Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: DOG (08/09/18)
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TITLE: Alley Trash | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
08/12/18 -
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He was hard to find the first time. I’d walked up and down alley after alley, stepping over needles and trash and all the paraphernalia that comes with it, before I caught sight of him. I switched on the recorder hiding in my hand.
He was sitting against the back wall of a diner, next to a scratched blue dumpster, comfortable in his black vest, old grey sweats and worn sandals. The harmonica at his lips unleashed a mournful tune of Amazing Grace which the addict hunched beside him seemed to drink in with every shallow breath. A scrawny black poodle chawed at a piece of pizza he held loosely in his fingers.
I covered my nose with a cupped hand to help filter the stench of overflowing latrines, uncollected garbage, and unwashed bodies. It didn’t help. Neither did the sleeve of my blouse.
His dark chocolate eyes lured me past my fears and doubts and I knelt on the cardboard by his feet, securing my skirt as modestly as possible. He finished the refrain and lowered the instrument. The dog nuzzled his hand but Morris never took his eyes off of me.
I lowered my arm and tried to look above his mouth. “Morris?”
He scanned the alley where a small mob was moving in our direction. “Who’s asking?”
“Sheryl-Lee.”
He reached up and scratched the poodle behind the ears, sending the pup into a wiggling ecstasy. “Hey, Sweet Lady,” he droned. “Who sent you?”
“Your momma.” I got back to my feet and tried to ignore the leather-clad group still a dozen steps away.
The object of my search snagged the Yankees cap sitting on his knee and put it on. “Tito is coming with the boys and he is not used to guests here.” The poodle did a happy dance around him as he rose to his feet. He let the dog lick his fingers as he turned toward the group.
“Tito, sup man?”
“What’s happenin’ M? The blond is unregistered. What you pullin’ on me? Are we sharin’ or starin’?”
“Tito, Sheryl-Lee ain’t no one’s girl. She’s here for a poodle match and my Sweet Lady won the draw.”
“What you talking about – Poodle match?” The mob leader half-turned to the almost dozen lackeys staring at me. “Anyone heard of a poodle match?” Head shakes confirmed no one had.
Morris stepped in front of me and lifted Sweet Lady into his arms. “Are you denying my prize poodle the chance to find her dream dog? Morris, you know the way I was and the way I am. Jesus and Sweet Lady have kept me going. This angel has come to announce our freedom. We’ll leave you all in peace.”
The harmonica man grabbed my hand and held Sweet Lady tight as we walked through the group like Moses through the Red Sea. The jeering and mock cheering behind us only meant that I wasn’t doing a Lot’s wife and stopping our escape. When we rounded the corner, at the end of the alley, Morris tugged me harder and began to jog.
Jogging in a tight skirt may not be high on the modest protocol but I was past caring. We ducked into an ice-cream shop and caught our breath.
“Morris – poodle match? … Jesus? … Tito?... What is going on?”
He looked me in the eyes. “Sheryl-Lee. You just walked out of the lion’s den. Who are you anyway?”
I held up my recorder. “I’m a reporter trying to find out how anyone as addicted as you could get free? Your momma told me where I could find you. I thought maybe you relapsed.”
“My momma and your husband should know better than to send someone like you here?”
“There’s no husband to talk sense into me so tell me, are you really free? how did you get there? and why are you back in the alleys?”
Morris tousled with Sweet Lady and she lay on her back wriggling as he scratched her belly and neck. “One year ago, I was alley trash. I found this pup curled up under a dumpster. Her momma had been run over. I called out to Jesus to help me save her and instead he used her to help save me.”
“Tell me more.”
And he did. In fact, ten years after our wedding Morris still intrigues me with Jesus and poodles. Sweet Lady just had her second litter.
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