Drying Out

Granger glanced at his wet clothes, dubious about the next step. He struggled for a second with the notion that his mom’s advice was probably sound, then his frenzy took over again. 

He could not just lie around, waiting for his clothes to get dry. That was crazy talk! He was not going to waste precious hours of daylight like that. No, he just needed to give the sun a little help; he needed his body to get hot, so that his clothes would dry out faster. And since he was at it, he better find something good to do, something worthy, a challenge maybe. 

Next to him, Acorn seemed to think the same. He stared at Granger full of excitement. His eyes gleamed in anticipation, as if he knew that it was just a matter of time before Granger cracked out a new outlandish plan.

In fact, Granger’s mind had already entered overdrive. He needed another brilliant idea, he told himself, a strike of genius that would make all his previous deeds pale in comparison. His eyes roved around the property, hungry to latch onto anything.

Crushed by his own expectations, Granger came up empty. 

Deflated, he turned and met Acorn’s huge, wet eyes staring at him eagerly. Granger frowned, ashamed at his sudden lack of imagination and looked away. 

His eyes glided aimlessly over Acorn’s body. A thin line of dust and sweat was stuck on Acorn’s chest. His muscles still looked tightly drawn and ready. His enormous ribs heaved with his every puff. 

Granger cracked a smile, as inspiration finally struck. That’s right, he told himself, sometimes new things are just not as exciting as your favorite game. Acorn had had his warm-up with the sheep, now it was time for the main show. A wave of pleasure ebbed through him, as he tested the idea in his mind. Yep, that was it! 

“Let’s do it, then!” he called out. 

Acorn startled at this sudden burst of energy. He flicked his ears up to full attention.

“Ready for a game?”

Granger clapped his hands and broke into a run toward the back of the house. 

“Let’s go!”

Acorn’s eyes lit up as he recognized what was going on. He bolted forward and followed Granger.

They rounded the corner of the house and run up to a rusty hoop nailed haphazardly to the back wall, hanging a few feet from the ground.

On its right, resting on some protruding bricks, stood a weatherworn chalkboard. It was, in fact, a scoreboard bearing Acorn and Granger’s names scribbled in Granger’s chicken scratch handwriting. Three white scratches had been chalked under Acorn’s name, while only two were stocked up under Granger’s. 

Time for a come back, thought Granger, glancing at their daily score, as he passed by.

Acorn stopped under the hoop and waited for him, obviously used to the routine.

Granger reached out into a nook between a stack of grimy unused tiles and the brick wall. A second later, he extracted a raggedy looking mini basketball that looked like it had stood some pretty rough handling. Its once deep orange surface was now covered in scratches and scuffs, as discolored and worn out as the chalkboard. But Granger seemed to like it as much. He cradled it in his arms, as he walked back into the makeshift basketball court in front of the hoop.

Acorn followed his every move with rising interest. 

“All right, Mr. A-Corn,” cried out Granger, as he stopped to face him. “Let’s see if you can do better than with those sheep amateurs. Here’s the real deal!” 

Sensing they were going to start the game, Acorn crouched down, ready to mark Granger. 

Granger made to bounce the ball and advance, but the basketball just slapped the ground like a wet towel, its deflated body too slack to bounce properly. 

Taken aback, Acorn pulled up, his ears pricked in a questioning pose. 

Granger bent down quickly and picked up the ball, raising his hand as if to stifle Acorn’s questioning.  

“Just a sec,” he said curtly. “We’re having some technical difficulties...”

He squeezed the ball between his hands, to better appraise how inflated it was.

“It’s all good,” he grunted. “We’re professionals here, we can handle this.”

He slammed the basketball hard on the ground. The ball bounced back into Granger’s hand. 

“There you go!”

Granger grinned and started working the ball hard. Rhythmic puffs of dust lifted from the ground with his every step, as he finally advanced.

Acorn’s eyes locked the target. His ears turned forward at full attention. He lowered his head to the ground and spread his forelegs for full balance. The match was on. 

Granger glanced up at Acorn’s intense expression and knew he was in trouble. Their matches were to five, so he could not let Acorn keep his lead. Bouncing that shaggy ball was already proving challenging enough. He needed a quick fix.

“Watch the ball, man!” he started chanting like a street magician. 

“Watch the ball!” he repeated, and suddenly jumped. He loaded the basketball in his arm and threw it in a nice arc.

Acorn raised his head with a questioning look. The mini basketball flew over him and fell with a clean swoop through the hoop.

“Yeah!” exulted Granger, pumping his fist. 

Acorn watched perplexed, as the ball rolled limply on the ground. He puffed impatiently: that was not the game! What was going on? He turned to Granger.

Granger feigned surprise and stretched his arms questioningly. “What happened?” he asked in a falsely preoccupied tone. 

Acorn goggled at him, mystified by his behavior. 

Granger suddenly dropped the pretense and bent forward, grinning broadly. “Oh, yeah, I SCORED!” he jeered.

Acorn did not seem to pick up on the joke. He kept on staring at him, perplexed. 

Granger strutted to the scoreboard. Shamelessly, he scratched a fresh new white stick under his name. Three to four. Now, that was a much better score!

Finally, Acorn made sense of what was happening and glared at Granger.

Granger noticed his look and sneered.

“Uhh, you’re giving me the death look!” he mocked, in a high pitched voice. He retrieved the ball with affected slowness, then addressed the woods as if they were his audience. “Uh, mommy look, Acorn is giving me the death look. Uh, I’m so scared!”

Acorn snorted hard, urging him to stop wasting his time and start playing the game they had come there for. 

Granger, though, was too drunk with the glory of his wits to relent his taunting. “Dig it, man. Check this out!” he went on.

He spun the basketball on his forefinger, flicked it up in mid air, then caught it with a twirl around. 

“I’m the man, the King in his court!” 

Judging from the look on his face, if Acorn could speak, he would have probably leveled Granger to the ground with a sarcastic retort. Since he could not, he contented himself with turning away, looking bored to death.

“Hey!” called out Granger indignantly. “I saw you do that!” He slammed the ball harder on the ground to get Acorn’s attention.

Acorn turned around with an innocent blank expression on his face.

“Tsk,” scoffed Granger. “So, you wanna challenge the King!?” 

He started working the ball hard again, getting ready for another attack. 

Acorn’s eyes grew suddenly covetous and nudged forward. 

“Watch out, man,” started chanting Granger again, “I am so fast, I will send you back in time and you’ll lose again!” 

Without warning, he dashed forward.

Acorn’s instinct switched on in an instant. With a smooth and powerful slide, he ducked down and lunged forward.

Granger saw his huge body hurtle toward him, and backtracked in a hurry. 

Damn it! He had cooked him nice and slow, but that knucklehead still got the freakish reflexes of a cat! Granger turned his back to Acorn in order to protect the ball. All right, he chewed over, he could go for another three pointers, but that would be like admitting he could not outwit that brainless bronco. No, no, he was going to win fair and square. He was not going to lose a basketball match to a stupid horse. He could wrap him around his fingers anytime. He got it in him, he knew it!

Granger turned around and launched himself into a frenzy of feints, counter-feints, counter-counter-feints. In his mind, he was imitating the professional basketball players he had seen on TV, looking cool and smooth, as he placed some amazing moves. In reality, he was flailing his limbs around madly, resembling more a possessed drunken chicken with an epileptic fit, than a pro player.

One thing he was doing right, though: he looked confusing. Too bad that Acorn did not buy that. With effortless flair, he was anticipating Granger’s every move as if he could read his mind.

It was maddening. Granger could not stand being played like a sheep. He had taught Acorn, he was the master, he was the one with hands and opposable thumbs. It was ludicrous; he could not lose. Not AGAIN!

Granger pushed forward, desperate to break the siege. He groaned and moaned and sweat, but Acorn did not relinquish any ground. He was there like Granger’s own shadow, wherever he went. His eyes were glistening, focused on Granger as if stopping him was the most important thing in the universe. 

Exasperated, Granger grimaced out of breath. Nothing he tried would work. That slack ball had proven a total liability. Damn it, he was not going to lose!

In one last mighty effort, he pulled together all his remaining strength and went for broke. He spun around twice to the left, feinted a shot, then threw himself to the right to catch Acorn off guard. He lost balance and overreached.

As soon as Acorn saw the ball clean in front of him, he pulled back his ears and lunged to bite.

Granger saw Acorn’s bare teeth spring open like the gate of hell. He let go in a hurry. Acorn’s huge mouth snapped shut around the ball. His thumb-sized teeth clamped the rubber and squeezed it with enormous strength, making it creak.

Granger jumped back, freaked out by Acorn’s ferocity. Instinctively, he rubbed his fingers on his T-shirt, checking that they were still attached, then he caught himself. Damn that horse! Acorn had banked on his fear and he had fallen for it. Played like a sheep! Granger slapped himself, then turned around, indignant. 

“This is basketball, you dumb mule,” he yelled out to Acorn, “not MURDERball!” 

Calling foul play was certainly better than admitting to have lost. He had to protect his dignity, after all.

Acorn, in response, neighed at the top of his lungs, raising the prize in his mouth for everybody to see. He jerked his head and tail high and trotted around like the king of horses, gloating over his victory. 

“Yeah, yeah, strut your stuff around,” grunted Granger, but he could not suppress a smile. “Enjoy your small victory, until you can!” He walked to the chalkboard and scratched another white stick under Acorn’s name. What’s fair is fair. 

He turned. Acorn was still shamelessly parading around. Granger scoffed at him. 

“Fine, fine, you won. Are you going to give me that ball back, or you want to sleep with it?” 

He grinned, looking at the poor basketball squeezed between Acorn’s jaws. That was why the thing was so worn out. He liked that. Their game was not a pretty boy tea time hobby. No, Sir, THEIR game was a rough and tumble back alley clandestine venue. Ooh, yeah! At least that was how he liked to think of that. It was a tradition kept secret in the back of the house�"their little secret society. I mean, mom did know of course, and sometimes she came to watch a match, but other than to her, Granger did not wish to show anybody else. He knew how people would look at him. They would just stare at him and Acorn as if they were a freak show routine, whereas all he wanted to do was having a good time with his friend. People were so dumb about these things. Once, he had told a couple of his friends at school, and they had not stopped laughing. Even the adults had given him strange looks. Granger really could not see what was so special about it. Sure, he was playing basketball with a horse, but he was not REALLY playing basketball. A horse can’t play basketball like a human. Plus, what he was doing was pretty logical. Acorn had that shepherding instinct, so he thought he would mark him too, if he made it into a game. And so Acorn did. What was so crazy about that? How was it possible that people could understand math, the universe, even computers, but could not get something so simple? Now, THAT was crazy!

Granger shrugged and shook out of his reverie. Enough of this business, already! If he wasn’t going to win, he better find something else to do.

“Snap out if it!” he yelled at the still strutting Acorn.

Acorn turned, probably more attracted by the change of tone in Granger’s voice, than because he was through with showing off. He studied him eagerly, sensing they were going to go do something else.

Granger looked at the sky. There was only maybe another hour of sun left and he was still half wet, so he thought he could finally concede to his mom’s request and dry out. After all, he was pretty happy about how the day had turn out. The last hour of light before sunset was always best spent relaxing in the grass anyway, watching the sunlight slowly change color and die in the West. It was the best movie one could ever watch. Like with any other piece of entertainment, though, the experience was not going to be complete without some refreshments.

Granger ran home. Mom had gone out with Mrs. Roeg, so he did not even try to control his impetus. He wrenched the door open, letting it crash against the wall. He stormed into the kitchen, ransacked mom’s private stash of sweets, grabbing a handful of multicolored candies, and run out slamming the door so hard that a fleck of paint came away from the wall. Mom would have killed him for that, had she been there. Granger grinned at another mischief successfully carried out.

Acorn tailed Granger, as they ran back toward the paddock, curious to discover what they would do next.

Granger aimed straight for his favorite spot, a patch of soft grass next to a huge, old chestnut tree. He turned toward the sun to saw if there was still enough warmth in the air. A lukewarm glow glided over him, caressing his skin. It was not exactly hot, but it was still manageable. 

Granger got hold of his wet clothes and wriggled out of them. He took off his wet shirt and jeans and hung them on a low branch of the chestnut tree. 

He spun around purposefully and faced the world in his rocket underpants, eager for any passer-bys to behold his awesomeness. To his disappointment, only two crows in the distance noticed him; they cawed and flew away. Perhaps, his incredible handsomeness was too much for them to handle, Granger chuckled. 

Acorn nuzzled Granger’s shirt on the branch. He licked curiously at some of the drops dripping from its fringes, then turned around, apparently satisfied.

Granger sat down in the grass. He relished in the freshness under his buttock, while the sun enshrouded him in its golden warmth. He squinted at the fading light, at peace with the world and himself.

Acorn, still waiting for the next call to action, puzzled over Granger’s apparent lack of motivation. He did not seem satisfied with just hanging around. He started searching for something to do, then noticed Granger’s unkempt hair and decided that would suffice. He stepped closer and started pulling at each black strand with his nozzle. His big, fleshy lips moved very delicately, methodically, so as not to hurt Granger. He picked each strand with great attention, then, like an expert hairdresser, he twisted it as he pulled, making it stand on ends. 

Granger sat still, always amused and mesmerized by this quirk. He had no idea why Acorn liked to mess with his hair so much. He did not know if it meant affection, or it was more like a game of skill for him, or, maybe, it was a stress reliever, much like playing with those squishy balls they sold at the supermarket. Who knew, really, but it felt strangely pleasant and ticklish, so Granger let him do it.

Now that he was sitting in the sun, the idea of lazying about for a little while did not seem that bad at all. Granger’s mind started drifting over the pleasant memories of the day. Sneakily, the thought of Holly crawled back into his mind. A cold, soggy knot tightened in Granger’s stomach. Taken by surprise, he suddenly felt lonely, even if Acorn was next to him. Inexplicably, he felt a sudden rush of yearning for Holly’s company. Why? He didn’t even like her that much. It was just… She used to come and play with him, but lately she kept on coming up with excuses. Homework… Yeah, right! She was not slow�"it could not take her so long. Was she avoiding him? But why? He had never done anything to her�"at least he thought so. Whatever…

Granger glanced up at his friend. “Who needs her, right Acorn?” 

Acorn stared back blankly, not knowing where this was going. 

“We are the kings of fun! We don’t need nobody!” 

Granger unwrapped two of the candies he had stolen, and handed one to Acorn. Acorn flicked his ears to full attention at the sight of the sugary treat. He slowly inched forward and picked up the candy between his lips with the utmost care, then tasted it with anticipation. His big, watery eyes became all round. Granger snickered: he loved how surprised Acorn turned whenever he let him try a new flavor. Each time he thought he could see Acorn’s brain pop and fizzle with delight. The fun never grew old, really.

Granger popped the other candy in his mouth. A sweet tide of cherry flavor washed over him with a pleasant fizz. He smiled and nodded at Acorn.

“I know what you mean, pal. This is a GOOD one!”

Acorn glanced at him, apparently too enthralled to manage any kind of response.

Granger knew that he was lucky to have a friend like him�"he just wished sometimes that Acorn could talk, so they could share more things… But then, the magic of a friendship that did not need words was something he cherished very much. Being friends with someone of another species was something magical�"he knew that�"and words were not that important, after all. To tell the truth, Acorn knew him better than most of his friends that could talk, and he knew Acorn as much as he knew himself. He knew that he was afraid of storms, since that time he was out in the paddock and a bolt of lightning hit the woods nearby. He knew that he liked Menthos, but did not like cotton candy. He knew that he had an ongoing feud with Dillinger, his dad’s favorite horse, but loved Milly, the Tibetan goat that kept company to Dillinger. He knew that Acorn liked early mornings, red hair people, and swimming in the river. And he knew that he loved him. 

And yet...

All of a sudden, that strange yearning rushed back through him. And it was not just for Holly, this time.

He wanted more friends. 

As soon as he thought that, Granger felt ashamed. Somehow, it felt like a betrayal. Why suddenly Acorn felt like he was not enough anymore? 

He felt lonely. Yeah, somehow he felt lonely, even if he had Acorn’s company. Isolated. 

Why was it that his friends hardly ever came to visit him these days? When they were all smaller, many had been afraid of Acorn, but he had won them over and, for a while, they had all come over regularly. Holly, especially, liked Acorn and she would come hang out with the two of them a lot. He still remembered the first time she and Acorn met. It happened during a trip to his own house in second grade. 

Since his family had so many animals, Ms. Ambrose thought it would be instructive to bring the whole class there.

At the time, Granger was very nervous. He was afraid of showing his classmates how poor he was, because he thought they would make fun of him. At the same time, he felt a kind of pride, because his teacher had looked very impressed, when she had discovered about his farm. So, he felt alternatively hot and cold, fretting and excited.

His fears were probably well placed, but what he had not taken into account was the fact that his classmates had never seen so many animals all at once. Soon, they had become so overwhelmed with touching, feeding and dealing with the animals, that none of them had given much notice to either the state of the house, or the rusty sheep shed, or the patched up boxes of the horses. There had been no sniggering, no elbowing, no whispering. By the time they arrived at the paddock where Acorn was waiting for them, Granger was in excellent mood and ready to show off. 

They walked up to the fence where Acorn was craning his neck, eager to study them more closely. Many of Granger’s classmates and Ms. Ambrose took Acorn’s interest for aggressive behavior, so they  fanned out around him, at a distance. Granger walked up to Acorn, patted him on the neck and turned around. He suddenly found himself facing a hesitating crowd. Granger had pictured in his head  everybody just walking up with him, as he started telling them some stories about Acorn, while they took turn to pat him. When he found them stalled, looking afraid, he blanked. That did not make any sense. Acorn was not dangerous. 

“Come on, he doesn’t bite,” he called out, but that made some of his classmates recoil, as if they had not thought a horse could bite and now the prospect of getting near it was even less appealing.

Acorn twitched his ears and stiffened, disquieted by the hostile vibe he was feeling.

Granger felt Acorn tense up, and his feet went cold with sweat. If they made Acorn nervous, he was going to look like an idiot! It was going to be a disaster! He glanced around, desperate for anybody to come forward, when he noticed Holly in the front of the line. She didn’t look scared like the others, more shy than anything else, but, more importantly, her eyes were burning for Acorn. She looked like she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life. Granger could tell that she yearned for nothing better than to touch Acorn. On a hunch, he raised his hand and stroked the silky bit of nose right above the upper lip, where every horse feels like silk.

Acorn shifted his attention from the crowd to Granger’s hand. Granger’s touch immediately made him feel at ease. He relaxed and sighed.

“It’s soft. Come, touch it!” Granger invited Holly.

Holly’s face lit up at the offer. She stepped forward, but immediately stopped in her tracks. “Can I, really?” she said looking at Acorn, as if asking him permission.

Acorn pricked his ears at the eagerness in her voice, taking interest in her.

“Yeah,” answered Granger. “He loves it. Here, rub here. Feel the tiny hair and the skin.”

Holly stretched out her hand.

Acorn nudged her and probed her palm with his nozzle.

Holly giggled at the tickling. Emboldened by Acorn’s friendliness, she placed her hand on his nose and rubbed gently.

Acorn sighed and relaxed in her hand.

Holly turned to Granger, surprised and delighted. “It’s so soft!”

“I know,” smiled Granger. He was relieved that Holly was so much into it. Now he did not have to worry anymore.

In fact, as soon as the other kids saw how much Holly was enjoying herself, they all stepped up to try too. Soon Granger was taking people in turns, while Acorn seemed to enjoy the attention immensely.

Granger shook out of his reverie. Acorn finished pulling another strand of his hair. Granger reached up with his hand and felt something like a mane fanning around his head. He probably looked like a crazy scientist now, he thought. He patted Acorn distractedly and was stung by a pang of melancholy about that day. All of his friends around him… The admiration he had felt from them, instead of the mockery he had expected. Why could it not be like that again? 

For a while after that day, things had worked out well. Many of his friends had come often to visit and he went regularly to play with them. Then, as they grew up, something started changing. The steady stream of friends became a trickle, until it extinguished and Granger found himself suddenly alone with Acorn. Even a close friend as Holly had stopped coming hanging out with him. Granger could not understand why. Lately it had suddenly started feeling like everybody was running away from something�"he just hoped it was not him.

A sudden chill run up Granger’s spine. He looked up at the sky: the sun throbbed on the horizon and began setting among sheets of crimson clouds. The air heaved a last warm sigh, then a cold breeze glided down from the distant mountains.