Outside Dog

Outside Dog by Ann Carter Thomas Vernon puts his boots down carefully in the middle of Willy B's tracks as the hound walks in front of him from the truck to the light of the porch. When Vernon bends over to get a piece of fireV 0,> ? \t5 \ \ \ V ? \ Mo < 4 \***: Vwr wood from the pile, Willy B throws himself against the back of his knees and presses cold snow into his jeans. Jolene opens the door and Willy B yelps, rousing Missy, the inside dog, who whimpers from across the room. Jolene Eushes the hound back on the porch with er foot. "Looka here! Didn't I tell you, Ma?" Jolene says to the old woman who is curled like a tree root across the cushions of the couch. "I ain't never missed yet," Vernon says. "You shoulda known that, Ma." He is short and bulky in a neon-orange jacket that he uses on his job in the log woods. Sometimes he wears it deer hunting, but he rarely wears it around Jolene, who hates it because it clashes with the mane of red hair he keeps long and pushes behind his ears. The jacket, she says, makes him look like one of the plastic warning markers around the chuckholes on the Kentucky Mountain Parkway. He's wearing it tonight on purpose. He puts the firewood on the floor and stands up straight for Jolene to notice it. "You musta borrowed your Pa's four-wheel," Ma says, "else you'd a-slid over in a snowbank by now." Ma has on a man's socks and her feet stick out beneath the pink and black squares of an old afghan. "He knew to come," Jolene says. Vernon shifts his boots, then looks at the cot in the corner of the room where Judy Lynn, Jolene's sister, is asleep with Missy on her stomach. The two of them are buried under so many layers of quilts that they look like a pile of ironing waiting to be wet down. "I ain't seen her awake one time since she got home." he says. "No telling what she looks like." Judy Lynn is on vacation from Eastern Kentucky University, where she has a teacher's scholarship. She has signed a paper saying she will teach civics to seventh graders the rest of her life. Her room is upstairs, but tonight she is close to the wood stove, which is very hot and belches sour woodsmoke all over the house. "She's a queer one," Ma says. "Don't hear the tv or nothing." "It's too danged cold for Willy B," Vernon says. "I better let him in." "He's the outside dog," Jolene says flatly. "He'll go to peeing on things. ' "Well," Vernon says. He remains standing beside the striped Barker Lounger where he usually sits. It is waffled from wear and stained, with the padding popping out like an abandoned mattress at the dump. "We're watching the Miss World Contest ," Jolene says. "The women are all short this year. Least ways, they are next to me." She sits beside Ma on the other end of the couch. Jolene is lean and trim in designer jeans and a yellow boucle sweater with puffed sleeves. She wears tiny gold crosses stapled to her ears and a thinbanded engagement ring on her left hand. Vernon gave it to her two years ago. She holds out a slippered foot for him to admire. "Do they fit?" he asks. "They were in the window at Murphy's Mart. I saw you looking at them once. You got on the sweater I gave you too." "Yellow is my color," she says, tilting her head at him. Her skin is dark, like her hair, and mottled from too much sunning. She wears "tropical sands" pancake makeup in the winter to keep her tan. "It looks good on you." "Since you're up, Vernon, get another chunk of wood for the stove. I can't go messing up my new slippers in the snow." Vernon goes out on the front porch to the stack of dry wood. It is a gum tree which he cut down in September, splitting the logs so they will be light enough for Jolene to carry, keeping the scraps of wood for kindling. He reads the thermometer tacked to the porch rail. "It's five below on the porch," he says when he comes back inside, "and it ain't even dark yet." "Why, the hairs in your ears are plumb froze," Ma says. "What you reckon it's going down to?" "Twenty below," Jolene reports. "They been printing it on the bottom of the tv screen, Ma." She says this because Ma can't read. "Willy B ain't out there now," Vernon says. "He musta heard me gettin' the wood." "Put Ma's draft dodger back up to the crack," Jolene says. "She won't be set till you do." The dodger is a long fat roll of cloth stuffed full of socks. It has a cat's face with black yarn whiskers and button eyes. Ma made it to keep the draft out from under the door. "Looks like he woulda heard me," Vernon says. Jolene's eyes are fixed on the tv screen. "Miss Holland is sweet looking ." "Ain't that some costume Miss Mexico has on?" Ma says, sitting up on one elbow. "It shows pretty near everything she's got. There won't be nothing left for the swimsuit show." 47 Jolene laughs. She looks over at Vernon , who has put the wood down on the floor beside the stove. He is still standing up with his jacket on. "For goodness sakes, Vernon, settle down in that chair. And fix the door tight." This time he moves, and in a few minutes he is in the Barker Lounger with the back and footrest pushed out. He holds his head sideways so he can watch Jolene, his jacket draped over the arm of the chair. "Now, that Miss USA will be hard to beat," she says. "You can tell she knows how to meet the public." Jolene often talks about meeting the public because she drives the bus for the Council on Aging. She deals with old men who forget where they are after she picks them up. Sometimes they cry, and she has to stop the bus and go back and get them straightened out. She earns enough to run the house and send Judy Lynn some spending money at school. Ma has been on welfare since '72. "Those aren't your only Christmas presents," Vernon says suddenly. "I got another one in my jacket pocket." "You never! I don't believe it, Vernon Perry. Oh, Ma, look at that. Miss Mexico is getting a lot of points. The judges like her belly." "I got it right here in my pocket," Vernon says. Jolene stamps her foot angrily against the linoleum rug. "Hush up, now, Vernon . They're adding up the scores for the ten finalists." A low moan comes up from under the floor where she has stamped her foot. It is followed by the noise of scratching. "That's where Willy B is," Vernon says. "He's looking for heat under the stove, but he ain't gonna find none." "That dog's seen worse," Jolene says. She watches the screen until a commercial comes on, leaning close to the set. Then she snaps back on the sofa. "He's just a watch dog. Keeps them crazy fellows away when they come joyriding up here in the holler." "That's the truth," Ma says. "I'd be skeered without him." "You can't ever tell what them fellows will do. They come up here throwing beer cans in the yard and calling my name. Willy B sets up an awful howl." The stovepipe shudders beneath a new gust of wind. Vernon hits the gear on the side of the chair and jerks it back into an upright position. He gets up and taps on the floor with his boot. The scratching begins again. "Why don't he go sleep with them cats? They'll warm him," Ma says. "They're hid up in the barn loft by now," Vernon says. He puts the orange jacket on. "I'm going back outside. If he don't come when I call, I'm goin' up under the house." When he leaves, Jolene reaches over and grabs Ma's hand. She squeeze it while the announcer shouts the names of the finalists against the roar of a drumroll. "Oh, I knew it. Don't I always guess at least three of the finalists?" Jolene cries. "And Miss Holland is one of them." "Don't count on her winning, Hon, not with those hips." Jolene watches the commercials for eye shadow and mascara remover. She is watching when she speaks: "I ain't gonna get to drive my bus tomorrow. We'll be snowed in for sure. They might have to get a substitute." "It ain't your fault, Hon." "There won't be a snowplow up here before noon anyhow." "Vernon could call from his place," Ma says. "You ain't got no phone or nothing." "He'll call for sure," Jolene says. "Tomorrow night he can tell me what they said." Vernon is outside for a long time. He is short enough to get in the crawl space under the house. Once he had to get under there to run a skunk off after it sprayed Willy B. He moves around under there now, listening to the sounds 48 of the tv overhead. He calls the dog, but he won't come. When he comes back inside the house, the women say nothing. He sits heavily in the chair, pushing it back to recline. His face is purple from the cold. "You gotta call my boss and tell him Fm snowed in," Jolene says suddenly. "I reckon they can't pick up none of the folks on Furnace Mountain tomorrow." "I'll call." "Well, you make sure they understand ." "He will, Hon," Ma says. "Fm gonna go back yonder and fix us some buttered popcorn. I can see Vernon's got his mouth set for some." "It's cold back there, Ma," Jolene says. "Wrap up in that afghan." "Fd do anything for this boy," Ma says, patting Vernon's arm when she gets up. She disappears into the kitchen. "Pick a winner, Vernon," Jolene says, "and if she's a blond, I'll put you out in the snow." "Miss Sweden," he says at once, relaxing into a grin. "Vernon Perry, you'll pay for this." She dives for his legs and beats his thigh with her fists. He throws his head forward and laughs, then grabs the soft fabric of the back of her sweater. She jumps to her feet and pulls the sweater down again. Her hair is falling in her eyes and her face is flushed. "Okay, then, Miss Costa Rica. She looks like you." "That's more like it." "He won't come for me," he says abruptly. "I went all up under there. I ain't never seen so much junk under one house." "God-a-mighty, you been het up over that dog ever since you got here! ' "He'll come for you," he says again, begging. Jolene will not look at him now. She stretches one leg across the space between the couch and the footrest and lays a bare ankle over the toe of his workboot. She watches him out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then rivets her gaze on the tv screen. He looks at the ankle without surprise. Slowly he begins stroking her calf, working his way up to the top of her knee. His calloused hand makes a scratchy sound against the stiff leg of her new jeans. When his fingers move tentatively to the inside of her thigh, she speaks. "That's far enough, Vernon." "You ain't even wondering about the present." He keeps his hand exactly where he stopped. "What is itr "How'd you like some tickets to the Ricky Skaggs show in Lexington? You like shows.' "Aw, we'll be snowed in by then, for sure." "What's the difference?" "I mean I ain't staying overnight, Vernon Perry." Ma comes back in with a brown paper bag filled with popcorn. She sets it on the floor between Jolene and Vernon because she won't eat any herself. She needs dentures and refuses to get them. Jolene brings her leftover pudding from the Council on Aging. "Look at Miss Honduras, Ma. She's had a silicone job," Jolene says. Vernon is still stroking a place just inside the thigh. "What's a silicone?" he says, looking at them shyly. "He knows," Jolene says. "He keeps a Playboy up under the seat of his pickup." "Honduras. That's the name of the place," Ma says. "I ain't heard of it but that one other time." "What place?" Vernon asks. He is watching Jolene bend over the popcorn bag, each time exposing a spot of white lace beneath the neck of the sweater. "Where Jolene's Pa lives." Jolene throws her leg on the floor and spills the popcorn across the rug. "Who said?" "His Aunt Phoebe. I saw her at the grocery." "I don't care to hear nothing about that man," Jolene says. "We ain t seen hide 49 nor hair of him in ten years." "Well, I wouldn't tell you but Miss Honduras reminded me or it," Ma says. "I didn't mean nothing by it." Miss Honduras is walking down a flight of stairs escorted by officers from a military school. She has orchids pinned behind her one ear and trailing over her shoulder. "You like Ricky Skaggs," Vernon says. "She likes Ricky Skaggs, don't she Ma?" "What you talking about, Vernon?" "I'm offering to take her up to Lexington to the Ricky Skaggs show but she ain't said she'll go." "It's the gospel truth, Hon. He's your favorite," Ma says. She leans close to Jolene's face. "What's he doing in Honduras?" Ma curls herself back on the other end of the couch. "She didn't say. I didn't mean to upset you, Hon." The front wall of the house creaks noisily against the weight of the porch roof, and the windows begin to rattle where they hang loose on the sash cords. The tail of the draft dodger lifts and curls beneath the door. "He ain't gonna make it in this cold," Vernon says loudly. "It must be fifteen below at least." "He's probably got another family by now," Jolene says. "Did you ever think of that Ma?" "Well, I don't know," Ma says. "I don't think about it much." "Living on a beach with all that sunshine and sand." "He ain't never liked the sun," Ma says. "That's why he quit farming tobacco ." Vernon jerks the chair back upright and jumps to his feet. He stands over Jolene with his arms hanging down loose at his sides. "He'll come for you, Jolene. That's the thing of it." "You ain't got nothing in that ugly jacket pocket, Vernon Perry," she cries. "I can see from here it's empty. You been testing me." Vernon looks away from her for a second, not willing to meet her eyes. He has the flyer for the Ricky Skaggs concert folded in his pocket but he hasn't bought the tickets yet. When he looks back, there is something new in his face, something which has never been there before. "No point in buying tickets till you say you're going," he says. "You're always skeered you'll have to spend the night with me in a motel." "I ain't," she says. "It's Ma. She's skeered of staying here by herself." Ma does not hear this. She is watching the tv screen. The judge is putting the crown on Miss Honduras. Ma squeals and slaps Jolene's leg. "Miss Honduras done won it. It was a sign. And you and Vernon missed it, fussing over that Ricky Skaggs show." Vernon stands there with his head cocked to one side. He is listening again. He taps his foot lightly on the floor. There is total silence in the room for a few seconds when the station flashes the network sign. Vernon taps hard this time, stomping a spot on the linoleum rug. "I could get Judy Lynn to come in from school and stay with Ma," Jolene says, leaning forward now and touching Vernon's knees with her own. "I could, Vernon, I swear. I could get her up right now and ask her." He turns on his heels, then leans over and kicks the footrest of the Barker lounger with the toe of his boot, sending it lolling backwards beside the couch. "Ricky Skaggs is my favorite," Jolene cries, her voice rising. "Don't go," Ma begs. "You ain't heard all the news of Jolene's Pa." Vernon jerks the door open wide and goes out, not bothering to close it behind him. Ma calls after him, but he doesn't answer. In the corner, Judy Lynn stirs and sits up in bed, peering out the open door. But there is nothing to see. The orange jacket has disappeared beyond the light of the porch. 50 ...