Like a Lamb

I was sitting in a bar, waiting for my laundry to next door dry last week. It was nice talking to the bartender, who I hadn’t spoken to for a while, and while I finished my whiskey and ginger ale she asked me where my wife and I were living at now.

“Oh still in the Vine neighborhood,” I said.

“There are days, mostly in the spring,” she said. “When I drive down there and wish I still lived there, everyone is outside riding skateboards or walking their dogs and it looks like fun.”

“But,” she said. “Other times I go down there and can’t help but see all the broken beer bottles and the trash.”

Thursday, spring was in the air and it was one of the days I was able to look past trash.

The boulders of snow were dwindling, the sidewalks were mostly free of ice and our dog, Mr. Bojangles, was terribly excited.

He’s half Yorkshire Terrier and half Jack Russell (we think, he’s a rescue) February was so cold he couldn't walk far without getting frostbite. So with the sun shining and a light jacket on I went outside with him.

We passed a house with a college kid wearing a tank top and basketball shorts was grilling hamburgers on the porch. There were countless cigarette butts on the sidewalk but Bo wanted to go up and get some meat, the kid laughed.

“Sorry that’s for me little man,” he said.

I laughed.

We passed the adult rehab home. The men who stay there scare a lot of people on the street, but they’re trying their best, and from what I have heard, it’s difficult to get into the program.

Last summer there was an older man who lived there that had trouble communicating. He spent a lot of time outside on their steps. He was always nervous and polite when he asked if it was ok to pet Bo,, even though my wife and I always said it was fine. Seeing his smile light up when he petted the dog always gave me a warm feeling inside.

I don’t think he still lives there. If he does I didn't see him this week. The sidewalk is still blocked by a pileup of snow from the nearby parking lot, so I walked to other side of the street.

Further down the street was a group of WMU students on Spring Break. They were drinking PBR and listening to music. They said hi and asked his name, and laughed when I told him it was Mr. Bojangles. After we left, I picked him so he didn’t step on broken glass nearby.

We walked further down Walnut Street. Ahead on the hill was the remains of East Campus. It’s completely covered now in protective plastic and is set to open in June as an alumni center. I look forward to visiting it.

On Davis Street there are two retired couples that live next door to each other. They are part of the minority of people that own their own houses in the neighborhood.

I don’t know their names, but both couples have small dogs, Benjie and Suzy. They call my wife and I Bo’s parents. When we got married in October Benjie’s mom gave a small wedding present, just a coin purse. We have a special place for it.

When I turned the corner to come back to the house near the open field, I passed a teenager watching his younger brother and sister throw a baseball back and forth. He was reading a book in an oversized tire left by the football team, while his siblings struggled to hit swing a large bat.

When I came back home I heard the couple next door fighting loudly. When I tried to fall asleep later that night I prayed the loud explosion was a firework and not gunshot again.

Today, (Monday) Rhelia took Bo for another long walk and saw someone had planted flowers in their yard already. I saw them this afternoon, after her, Bo and I walked in the opposite direction of a loose pit-bull and I again carried him over some more broken glass.