you go in,” I say, and Stuart agrees. In the back right corner of the porch, there is a small wooden cabin, just our size. We can't call it our fort because his parents have stored too much junk in there now. I guess they bought it for Stuart when he was little and think he is too big for it now. It would sure make a cool home base for Yellow Cat Operations, though. Every time we go inside, I wish they would clean out their stuff.We have cleared out a little spot where we keep some things. Normally, there is enough room for both of us to sit, but now Fluff has had kittens in there, so we can only stand inside the doorway and look. She glances up at us now, unconcerned, while she nurses three of them. One is tiger-striped, one is black, and one is orange, like Fluff herself. They don't make too much noise yet because they are still too small. Fluff licks a paw and looks back at us. She is a friendly cat despite her unfortunate name. Ms. Joan always goes for the girly names, much to my dismay."Well, at least the fucker didn't get up here this time," Stuart whispers. If Ms. Joan heard him say 'fucker', who knows what she'd do. Probably have a heart attack. She seems too gentle to me to give Stuart a whipping. His daddy can be loud, though. Not mean like mine, but still loud. I nod, not taking my eyes off the kittens. I love them. There is no way my daddy would let me have one. I learned that a long time ago. So I have to be content with Ms. Joan’s cats and kittens.We leave the cabin so Fluff can feed in peace, and Stuart goes inside to get our tea. I'm not standing guard for YCO or anything. It's just that I rarely go inside when his parents are home. They haven't exactly said that I couldn't. Least not to me. It’s just that every time I go inside when they are home, they smile and ask how I am, but I still can't help feeling like they wish that I would just leave. They are older than normal parents, I’ve noticed. Maybe that's why. Maybe that's why Stuart can't walk more than a block away from their house in any direction, either.I sit down on the steps while I wait for Stuart and my sweet tea and think about hitting the Yellow Cat with my stick. I still can't believe I hit it. First time in three years. That's how long we've been chasing the tom. Not just Stuart and me, either. Sometimes my brothers are members of YCO too. Until they get pissed because Stuart and I are always in charge of hunts. Too bad. Stuart and I formed YCO, plus we are older and more experienced. If they don't like it, too bad, so sad for them.It was Stuart's daddy, Mr. Jim, who first saw the Yellow Cat, right around the time we found the second dead kitten in the cabin. The first dead one could have been sleeping cause it didn’t have a mark on it. The second one, though, was bleeding on its head. Mr. Jim saw us looking at it and came over."I'll bet it was that mean ol’ tomcat." He said, shaking his head. He looked down at the tiny kitten and frowned."What tom?" We asked, looking up at him. I was petting one of the kittens that was still alive."I saw a big wild tomcat out here this morning," he said, looking out into the woods. "Not one of ours. Dirty, beat up. Probably one of the ones that comes and fights.” We knew what he meant. Everyone in the neighborhood had heard the cats screaming and fighting at one time or another."I tried to feed it," he continued. "But it hissed at me and ran away.” He paused. “Sometimes, that's what these ferals do when there's too many mouths. Too much competition for them. Anyway, that's too bad about that kitty. You two go on now so I can bury the poor thing."I was relieved when he said that. I do not want to go around burying dead kittens. I have no doubts about that. With the appearance of the wild yellow tom in the neighborhood, every new litter would find one or two of the kittens eventually dead. One day, Stuart and I were walking back to his house, and we caught the Yellow Cat sniffing at a litter of kittens that Peach was nursing. We were as startled as the big tomcat and it ran off before we could do much but gape at it. But I remember that was the day we started Yellow Cat Operations and YCO alerts, which meant it was around and prowling. Stuart was a general, since it was his cats that were being killed. And I was a Major. My brothers were Sergeants when they were with us. We drew up elaborate battle plans and clever traps each week to catch the Yellow Cat. Sometimes the Yellow Cat would disappear for months at a time, but we were always ready to call a YCO alert because, sooner or later, the bastard would be back. Just like today. After Fluff and her kittens.Stuart's back door creaks open and he walks back out on his tiptoes. I notice he doesn't have any tea.
"I have to go inside now." He says. "We'll have to stop Operations until tomorrow."I sigh. "Shoot. He's probably still close somewhere too.""Yep." He rocks back on his heels and doesn’t say anything more.I get up from the steps and start walking home. "See you tomorrow.""Yep."This is normal for us. Stuart's parents always make him go inside at odd times. Even when it’s not close to dark. He misses out on some good hide and seek because of that. Sometimes, I feel real sorry for Stuart.I think that if we are ever going to catch the Yellow Cat, we have to learn to be as quiet as possible in the woods. So I'm up early the next day and I'm seeing how silently I can move from bush to bush on my way to Stuart's house. I try to see if I can avoid stepping on a stick. A stick cracking will make the cat run for sure and, who knows, maybe it’s still around from yesterday and after Fluff again. I'm up a little earlier than usual this morning. Stuart's parents likely won't let him out yet but I decide to try. Might get lucky. Might even run into the Yellow Cat. With that thought, I pick up a pine cone. I manage to get it off the ground without making too much noise. It's very hard to be completely quiet in the woods.I scuttle on my hands and knees into the bushes behind Stuart's back porch. Not quiet enough, I decide. I'm getting better though. I'm on the side where I climb over the railing when I sneak out of the house; beside the air conditioner and just under the cabin where Fluff has her kittens. I’m not there long when Stuart's back door opens and someone comes out to the porch. Thinking it might be Stuart, I start to ease up over the porch. Be funny if I can grab his ankle and scare the shit out of him. I realize quickly, though, that the footsteps are too heavy and I drop back down. It's Mr Jim, I think. Ms. Joan always starts calling to her cats in a high, squeaky voice right away. Maybe he is going to feed them this morning instead and I keep quiet. I'm sure he wouldn't like me sneaking around under his porch when he doesn't even like me in his house.He treads heavily over to the cabin and stands right over my head, looking in on Fluff and her kittens. I hope he doesn't scare them. Fluff only likes Stuart and I in there I'm sure. We are the YCO, after all and she’s used to us. The cabin scrapes a bit on the back deck’s wooden floor, and I look up at the cobwebs and through its cracks. I can't see much, though. Just him squeezing through the small door."Hi, Miss Fluff," I hear him half whisper. "Sorry, darlin'. Just too many mouths..."The air conditioner beside me kicks on with a jolt, making me jump. The fan drowns out the rest of his whispering to Fluff. I look to make sure I'm not too close to the unit. Whirling blades make me nervous. I peer back up, but Mr. Jim is already leaving the cabin now and walking back to the house. I wait a few minutes, but he never comes back out to feed the rest of the cats, so now I’m not sure if he even fed Fluff. Maybe he was just checking on the kittens.Finally, I get bored of trying to be quiet, and I stand up and walk around the porch to see if Stuart can come out yet. Maybe we'll be lucky today, and his parents will let Stuart go swimming in the lake. With their supervision, of course. I can see the cabin has moved a little bit because of Mr. Jim squeezing himself in there, and I decide to make sure he didn't scare Fluff too badly.Fluff is there, purring away as usual, and nursing her kittens. She looks up at me and twitches her whiskers. I think that is the way she says hello, maybe. I squat and begin to pet the tiger-striped kitten, my favorite. We don't know if she is a girl yet, she's too young to tell, but I call her a she. And I'd name her Tiger, too, if I could have her. Ms. Joan will name her something horrible, like Princess.I feather my fingertips down over her tiny body and pause on her stomach. Kittens breathe really fast, and I like to feel the stomach rise and fall. I wait for a minute, but Tiger doesn't breathe. I poke at her, then look at the white-and-orange kitten. Nothing moves. And the white kitten has a little bit of blood coming out of one tiny ear. It is very red on white fur, I notice. I glance at the back door, and then I look back at Fluff. She keeps an eye on me as I slowly stand back up so I don't scare her.I just remembered that I told my brothers that I'd take them swimming early today. More than likely, Stuart will not be able to go. He most often can’t anyway, right? I really don’t feel like asking his parents right now anyway or seeing Mr. Jim. I slip back over the porch rail and drop quietly to the ground beside the air conditioner and freeze mid-crouch.Under the porch and staring eye-to-eye at me is the Yellow Cat. Unbelievable. How he got up there and killed Fluff's kittens without me seeing him is amazing, considering I was just by this same air conditioner not five minutes ago, and Mr. Jim was up there too. Almost seems impossible. My stomach is fluttering and it feels like I'm starting to get sick. Like I might need to throw up.Neither of us moves for a moment. Honestly, I just don't feel like chasing the Yellow Cat today. I'm taking the day off and going swimming with my brothers instead. I move away from the tom and I don't look back on my way home. I wipe away a tear as I cross the street and now I really am acting like a silly girl. What kind of girl cries because she starts feeling sick anyway? A stupid one. When Stuart calls later that day, I tell him I feel too sick to do YCO, and I watch television with my brothers instead. Turns out, we never hunt again. And I finally got to see Star Wars later that week. It was pretty good.
Stuck
J.T. RIVES
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Back in the before times, which is to say, back before we had tiny computers in our pockets that could instantly look up anything we needed to know immediately, there was often a lot of confusion in the world. Particularly when you were a kid and encountered something you had, to date, never seen before. Misunderstandings often ensued but were eventually corrected. This is one such misunderstanding. Names of both dogs and people have been changed to protect reputations.
As soon as I noticed that Brandy and Lilly were in my front yard, I called Darren Paap over to have a look. That particular Saturday afternoon found my brother grocery shopping with my mother and, as usual, my father playing golf. Since I didn't much care what brand of cereal we ate — a fact of vital importance to my brother — I was on my own when the two dogs appeared. Darren Paap definitely wasn't my first choice to call. He was skinny, had no athletic skill to speak of — which was important since all we did during summers at the lake was play ball and swim — and thought himself funny when he really wasn't. Plus, he also thought Duran Duran was the best band in the world. A couple of years later, we'd all think Duran Duran was pretty cool, but Darren Paap was way ahead of his time at that point. Unfortunately, because my brother was concerning himself with a decision between Count Chocula and Fruity Pebbles, and since no other kids were in the immediate vicinity, Darren Paap it was. I needed a witness for the sight in my yard. This was going to be a story that was worth repeating.It wasn't so much that there were dogs in our yard; that wasn't entirely unusual, since this was before the days of leash laws and pooper-scoopers. Though Brandy being out of his cage was not an everyday occurrence. No, what had prompted the need for a second opinion was to verify if what I thought I was witnessing was real. That was, Brandy and Lilly, an English Springer Spaniel and Cocker Spaniel, respectively, appeared to have gotten themselves stuck together and now seemed inclined to stand in my yard like some kind of two-headed crab dog.I had, to this point, considered myself rather worldly, even for ten years old. After all, I read more library books than any other kid I knew. But I had never read anything that might explain what I was seeing here. It was truly puzzling.Both Lilly and Brandy belonged to our neighbor, and my dad's best friend, Mr. Hank, who lived behind us. I felt pretty sure Mr. Hank didn't know that his dogs were loose or that they had somehow gotten themselves into this terrible predicament, else he'd have already been out looking for them. Lilly, a brown and white Cocker Spaniel, was almost always inside Mr. Hank's house as the favored 'indoor' dog, and Brandy, the English Springer Spaniel, could always be found in a small pen out back except for the days Mr. Hank took him hunting. The two dogs were night and day. Lilly had the 'I am the favorite dog' good temperament, and Brandy...well, not so much. I could recall only once that Brandy had ever been out of his cage before this other than when he went hunting. In fact, it had caused a small panic amongst our gang. Being locked up in a pen for most of your life, with kids teasing you at every opportunity, did not provide you with a sweet disposition. Brandy's mood was not improved now that he was free again, yet somehow stuck to his pack member. He looked miserable and surly as he always did, despite the fact that he was out of his pen. The last time this happened, he ran like the wind after growling at us a few times; he was so glad to be out!My family’s house boasted a huge bay window in the living room, the better to look out on the pine trees that framed the lake it sat on. This gave Darren Paap and me prime seats to view the two dogs that now wandered and skedaddled around the front yard together like some misshapen dog-crab horror from the nuclear power plant down the road in Southport. It was endlessly speculated that we would have a disaster one day and things just like this would happen."I can’t hardly believe it!" was the first thing Darren Paap said when he got his first glimpse of the oddity. "I thought you were lying!""Of course I wouldn't lie!" I replied, somewhat irritated.As if I would call him over, of all people, just to lie for his company. I was somewhat disappointed that only Darren Paap was around at the moment. As things go, having two dogs wrapped together in your front yard was a thing to behold, and especially when one of them is the dog everybody knew you didn't mess with. This would be a story worth retelling, and Darren would be his usual stupid self and interject phrases like 'Hungry Like the Wolf' when he did so, I had no doubt. Any excuse to quote Duran Duran. However, I also knew that every story is better when you have someone to share it with and to confirm you are not embellishing. Or, at least, can help you embellish it. As I said, I read a lot, so I knew these things."It looks like their two back legs are wrapped around each other," Darren observed. He was so close to the bay window, trying to get a better look at the dogs, that his breath left a small condensation circle on the glass. He wasn't telling me anything I hadn't already noted. The dogs were facing away from each other, and two of their back legs appeared wrapped around each other. Of course, there was the problem with Brandy and his teeth if we tried to get too close. I would need to get creative."Listen, Paap. You need to go out there, pick up that pine cone by the tree next to them, and peg those dogs with it. That will get them unstuck," I advised with no basis in fact whatsoever.Although given his lack of athleticism, I had serious doubts about his ability to hit anything. He was always picked last in any game we played, if we even bothered to call him at all, and especially if it involved throwing any type of ball. I mainly just wanted to see what would happen.Darren gaped at me. In our neighborhood, there were two things you did not do as a general rule. The first was touching Brandy's cage when he was looking dead at you. The dog was mean, and he would almost always rush you and try to take a piece out of you, cage or no. The second was set foot in Ms. Boreaux's yard; the old woman who lived at the opposite end of the development from the Hank's. Mrs. Boreaux had moved to the neighborhood a little less than a year ago and, hoping for a new kid to play with, we had watched the vans unload her furniture and boxes. We were quickly disabused of the notion that she might have a kid. Her belongings had an old, musty smell and even looked as if they belonged to a previous century. They all but said, 'An old person lives here. She might even be a witch.' Further, no baseball, football, or even Barbie doll was to be found, which meant not even a girl, God forbid, lived there. A girl would be akin to another Darren Paap and would be just as useless in our book. When the wrinkled, old lady caught us watching, she stared at us with watery eyes, one of them blue and unseeing which confirmed her status to us. We left the street in front her house and had rarely caught glimpses of her since. It became neighborhood lore that, along with touching Brandy's cage, if you took a step into Ms. Boreaux’s yard, you would be instantly cursed if not dead because she was a witch for sure."I can't hit that dog with a pine cone!" Darren half yelled. "He’s out of his cage, and the first thing he’ll do is bite me if he gets unstuck!"This was a fair point and a likely scenario according to neighborhood rules. Brandy was quite vicious as Springer Spaniels go. He was a hunting dog after all."Well, we can't leave Mr. Hank's dogs stuck. I'm sure he wouldn't want that." I said, trying to sound logical. "Here, I'll go with you." I made my way toward the door and, remaining true to form, Darren Paap followed.The two spaniels eyed us warily when we approached, but miraculously still had not separated or moved from my front yard."Take that cone there," I instructed Darren, nodding to a good-sized one at the base of the nearest tree. "I will circle over here in case they try to get away."I had forgotten that trying to get the dogs away was the point and started circling them in a wide arc to their right. Darren played gamely along and picked up the pine cone, though he made no immediate move toward the twosome. The sight of me circling them and Darren picking up a perceived weapon was too much for Brandy. Not only did he bare his teeth at me, but a low-throated warning growl escaped his throat, and he tried to sidle away from us, half-dragging Lilly along with him. Lilly joined her pack mate's symphony by adding her own nervous whining, making for a decidedly unpleasant sound. Since Brandy could not move with Lilly dragging him down, what resulted was a half-run, half crab-walk for a couple of feet before they gave up, and Brandy stood nervously baring his teeth at us again. The sight and sound of the aggressive-looking crab dog monster completely unnerved both Darren and me, and we scrambled our way halfway back to the house in alarm. Darren, amazingly, hadn't dropped the pine cone, but there was no way he was getting any closer, nor, truth be told, was I."You are gonna have to call Mr. Hank to come get them," Darren said, and I reluctantly agreed. Retreating back into the living room and the safety of the bay window's protective glass, I dialed Mr. Hank's number. I had always been instructed that in the event of an emergency to call Mr. Hank so his phone number, in addition to my own, was one of the first I memorized at an early age. He picked up on the second ring, sounding a little sleepy. He had never been as partial to golf as my father was, preferring instead to watch sports and nap on the weekends."Your dogs are in my front yard," I informed him without preamble."What? What are you talking about?" He yawned."Lilly and Brandy. They are loose in my yard." I clarified for him. "They're stuck," I added remembering he would need that information."What do you mean they're stuck?" He sounded more awake now. His voice faded in and out as if he were looking around his living room for Lilly, who was usually in the house but would not be now, of course, considering she was currently wrapped around Brandy in my front yard."Their legs are trapped somehow. Not in a trap," I said. It had occurred to me that he might think I was talking about some sort of hunting trap. I'd never seen my dad or him use those things, but they did go deer hunting each weekend in the fall."I mean, their legs are wrapped." I attempted to explain further. But I was too late."On my way," he said, and had already hung up before he even heard my last attempt.So often had our families made the trek between the two houses that a path had been worn in the copse of trees between them. Mr. Hank and my father even looked similar; short and stocky with thinning hair. The main difference was that my father was dark, and Mr. Hank was blond. And where my father was reserved and kind of stand-offish, Mr. Hank was friendly and warm. Given that Mr. Hank only lived a street over, by the time Darren Paap and I made our way back outside, here came Mr. Hank, walking fast, puffing and out of breath."Brandy is not in his cage." He said. I swear, it was as if everyone suddenly thought I was a liar these days."I know. I told you. He’s stuck to Lilly out front."Mr. Hank furrowed his brow but followed me out front without comment to have a look for himself. Brandy and Lilly were still there, of course, and still looking despondent. The second they laid eyes on Mr. Hank, they started whining and doing their weird crab-walk again, only they didn't get anywhere because Lilly was trying to go to him, and Brandy was trying to get away from him, most likely because he didn't want to be put back in his cage. The result was they moved sideways a few feet and then stopped with Lilly emitting another small whine. This must have made Mr. Hank mad because the more he stared at his dogs, the redder in the face he got."How do you think they got that way?" Darren Paap asked him. He, too, was staring at the dogs in obvious delight. "I've never seen anything like it!"He started hopping back and forth from one foot to the other in his excitement. Any minute now, he was apt to bust out with a Simon Le Bon lyric, I felt sure."You." Mr. Hank said, pointing at the jumping Darren. "Home." He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder in the direction of the Paap's house.Darren blinked in surprise. I have to admit I was kinda startled at this turn of events, too. Mr. Hank was normally pretty easy-going and was always teasing us kids about something. He did not sound friendly at all now. One look at his face told us he was not kidding in the least, however. There was no smile and he avoided our gaze entirely. Darren Paap was the kind of kid even an adult felt no qualms about pushing around, and he knew it. He wisely decided not to argue. Nevertheless, he began walking back toward his house, dragging his feet. Darren Paap would obey, but he'd do it slowly in case anything was to be missed.Mr. Hank glanced around, looking at everything but at the dogs that stood hanging their heads in front of him. Apparently, they knew they were not supposed to be where they were, let alone stuck together. His gaze fell on the water hose rolled up against the side of the house, and he strode toward it, having found what he was looking for. I glanced back at Darren Paap, still shuffling his way home and now at the edge of the front yard, and shrugged.Mr. Hank turned the spigot to the right with a squeak until the water was running almost full blast from the hose at his feet. I wasn't sure what he was thinking. There was no way the dogs would let him get close enough to give them a drink, despite the fact that they must be thirsty on this hot afternoon. Then, before I could ask him about his plan, Mr. Hank did something that astonished me. He took his thumb and covered the end of the hose to make the water squirt forcefully from the head. He walked up to the dogs as close as he could before they began to scuttle away and turned the end of the hose on them, shooting the water at them. Lilly yelped loudly, and just like that, the two dogs jerked apart and separated!"Git!" Hank yelled, kicking at and missing Brandy with his booted foot while waving his hand in the general direction of his house.Both dogs bolted toward the Hank’s house without looking back. Mr. Hank turned and walked back to the spigot, turned it off, and rolled the hose methodically back up next to it. Without another word, he turned on his heel and began to stride in the general direction his two dogs had taken back towards his house. After my initial shock, I recovered and ran after him when I realized no explanation would be offered."Hey!" I half-ran, half-skipped to keep up with him. "How did you do that? How did you know that water would make them untangle their legs?"He didn't answer me and instead kept walking, keeping his eyes on the trees at the back of his house."Maybe it just scared them." I half mused to myself. "Could have even hurt them."Hank stopped abruptly, almost making me crash into him. For the first time since he'd arrived, he looked me in the eye."Listen. Sometimes when dogs have puppies…” He stopped mid-sentence and pursed his lips together, thinking. “Here’s a better idea. If you want to know how that works, this is what you do," he said, smiling at me. He no longer looked mad. He finally looked like the old Mr. Hank again."When your dad gets home from playing golf, you tell him that two dogs were stuck together in the front yard and Mr. Hank turned the hose on them to get them unstuck. You ask him why they got stuck, and he'll know. And how that water worked. Tell him Mr. Hank said to ask him to explain it to you." Mr. Hank chuckled and began whistling as he walked up the path. “Yep. That’s what you do,"
he tossed back over his shoulder.
Thing is though, Mr. Hank had just effectively turned the hose on me, dampening my
enthusiasm. What he didn’t know is that I never asked my dad anything if I could help it unless it was, 'Please pass the salt', and only then if the food desperately needed it. I watched Mr. Hank walk away without pestering him further and stood alone in the middle of the path. Or maybe Mr. Hank did know, and that's why he told me to ask my father. Because he wanted to be left alone about what had happened, and knew telling me to ask my father would surely do it.My dad was no man to be asking silly kid questions. He was no Mr. Hank and was better off left alone to play his golf and relax on his couch. I had already learned this particular fact of life, and maybe Mr. Hank knew that too if he knew his friend at all and just didn’t want to be asked embarrassing questions that day or to explain the facts of life to a kid that wasn’t his.Because I'm sure it was awkward for him when I think back on it. Many years later, it dawned on me what had occurred with his dogs that summer afternoon, and what kind of embarrassing situation I'd put the poor man in. I had called him over to fetch his dogs, who had been mating, and were stuck together afterwards. Whereas, I just thought Mr. Hank's dogs had their legs stuck together, and a good hosing almost magically released them, the reality was, they would have separated naturally eventually. I know that now. Being the curious kid that I was, I wanted to ask questions of the one man I was comfortable with.Of course, when Darren Paap and I re-told the story later to the rest of the gang, we actually touched Brandy the Hell hound, half-crab that day, and Darren Paap damn near had his hand taken off for his trouble. In fact, we would probably be able to go in Ms. Boreaux’s yard now without being cursed, we said. But that's how these stories are told, you understand.
The White Prince
J.T. RIVES
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
There is often debate between nature and nurture about what makes us "us". I don't know the answer to that. I do know that back in the day, some of us needed a push to see that another world existed out there before we were aware of the one inside us. This story attempts to provide a snapshot of what used to be and how, sometimes, meeting the right people at the right time can help figure out what could be.
"The new guy looks like a white Prince," Angela informed me as soon as I started my shift."There's a new guy?""Yep." Angela leaned against the counter, snapping her gum. "And he is fiiiiine!" She wore the same dark navy blue McDonald's uniform I did, but managed to make it look better. Mine was splattered with sporadic grease stains that I could never fully launder out."Just started yesterday," she continued. "Full-time, too. Not a high-school boy. He's in the breakroom." She nodded her head towards the back.I headed back to clock in as Angela started flirting with a customer ordering a Big Mac. Typical Angie. Another cashier passed me on the way back from her break."Girrrrl," she said, giving me the eye. Apparently, everyone was talking.As soon as I entered the breakroom, I saw why. The new guy did look like Prince, only white. High cheekbones, thick lips, and almond-shaped hazel eyes. His hair was wavy brown silk that flopped over his forehead. He sat alone at a table, eating a fillet o' fish sandwich, a pack of Salem Lights and a red Bic lighter next to him."Hi," I said, hanging my shift jacket on a hook. I sat down across from him. I still had ten minutes before I needed to clock in."Hey, yourself," he said, swallowing a bite of his sandwich. "What's your name?""Jennifer.""Hi, Jen. I'm Jimmy."Jimmy. I tested the name in my mind. It didn’t sound all that cool, honestly. And I didn’t like being called Jen, either."You just move here?"I was a junior and he hadn't graduated before me. He nodded and finished off his sandwich, tossing the blue Styrofoam container in the trash."From Fayetteville. But I'm from Savannah. Stuck here in small town for now."He fished out a cigarette from his pack and tapped the end of it on the table to pack the tobacco. He lit it and blew out a stream of smoke at the ceiling."You party?" Jimmy looked at me, studying me. His elbow was propped on the table, the burning cigarette lightly held between two fingers."What else is there to do around here?" I said it casually, but the truth was, my circle of friends had become pretty limited."I might have some people over soon," he said. "Meet new people around here." He waved his cigarette.This caught my attention. An invite to the new guy's house that everyone was lusting over? Hell yes."Maybe you, that cook Stuart, and Amy out there.""Angela."He must have heard something in my voice. "What, no good?"I shrugged. "Her mother is my dad's boss. She lied about something I supposedly did. So her mom came to my house and yelled at my dad. I got grounded."He took another long drag from his Salem, considering. "Fuck her then."He blew out another puff of smoke, then stood up and smashed half of the cigarette out in the little silver ashtray on the table."My shift's over," he told me. "Just wanted the free meal first." He grabbed his jacket from a hook, a tan Member's Only instead of the standard McDonald's shift we are supposed to wear over our uniforms. "You know the 7-Eleven on the corner of 87?"I nodded."My roommate, Dale, works there. You need me; he knows where I'm at if I'm not here." Then he was gone.**I didn't see Jimmy again for three weeks after that because he worked the day shift and I only worked two nights a week. But I sure heard plenty about him. He took smoke breaks whenever he wanted. He had good weed and liked to party on the weekends. He didn't have a girlfriend, but plenty of girls wouldn't mind being one, including Angela, because not only was he good-looking, he had a badass attitude and didn't care what people thought.I finally worked up the nerve to stop by the 7-Eleven one Saturday afternoon. A short guy with pretty blue eyes was behind the counter. He was cute but old. Like, twenty-five years old. He smiled at me, but I got nervous, so I went and got a Mountain Dew and a Zero bar. I wasn't sure what to say when I got up to the counter, but I could see his name tag said Dale, so I just blurted it out."Do you know Jimmy? He told me to ask you if I needed to find him?" My heart pounded. This guy would make fun of me. They both would. But he didn't. He cleared his throat instead and then smiled."I do know him," he said. He pulled my stuff over and started ringing me up. "How do you know him?""I work at McDonald's too." I handed him a five-dollar bill."Oh, okay. You must be Jen. Jimmy told me about you.""Jennifer. He told me you were his roommate and would know where he was." I took the change he pushed back at me across the counter.Dale only smiled again and then nodded to another customer coming through the door. "He's a regular," he told me, then, "I know where he is. He and Debbie are on their way here now. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. Maybe you can go with them to Fayetteville."I wasn't sure what he meant by all that, but I was happy about my good luck, and I didn't have to wait long. They swept in the door shortly thereafter, laughing and chattering. Debbie, it turned out, was a friend of Jimmy's from high school and was visiting him for the weekend. She wore a short skirt, was heavily made up with blue eye shadow, and had teased hair. In my t-shirt and jeans, I felt plain and unattractive. I barely wore make-up and had just brushed my long hair back out of my face because it was Saturday, after all. I was instantly jealous."Jen!" Jimmy half yelled. "You're here!""I came to see if I could find you," I admitted, a little embarrassed, especially now that he was with his friend."You found me." He smiled at me. "Come to Fayetteville with us. I'm making a run." I didn't know what that meant, but I wanted to go. I knew that."How long will you be gone? I have a curfew.""Aw, she's still a baby." Debbie was smiling at me, looking me up and down. I wasn't sure whether this was an insult, but it didn't feel entirely friendly."We are going straight there and straight back. We will be back before dark. I promise."I watched as Dale reached up on the cigarette rack and pulled down a pack of Salem Lights. He tossed them to Jimmy."Be careful," he said.Jimmy winked at him without paying. Who were these people? Their world felt so exotic compared to mine, with its mundane Biology class and Band practice.Out in the parking lot, Jimmy led us to an ancient white Cadillac Eldorado, a huge boat of a car clearly on its last legs."We're taking Bessie today," he announced. "I want you to see what Dale installed." I took the back seat while Jimmy and Debbie got into the front."Check it," Jimmy said. He pulled a cassette tape out of the glove compartment and popped it into the player. It was the only thing that looked new in this tank. "We had this put in last week."The first beats of Chaka Khan's "I Feel For You" filled the car. Jimmy turned the volume knob and grinned at Debbie."That is so damn fresh!" She nearly screamed. She started swaying and snapping her fingers with the beat.Jimmy started the car and drove us out of the parking lot, "Let's go now, Bessie."After a few miles, he turned down the music and caught my eye in the mirror. "So listen, Jen. We are just headed to Fayetteville to get a quarter bag. No big deal. You cool with that?"I was familiar with smoking pot. I used to do it with my old best friend, Shannon, before she decided she didn't want to be my friend. Her mother used to buy us beer and pot so long as we "partied in her apartment only". But that was sophomore year, and Shannon had a new best friend now. Whatever. Fine."Yeah, cool."Jimmy smiled. "I thought so."***I watched the miles go by and stopped listening to their jabber until something caught my attention. Debbie was talking about her boyfriend, some guy who broke up with her. A soldier from Fort Bragg."Girl, you were just not sucking that man hard enough," Jimmy said.I turned my head from the window, shocked, as Debbie laughed. "Oh, I most certainly was. I can promise you that.""If I had that man, he would not be leaving the bedroom." Jimmy glanced at me in the mirror again, and Debbie was looking at me now, half turned in her seat with a small smile playing about her lips."You should just tell her," she said."I mean, you know I'm gay, right, Jen?" He kept glancing back and forth from me to the road."Totally gay," Debbie confirmed. She grinned at him. "Shame too.""Not to the men, honey, not to the men.""Does Dale know?" I ventured. They both laughed as if I had just said the funniest thing in the world. I could feel the heat in my face."Oh, sweet baby girl. Dale is my boyfriend."I didn't say much after that but just listened. I listened to them talk about men. And how Jimmy thought one of the cooks at McDonald's was cute and reminded him of a boyfriend he'd had before he met Dale. I listened to how they had moved to this small town because this was where Dale was from and, after he'd lost his job, they were here to get back on their feet. I listened to them talk about a club they were going to check out, and I understood that it was a gay club where mostly gay people went to have fun with other gay people."We'll get you a fake ID, and you can go with us. It's easy." Jimmy assured me.Most of all, I marveled. I marveled that Jimmy seemed to love being gay. That he told people he was gay, willingly, and did not hide it. That he went to places where other gay people went, like bars. I had never met anyone like him. In my world, this was something to be ashamed of and hidden. Not celebrated and definitely not talked about.A boy once said to me, "I hear you like girls." I don't know why he said it, but when he did, it terrified me because that's not what you want people to think about you. It was why I now had an ex-best friend after that rumor in sophomore year. But Jimmy had no problem with it. I sat in the back of Bessie the Cadillac and had my entire world view changed that day. As you get older, you identify the moments that are the "before" and "after" days when your life has changed. This would be one for me, though I didn't know it then."You are probably ready to jump out of this car right now, aren't you?" Jimmy eventually said to me."I'm okay," I told him. "But, why are you being so nice to me?""Because, Jen. I see something in you. I see you are a little lost right now and need some help. But I'm going to take care of you. I promise."And you know what? He did. Turns out, Jimmy was a Prince. And just the one I needed.