I suspected, the teens were in front of Calvin’s house, right at the edge of his property, in the street, preparing to light another firecracker.
“Wait, stop,” I called out, throwing a hand up in their direction.
The two boys stopped what they were doing and looked up at me. I remembered being that age - around fourteen or so. Living in a small town, there wasn’t much to do. While I wouldn’t have argued with someone had they asked to stop shooting off fireworks, I knew many guys my age who wouldn’t give a shit. I prayed these boys were raised right, more like my brothers and me. There was a chubby redhead and scrawny blonde kid with glasses. The blonde was holding the firecrackers.
“Yes sir?” the redheaded one asked.
Sir. Well, that’s a good start, I thought to myself.
I walked to the gate, and they met me at the other side. I smiled at them, hoping to ease them into what I was about to say.
“Listen, the old man who lives here, he’s a war vet. He fought in Vietnam and suffers from PTSD. Sometimes, when he hears things like explosions, it takes him back to the war, you know what I mean?” I asked. They nodded, and I continued. “It’s not a good memory, trust me, boys. It freaks the old man out.”
“Oh shit, I didn’t know,” the blonde kid said, staring down at the fireworks in his hand.
“Yeah, I know you didn’t know. He doesn’t really like to talk about it, or talk to anyone, ever, for that matter,” I said with a chuckle. “But I’d appreciate it if you could take the fireworks somewhere else, away from his house. It would help him a lot.”
“Sure, yeah,” the blonde said, tucking the remaining fireworks into his backpack. “We’ll head over to Patrick’s house on the other side of town.”
“Yeah, my mom’s making roast for dinner tonight, said I should invite you over anyway,” the redhead, who I assumed was named Patrick, said.
“Perfect,” I said. “I appreciate it, you two.”
I held out my hand to the blonde one, and he seemed surprised, then shook it. The redhead was quicker to accept my hand, and I waved them off. The two boys walked down the street, and I marveled at how easy that had been. Good kids, I thought, thankful it had gone well. Hopefully, their departure meant less stress for Calvin. Things had already been tough, with him losing his home in the woods to the flooding and all and having to move to a new place in the middle of town. A lot more traffic, more noise - I knew it wasn’t easy on him. But hopefully I made it a little bit easier, at least for as long as he stayed here.
I returned to the house and grabbed the groceries on my way inside. Calvin was sitting up, and he appeared to be comfortable and calm.
“I’ll put these away and be right back,” I said.
“I told you not to buy me any more groceries,” the old man grouched.
“And I told you it’s not a problem,” I retorted. “I like helping a fellow vet. We gotta stick together.”
I walked into the kitchen and began putting the food away, just simple soups, some cereal, some sandwich fixings. Calvin didn’t like to cook much, said it was a waste when it was just himself living there. For the first few weeks, I’d bought him fresh produce, only for it to end up in the trash can week after week. He subsisted on ham sandwiches and vegetable soup, which was an upgrade over the ramen he was living off before.
As I closed the door to the refrigerator, a photo caught my eye. A picture of Calvin from a few years ago with a big, black dog by his side. I had seen it many times before, and Calvin had told me the story behind it, but the photo and the story gave me an idea.
I went back into the living room. “How long has Bear been gone?”
“Three years now,” Calvin said with a sigh. “Still miss that damned dog every day too.”
I took a seat in the chair next to the sofa. “He helped you a lot, didn’t he?”
“That he did,” he said with a sage nod. “He always seemed to know when something was wrong…always knew exactly what he needed to do to comfort me too.”
“He was an emotional support dog, correct?”
“He was. Though he wasn’t formally trained,” he said proudly.