“Hey Buddy!”
“What’cha want, birdbath?”
Buddy didn’t bother to look down. His name wasn’t really Buddy, but when he’d first come to the orchard, old man Gundy could never remember his name and rather than admit it he had just said “Hey buddy…” Now Buddy, who didn’t care much for his real name anyway, had this favorite aunt who used to tell him about TV when she was growing up in the 50’s in Detroit. Her favorite show was Soupy Sales and whenever he would get a pie in the face, someone off stage would yell “Hey Buddy," Soupy would turn to look and POW! Soupy called all the kids at home birdbaths for some reason and after the third or fourth time old man Gundy had said “Hey buddy,” it seemed like a pie in the face was what he deserved for not admitting he couldn’t remember Buddy’s real name. Old man Gundy was quite a bit older than his favorite aunt, so buddy hadn’t expect him to understand but the first time he’d responded to “Hey buddy” with “What’cha want, birdbath?” Old man Gundy had stood looking at him with a frown like an old, rusted horseshoe and then laughed and laughed… “I’ll be damned!” He’d said and been so tickled that he’d explained the whole joke to every one they had run into that day. That had clinched the deal for Buddy and he decided to stay and work permanently at Gundy’s fruit farm when the old man offered.
Mrs.Gundy had been very distant at first. She had thought Buddy was odd and a little too quiet. He could tell that made her nervous, which made him nervous so he was always kind of clumsy around her. He would always see her looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye and was ready to thank the old man for all he’d done for him and move on… until the day the old man had told him to help her with the canning and the tiny rabbit had poked it’s head out of his shirt pocket and sniffed at her delicately. “What’re you doing with that little rabbit, Tom?” (Mrs. Gundy always remembered his real name) Buddy had looked down and smiled, gently rubbed the fur between the rabbit’s ears and said “Keeping him warm” She looked at him so long and deeply that he felt like he had to start talking, which was pretty unusual for Buddy. “I found him just sitting in the driveway in the rain…and…Well, there’s a Red-tail that lives out back of the north poll barn. …I just… Well, I figured he could stay with me until he was big enough to keep away from the crows.” He could feel her watching him but could not look back at her to save his life…”Do you know what to do for him?” She asked softly… “Oh, sure…” he’d said as casually as he could and darting a quick glance at her eyes, which he could not hold. “He’s old enough to eat on his own…you can tell because he’s got his star, here on his forehead, see? I’ve been feeding him dandelions that I got soaking in a pail so he gets plenty of water and keeping him right here with me so he stays warm and doesn’t catch cold…I call him Pip…till he finds his own name and…” He’d been looking at the rabbit the whole time and when he finally met her gaze, he was almost startled by her expression. She looked like she’d been watching something struggling for life. Her eyes were very shiny. As difficult as it had been to make eye contact, it was at least as difficult to look away now. “…its okay I keep him, isn’t it? …Just until he’s got a chance on his own…” She’d looked at him for a long time and then tilted her head almost imperceptibly, reached up and smoothed the spiky hair away from his forehead. The feel of her brief touch on his skin had sent a shiver through his whole body as hardly anyone had ever touched him in his whole life and his eyes had glazed over a bit and his mouth had dropped open. She had sensed his reaction and dropped the hand to rest on the side of his face, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb a few times. “Yes, Tom. That’s fine. You do what you can for him.” She had smiled so sweetly at him that that his face had gone all hot and red, little Pip had burrowed back into the cotton balls in his shirt pocket to escape the heat and he’d prayed to God almighty that the tears welling in his eyes didn’t spill down his cheeks.
The Gundy’s thought the way Buddy’s mind worked was ingenious and since that let him get away with being “different”, that was fine with him. For Buddy it was enough that it was tolerated. He had long come to except that he was not just different but likely very different. The way he thought about things was, from his own observations, not at all the way most people did. He’d learned very early on that the more different you were, the more people noticed you and picked on you, or worse yet tried to help you; so he had learned to be quiet and keep to himself. It seemed like most people thought he was an idiot but it was not that he couldn’t speak clearly or follow directions or read or write, it was just that he didn’t like to because he had trouble with it. The doctors had called it Dyslexia, his Father had called it Satan and his mother had called it no excuse. Whatever it really was, it set him apart from everybody else. Buddy had learned to adjust. Whenever being who he was had denied him something or put him in a bad situation, buddy had adjusted until the situation was tolerable. That’s all it had to be; just tolerable. He had come to think of that as his greatest quality. Old man Gundy liked to go on about what an Einstein he was with machinery and Mrs. Gundy just loved his way with animals but for Buddy those things were just who he was and you can’t ever help being who you are, good or bad, right or wrong. It was his ability to adapt that he was proud of. If an older boy had told him he had to find another way home from school, he adapted. It didn’t matter that it took him a half hour longer to walk home, what was important was that he got home. When his teachers told him that he had to go to a special class, he had adapted. He’d gone there every day, past all the other kids, who’d looked at him funny even before, and listened to the teachers talk to him like he was a baby and sat next to kids who couldn’t think straight. He’d done what he was told and escaped into his head and it was tolerable. When his parents told him he had to work for a living, he had adapted and found a job doing chores on a pig farm. What was important was that things had always worked out and that was because he could adapt. Adapting was not just rolling along with things. It was also keeping yourself safe, like not speaking if you can nod, or keeping the truth to yourself, or going somewhere no one can see to cry. People didn’t like to be burdened with such things and that was Buddy’s strong suit. He had learned to adapt and not be a burden on others.
To be continued...
