By Dwayne Phillips
January 12th, 2008, 2008-002
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Lloyd Bennett, 7AM, Tuesday
“Oh another day. So quiet. So quiet. I miss Bobby, and all the others, too. Me oh my. Well, not to waste time. The day is started.”
Lloyd talked quietly to himself in a musical way. Most of what he said these days was like that - to himself in a way that most people found queer, odd. There didn’t seem to be anyone else to talk to, so why not talk to himself?
Lloyd pulled on a pair of wool, soft pants. They looked like pajamas, but they weren’t. Then he put on a dirty, old sweatshirt. Then a pair of black socks and black, leather dress shoes. He looked awful, but no one minded. At least no one said anything.
No, no one said anything to Lloyd about his clothing. No one said anything to Lloyd at all except for a casual “hi” or “evening.”
Lloyd sat quickly at a two-foot square table in his proportionally small kitchen. The water kettle had boiled, and Lloyd poured the bubbling water into an old ceramic mug - the kind that diners used when there were diners and city dwellers ate meals in them.
Lloyd had stolen that old mug from a diner. Stolen really wasn’t an apt word for what he did. The diner was closing after 50 years of business and four different owners. It was their last day and Lloyd didn’t think anyone would mind, especially not the corporation that bought the land and was going to demolish the building the next day. Bobby still chastised him about it when he proudly set it on that same two-foot square table 20 years earlier. The mug had found a home, and it stayed on the table 24 hours a day for 20 years.
Lloyd dropped several spoonfuls of instant coffee into the mug of steaming water. He gave it half a stir and started to sip the drink. Bobby used to make coffee in a percolator. That is what Lloyd thought. Sometimes he wasn’t so sure about that, but there was a percolator on the counter. The electric cord was broken from it. Perhaps it had worn out. Lloyd couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter much.
Ten minutes later, Lloyd was finished with his morning drink. He pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, wiped the spoon on the table clean and did the same with the ceramic mug.
“Time for my walk.”
Lloyd stood, turned with a skip, and walked towards the door. He placed his apartment key, rubbed almost smooth with a faint “722” barely visible, in his left shoe. Standing erect, Lloyd walked through the door, closed it behind him, and took the elevator to the lobby of the apartment building.
Next to the door, faded, dusty, and brimming with the hope of young people in love was a 5”x7” black and white photo in a plastic brown frame sitting on a table. Pictured were two sweethearts from another time, smiling, and looking into one another’s eyes with adoration. Scribbled across the photograph under their faces were signatures, “Lloyd” and “Roberta.”
Under the picture frame was a piece of newsprint. It was yellow and brown, not the true color of fresh newsprint. Someone had torn it from a newspaper and spilled coffee on it, percolated coffee not instant. It was an obituary for Roberta Bennett. The article was short and didn’t mention anything heroic or historic. Simply a woman age 45 who had died of lung cancer 15 years earlier. She was survived by a son John, age 25, and a husband Lloyd, age 46.
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Norma Shaw, 7:15AM, Tuesday
Someone was knocking on the door.
“Its morning,” came through the door, muffled but as loud as if the speaker were standing on the room side instead of the hallway side.
“Betty was here already. Why was she here so early?” wondered Norma.
A quick glance at the clock on the wall of the kitchen, “Geez,” muttered Norma, “it’s 7:15. What happened?”
“Hold it Betty,” Norma shouted back as she left the breakfast dishes on the counter and turned towards her apartment door. Breakfast dishes, ha. A scratched corning ware plate with a half-eaten Pop-tart and wadded paper towel.
“I lost track of time,” Norma said as an excuse as she opened the door and walked away before she and Betty could make eye contact. That was a good thing as Betty walked in the door before it was open.
“Did you see what happened on Oprah yesterday?” Betty asked as she stepped into the kitchen and sat. “Norma? Norma, where did you go?”
“Come on kids, let’s move, we’re all late this morning,” exhorted Norma.
She shooshed three Chihuahuas out of the bathroom into the main room of the apartment. Norma waited in the bathroom and looked at the wrinkled red cotton blanket on the floor. “I’ll make a better place for my kids this weekend.”
Norma promised herself to improve the Chihuahuas bed several times a week since she brought them home from the pet store two years earlier. The right weekend never seemed to come along.
“Come on in here you little rats,” exclaimed Betty. She always called Norma’s Chihuahuas “little rats” to balance Norma calling them kids. Norma penned them “Baby, Bobby, and Larry,” her precious kids.
The three Chihuahuas click-clacked their way into the kitchen and sniffed around Betty’s feet. There nails a little too long for a smooth hard floor in an apartment.
“Can’t you get these toe nails trimmed Norma?” shouted Betty. At least it was a shout for most people. For Betty it was the usual.
“Oh, stop giving grief to my kids. They don’t bother you any. Help me gather their things.”
“Their things. Their things. You’d think these little rats were human kids,” complained Betty. Regardless of her complaints, Betty grabbed three small cans of dog food and a bottle of drinking water, set them into a blue cloth carry bag with “Norma’s Boys” penned lovingly on the side. “These rats can’t drink water from a faucet, huh.”
Norma kneeled on the floor, and the three Chihuahuas scurried to her. She jostled each one affectionately while checking to ensure that each had his collar and tags. She had purchased heart-shaped name tags and had their names engraved. The name tags were there, as if they would fall off somehow, but Norma always checked each morning before going out.
Norma attached the ends of a three-way leash to the ring on each collar. She stood, grabbed her purse, took a sip of water from the counter, and turned for the door. Betty, with the familiarity of doing the same each day, stood with the dog’s bag over her shoulder and passed Norma on the way out.
The door closed behind them, apartment 726.
They rode the elevator down to the lobby, Norma making smiles and blowing kisses to her kids, Betty wrinkling her nose and mimicking the blown kisses. Through the lobby and a half block down the sidewalk to the day kennel. Norma handed the leash to an attendant, took the bag from Betty, passed it the same way, blew one last kiss to each Chihuahua, and turned away.
“I hate to leave them here each day,” sniffled Norma as she wiped a tear, or was it an imaginary tear, from her eye. “They deserve better, you know, they are so precious.”
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Bob Dixon, 9:45AM, Tuesday
“Yap yap yap. Stupid little precious little doggies,” muttered Bob Dixon as he yawned and rubbed his face. “Yeah, git along little doggies,” scoffed Bob in a made up cowboy accent.
“I hate this time of the day,” thought Bob. “Keep them in cages all day, that is what I would do if it were up to me. Why let ‘em out into this little yard. They don’t need any exercise. That is for women who eat too much and go to the ‘club’ to ‘work out.’”
“Take it easy Bob,” said Dave. “They’re just a bunch of dogs. You had a dog when you were little. We played with him everyday after school.”
“That was different,” replied Bob. “We were kids and they were dogs. We were all doing what we were supposed to be doing. This, this is different. These are cattle treated like babies. And now is ‘exercise time.’ Exercise, dogs, real dogs, don’t need exercise. They run and play naturally. This,” complained Bob with disgust, “this isn’t real.”
Bob turned away from the yard of a dozen dogs. Each scratching the ground, sniffing the air, and turning around in circles.
“Did you get what the prof’ was talking about last night in electronics?” asked Dave.
“I think so, it’s a little fuzzy, but I’ll have it before test time. I'm just so tired,” sighed Bob as he rubbed his eyes again.
“You don’t look so good Bob. Come on, I’ve got some smokes and Red Bull in my backpack,” encouraged Dave.
“I can’t smoke here in front of the ‘precious little pooches’,” smirked Bob.
“Look, step around the side of the building. No one’s gonna miss you, certainly not the dogs.”
Bob didn’t answer, not with words. His face, however, said yes. He looked around. He wasn’t sure why he was looking around. There was no one else working at the day kennel to see him take a break.
The two of them walked half a dozen paces down the sidewalk and around the corner of the building. They both sat and leaned their backs on the building. Dave pulled out two Red Bulls and a pack of Camels. Bob closed his eyes as he sipped both.
“Please God,” prayed Bob silently, “give me enough energy to make another seven hours with these forsaken dogs and help me stay awake in class again tonight.”
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Lloyd Bennett, 9:50AM, Tuesday
Lloyd Bennett strolled up the sidewalk and stopped.
“My,” thought Lloyd to himself, even outdoors he thought to himself as no one here would talk to him either, ”look at these wonderful Chihuahuas.”
No people were standing by, so Lloyd opened a gate and stepped in among the dogs. “Oh how pleasant. I love dogs,” said Lloyd, this time loud enough for the dogs to hear him.
Lloyd bent over and picked up a Chihuahua. A shiny name tag on the collar caught his eye. Something was engraved on it – “Bobby.”
Lloyd grinned. He grinned a grin so big that lines that had been buried on his face for 15 years reappeared. “Bobby,” he laughed as he cuddled the Chihuahua and rubbed his poorly shaven face against he dog’s snout. “Bobby,” he repeated loud enough for man and dog to hear this time.
Lloyd could say nothing else as a tear rolled down his face and ran into the crease of joy.
- - - - - - - - -
Norma Shaw, 4:00PM, Tuesday
“Of course I can see that you only have two of my Chihuahuas,” screamed Norma. “What did you do with Bobby?”
“Please miss, calm down. The morning attendant has no idea what could have happened. He was here the entire time. We’ve never had anything like this happen before,” replied Bill Knapp, the day kennel manager.
“I don’t care about before, I care about Bobby! Where is he?”
“Miss, we don’t have him. Are you sure that your friend Betty didn’t come by during the day to get him. I know she is with you most of the time,” tried Bill.
“Betty never comes by without me. She really doesn’t like my kids.”
“Have you spoken with her? Are you sure she doesn’t have your do.. er kid Bobby?” asked Bill.
“No,” paused Norma. “I haven’t spoken with Betty since this morning. I will check, but I want you to record that I’m not happy with this. You don’t have Bobby and you are supposed to.”
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Norma Shaw, 5:00PM, Thursday
“Have you seen my Bobby?” asked Norma.
“Bobby, who is Bobby?” answered the apartment’s lobby attendant.
“Bobby, my child,” said Norma.
“You are missing a child. I didn’t know you had any children.”
“Er, dog. Bobby is my Chihuahua. Have you seen a Chihuahua?” stumbled Norma.
“Lady, I see you and your Chihuahuas everyday. I don’t know any other Chihuahuas.”
“Please keep an eye out for Bobby. He is about so high, has cute eyes, and a collar with his name engraved on a tag,” said Norma holding her hands a few inches apart.
“You know, now that you mention it, I have seen that crazy old guy with a Chihuahua the last couple of days.”
“What crazy old guy?” quizzed Norma excitedly.
“You know, the guy on the 7th floor who never talks to anyone. He walks around in pajamas all the time. But the last couple of days he’s wearing an old suit, coat and tie and all being trailed by a Chihuahua.”
“Who are you talking about?” screamed Norma. “What old guy? What room on the 7th floor?”
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7th Floor Hallway, 5:30PM, Thursday
“This is where he lives,” stated Betty, “Right here in this one, 722.”
“Are you sure? How do you know that?” asked Norma.
“Well, you know, I just know. Don’t you know your neighbors?” replied Betty.
The two of them were in the hall looking at the “722” on the door. They stepped side to side nervously while glancing up and down the hallway. From their glances, it appeared that someone was coming, but no one ever did. It was almost comical as they looked like they were searching for a Ladies room.
“But who is this guy?” continued Norma.
“Oh you know, the building widower. His wife died a long time ago and he’s been crazier every day since.”
“You are crazy. The lobby guy is crazy. This is crazy,” emphasized Norma. “No one is going to steal a Chihuahua, especially no one who lives two doors down. They would know that I would run into them and catch them with my kidnapped Bobby.”
From exasperation rather than longing, Norma banged on the door and saw the “722” wiggle with each jolt of her hand.
“I can deal with a crazy old man. I’ve seen plenty of ‘em,” thought Norma.
The door in front of her opened slowly. Norma was ready for a nut case to peer at her with wild eyes. She wasn’t ready for what she saw. An elderly gentleman stood in front of them with his hands folded on his belly. He was dressed, dressed in a three-piece suit that was 20 years out of style, but was still a three-piece suit. His hair was trimmed and neat and his manners gentlemanly. He gave a half bow to them as he spoke.
“Good evening ladies. My, to what do I owe this distinguished visit from two charming young ladies. This is an unusual and pleasant experience,” stated Lloyd Bennett.
“Well,” interrupted Betty as she stepped in front of Norma with a flirtatious smile and a hand smoothing her hair, “my friend Norma and I are looking for a little doggie. You know, one of those cute little Chihuahua fellows. You wouldn’t have seen one?” she asked hoping the answer was a no and the conversation would shift to another topic.
“Oh, Chihuahuas. I love Chihuahuas. My wife and I raised them for years. We bred, sold, and showed them. We had many champions. A wonderful breed, loyal, loving, hard to say anything against them,” lectured Lloyd.
“Yeah, well,” interjected Norma as she placed herself in front of Betty again, “We’re looking for one Chihuahua. He has a collar and an engraved name tag.”
“Well ladies,” answered Lloyd, “please don’t stand in the doorway. Where are my manners? Please, by all means come in and sit while we talk about what seems to be an unfortunate incident.”
Lloyd stepped aside while holding the door knob. He motioned Norma and Betty into his apartment with a graceful turn of his body. The women followed Lloyd’s motion without knowing it and found themselves seated in parlor chairs talking with Lloyd about local politics, building maintenance, the stock market, and half a dozen other current events.
“Where’s my manners?” asked Lloyd to no one, “I must offer you ladies a cup of tea. Please wait.”
Norma and Betty didn’t have time to refuse the offer. Lloyd spritely stood and disappeared into the kitchen. Norma looked at Betty with mouth agape and asked, “What is happening? We’re here to look for my dog. What are we doing? Why are you blushing Betty?”
“Well you know,” stammered Betty, “and I’m not blushing. Where did you ever get that idea? This man is wonderful. How could you suspect him of stealing your dog?”
Lloyd returned, but didn’t seat himself. “The water is on and the tea leaves are in the pot. I trust you ladies enjoy tea? My wife always told me that ladies loved tea far more than coffee. Something about the aroma.”
“Oh, are you married?” asked Betty, knowing or thinking she knew the answer.
“Oh madam, no, no, no, not anymore. That was my dear Bobby over there,” stated Lloyd as you pointed to the photograph on the table next to the door.
Betty stood, took a step towards the door, and picked up the photograph. It was clean and the plastic frame polished. Not like it was two days earlier.
“Beautiful. She was beautiful. And look at you, quite a handsome fellow yourself,” gushed Betty.
“Madam,” laughed Lloyd, “you flatter me. Please stop.”
“I hate to interrupt you two,” interrupted Norma, “but I am here to ask about my Chihuahua. The lobby attendant said he saw you with a Chihuahua following behind the last couple of days. Did you steal my Bobby?”
“Steal. Oh my goodness,” answered Lloyd. “Steal, oh no, why would I steal a precious Chihuahua from someone?”
“Well, I don’t know, but the lobby man says you never had a Chihuahua until two days ago, the same time that my Bobby disappeared,” continued Norma.
At that moment Betty startled Norma with an elbow to the ribs. “Wait a minute Norma,” she whispered in a volume that she guessed Lloyd couldn’t hear. Old people aren't supposed to hear too well, aren’t they? “’Bobby’ that’s what he called his wife. You don’t think that somehow the name jogged something in this old guy’s brain, you know what I mean?”
“You won’t mind if we look around,” stated Norma as she stood and starting walking to the other parts of the apartment.
Before Lloyd could intercede, Norma had opened a door, the bedroom door, and out ran Bobby the Chihuahua.
“Bobby! Precious!,” shouted Norma. “You did steal my Bobby.”
“Madam. I assure you that I am not a thief,” stated Lloyd with a confidence that had not come from his voice in many years.
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7AM, Two Weeks Later
Someone was knocking on the door.
“Its morning,” came through the door, muffled but as loud as if the speaker were standing on the room side instead of the hallway side.
“Come on, its time for our walk,” said Betty.
“Oh yes it is. And what a beautiful day for a morning saunter,” answered Lloyd Bennett as he casually opened the door, stepped through it and closed it behind himself.
“Ah,” Lloyd smiled, “you grow more charming each day.”
“Well, thank you,” gushed Betty as she pulled a hand through her hair and glanced at the ceiling.
The two of them walked down the hallway, entered the elevator and exited into the lobby. Lloyd walked quickly while Betty did so slowly, wanting people in the lobby to notice the scene fully.
They exited the building and started down the sidewalk. On their way to Betty’s office, they passed in front of the day kennel. Norma was handing her three Chihuahuas to Bob Dixon as he yawned and tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes.
“Oh look,” stated Lloyd, “Chihuahuas. I love Chihuahuas. Did I ever mention that Roberta and I raised Chihuahuas?”
Go to Dwayne's Home Page
Email me at
d.phillips@computer.org