Charlie Mad Dog Madson Post #3 - "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph"

Breathing hard, I unlock the back door and drop my backpack in the laundry room. I feel like I might have a collapsed lung after sprinting all the way home from the train tracks. I’m not gonna lie. I am. Freaking. The. Hell. Out. I can handle hearing my own voice, but hearing Pete’s voice – that’s way, way, WAY different.

As I lean over trying to catch my breath, Evie circles me. Literally, the stupid dog paces around me in circles. I open the back door, she sniffs at the air, but like always she won’t step outside unless I go with her. It’s ridiculous. So, I go out, standing on the slab of concrete Mom calls our patio and wait while Evie pisses and poops in almost exactly the same spot in the corner of our yard as she does every afternoon.

Once back inside, I see that for once in my life, I get lucky. There’s a note on the kitchen table from Marcus saying he forgot to tell us he got switched to nights.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, thank you!” I say out loud. Too loud for someone who doesn’t really believe Jesus, Mary, or Joseph can hear me. Mrs. McMurtrey says this all the time, but usually when she’s frustrated with one of her kids.

When Marcus works nights, the chances of me seeing him are minimal, minuscule, zilch. So, hallelujah!

Even with this good news, by the time Mom gets home from her evening shift at Barnes & Noble, I’ve worked myself into enough of a frenzy that I come very close to telling her about hearing Pete’s voice at the train tracks. I know she won’t freak out, but I’m afraid she’ll make me see Shirley, the shrink, again. How would I explain it to Shirley? Seriously, what would I say?

“Oh, by the way, on my home from school I heard a dead kid talking to me.”

It’s so crazy; I don’t believe it. A trained professional like Shirley might be obligated to lock me up in the looney bin.

So, instead of risking blabbing to Mom, I plan to blow her off after dinner and go to my room to do homework. I don’t actually have homework. Well, I might, but no way will I be doing it tonight.

I used to be a good student. Let’s just say this school year hasn’t gotten off to a very good start for me. Between the jerk-ass boys asking me what it was like to see a kid get smashed by a car and the dumb-ass girls wanting to talk about how sad it was, I feel like puking most days. It’s like I’m being stalked by people who can’t just let it go and leave me alone.

And the teachers – I can’t confirm it, but I’m pretty sure my teachers have decided to go easy on me. Maybe they just don’t know what to do with me. Actually, I think they feel sorry for me, which bugs the hell out of me – the way they looked at me like I’m some pathetic psycho little kid – but I’m beginning to realize it’s not necessarily a bad thing to have teachers’ sympathy.

Obviously, I’m not doing any of my homework, but none of them say anything. All of them, except Mr. Miracle, my social studies teacher. Yes, his last name is Miracle.

Even though Mr. Miracle seems super cool, he is really strict about kids doing their work. But he’s like that with everyone. And he’s all about history, like 24-7. History and music and Indiana University basketball are the only things Mr. Miracle lives for, I swear.

He has so much IU paraphernalia on his classroom walls and ceiling, it has to be a fire hazard. It’s funny too because everyone else in Lafayette is a Purdue fan. And I swear Mr. Miracle is some kind of music savant. He knows EVERY THING about all different kinds of music. Mainly I think he’s an Indie rocker dude, but he’s constantly saying he has “mad respect for the oldies” – people I’ve never heard of before, like Billie Holiday and Muddy Waters.

On the first day of school, Mr. Miracle told us aside from IU’s Assembly Hall, his two favorite places in the whole world are The Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland and Graceland in Memphis. He said he’ll take us on a virtual tour of both later in the school year. He also plays music for us every day before the bell. Honestly, I don’t know if the music is for us or for him, but either way, it’s pretty cool. So far this year, his class is the only one I haven’t fallen asleep in.

But at the end of the second week of school, Mr. Miracle called my mom. He said he just wanted to tell her how excited he was to have me in class – and by the way, could she remind me to turn in my letter of introduction assignment. At the time, it was over a week late. He went on to explain how he wants his students “to take ownership of their learning.” He said he would try not to bother her again, because he expects me, like all his students, “to be responsible and not make any excuses.” It was all the same stuff he says to us in class, but now my mom considers everything Mr. Miracle says to be the law.

Back when we were still friends, John used to say how chill my mom is, but there’s one thing she will not tolerate – laziness, especially when it comes to school work. So, needless to say, she was not happy when Mr. Miracle called. When she found out it was because I’d neglected to turn in the first assignment of the year, I thought she was gonna blow a gasket. Even Marcus was quiet when she was lecturing me.

That very night she made me sit with her at the kitchen table and watched me do the assignment. Then she would not shut up about how awesome it was that a teacher took the time to call her. And how “it must be a sign from the universe that his name is Miracle.” She hugged me and made me promise not to miss any more assignments. I’m trying to keep the promise, but not very hard. Tonight all I want do is forget about this whole day.

Even when Mom works the evening shift at Barnes & Noble, she usually gets home in time for dinner. On those nights, sometimes, but only when Marcus isn’t here, I make dinner for us. Tonight I am not in the mood to make anything, but I really need to keep busy. So, continuing to ignore Evie who won’t leave my side, I make my specialty: grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with applesauce, and cool-ranch Doritos on the side. Mom appreciates good junk food and it’s hard to beat Doritos as a side dish, especially cool-ranch.

As soon as Mom gets home, the first thing she asks is did I let Evie out to “do her business?”

“Yeah, but that dog still won’t go out by herself. There’s something wrong with her,” I say grouchily.

“She’s adjusting and it doesn’t hurt you to go out with her,” Mom says, ignoring my mood.

As we eat, Mom lectures me about being more responsible and thinking about how Evie feels in a new home. I still haven’t figured out how I got put in charge of a dog I didn’t even want.

“Tell me again why we have a dog,” I say.

Mom’s heard this before and she says the same thing every time, “Dogs are great companions and it’s good for humans to have to care for something that’s completely dependent upon us.” She says “us” like she has anything to do with the damn dog.

Then, Mom tells me about work.

“The new John Green book came out today. Wanna read it?” she asks, smiling. My mom is obsessed with books and she’s an expert on the latest, most popular authors. She still hasn’t lost hope that one day I’ll be a reader again. We used to read books together all the time.

“No thanks, I’ll pass.” I say to her as politely as I can. It’s not her fault I have no interest in John Green or any other author’s latest book.

“Sooo, tell me about your day.” She says as she pops another Dorito in her mouth.

“Nothin special. Just school. Same ole, same ole.” I say, concentrating on my PB & J and not making eye contact with her.

“What about Mr. Miracle’s class?” she presses.

“He played a pretty sweet song by Ozzie Osbourne today. Do you know who he is?” I ask, assuming she doesn’t.

“Yes, my love. I do in fact know who Ozzie Osbourne is. But did you know he once bit the head off a bat during one of his concerts?”

My mom and I do this sometimes – not as often as we used to – but it’s where we trade ‘Did you know (fill in the blank)’ jabs, trying to out-do each other with random facts.

“No way!” I admit, impressed with this one. “That’s crazy, but did you know on this day in history the first president of the Continental Congress died? And did you know his name was Randolph Peyton (or it might have been Peyton Randolph)? Anyway, did you know on this same day in 1811 the classical pianist, Franz Liszt, was born?”

I am on a roll, hoping Mom doesn’t notice I am still freaking out about hearing Pete’s voice.

“No way.” Mom says, mocking me a little, but probably also happy I remembered so much from Mr. Miracle’s class today.

“Yes, way. Mr. M said Liszt was like a big rock star for his era. He didn’t play any of his music in class, though, thank God.”

Since Mr. Miracle’s phone call to my mom back in August, I make it a point to remember the music he plays each day and at least one thing from his “on this day in history” stuff. I figured out it’s better to have something to tell my mom when she asks about school.

“Interesting,” she says. And then, she asks curiously, “Wonder why he didn’t play any of Liszt’s music for you?”

“Probably because it sucks,” I say.

“Charlie, there are people in this world who appreciate classical music. You might even be one of them if you gave it a chance.”

My mom, Marcus, my teachers, and Shirley call me Charlie – my given name. Mom said she named me for the kid in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, one of her favorite books. The kids at school used to call me Mad-Dog. This year, they don’t really call me anything. Well, that’s not true. The black kids call me “white boy” and the white kids call me “wannabe OG.”

It was John’s dad who started calling me Mad-Dog. He was my T-ball coach. It’s how John and I met. The first day of practice, I apparently went all Pete Rose on them, and tried to slide head-first into first base. Which might not have been so remarkable except it was during a simple base-running drill when most kids were just figuring out they had to tag every base. From that point on I became, Mad-dog Madison. I don’t remember a lot about T-ball, but Mom likes telling that story, so I’ve heard it a million times.

“Any homework?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, a little.” I say, even though I don’t know for sure.

We finish eating and Mom begins flipping through the mail. I figure it’s a good time for me to slip out. So, I throw away my paper plate and put the chip clip on the Doritos bag.

“Let me know if ya need help with your homework,” Mom says as I head to my room with Evie close behind me. I close the door before she can follow me into my room.