Sorta Like a Rock Star(33)

But the coolest detail about this moment was that PJ had this tiny little funny-looking gray dog on a leash. When I saw the dog, I ran over to it—all girly of me, I know—and I bent down to give the pup a big kiss and a pat on the head.

As you know, I go frickin’ nuts for dogs.

“You pass the test,” Private Jackson said to me from above. “She likes you. And she’s a very hard judge of character.”

“So this is Ms. Jenny?” I said, rubbing the crap out the little dog’s head.

“Yes.”

“What breed is she?”

“Italian greyhound.”

“What did you mean by writing she runs the diamond?”

“You’ll see if you take a walk with me.”

We started walking down his street, following Ms. Jenny.

“So you dig haikus?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“Kind of interesting for a dude your age to be writing haikus.”

“Why?”

“Aren’t they for children?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Elementary kids write haikus when they study Japan. I had to read one while wearing a homemade bedsheet kimono at the Cultures of the World Festival, back in the day, when I was only a wee one.”

“Do you remember the haiku you read?”

“No.”

Private Jackson didn’t say anything in response.

“Why did you write me back this time?” I asked him. “Why did you send me a haiku?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to. If we’re going to be honest, I now wish I hadn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really like people.”

“Why?”

“Dogs are better than people. I have a dog. That’s all I need. Dogs are easy. People are complicated.”

“Tell me about it. Dogs are way better than people.”

“It was rude of me to slam the door in your face. My actions troubled me for days. It was rude. Unkind. I feel as though I have accrued bad karma.”

“No worries. People are rude to me all the time. I’m totally used to it. My mom’s boyfriend slams the door in my face all the time. At least you didn’t call me a bitch, right? Oliver’s a grade-A a-hole.”

PJ didn’t laugh at that joke but said, “You looked like the type of person who likes dogs.”

“How can you tell?”

“You have a kind dog-loving look about you.”

“Thanks.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you. I was just stating a fact.”

“Un-thanks.”

He laughed slightly at that one, covering his mouth, as if he had burped, and then said, “I thought maybe if I sent you a haiku, and you understood what it meant, that would prove that you’d like to see my dog run, and then—after you saw Ms. Jenny run the bases—we’d be even.”

“That’s a pretty elaborate plan, Jackson.”

“Please don’t make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just stating a fact,” I said, because I love a running joke.

“I’m not going to write you any more letters. This is a one-shot deal. I want to be upfront about that. I’m not looking to make a friend. I just wanted to erase the bad karma I created when I slammed the door in your face. I didn’t ask you to come to my door, but the universe sent you and I acted poorly, so I have to reverse that before I go back into my house where I can be alone with Ms. Jenny.”

“Cool. Letters suck,” I said, even though I really dig letters. I was sorta figuring out that PJ was a little nuts by this point, but I still dug him. He didn’t seem mean, and he was trying to make up for slamming the door in my face. People don’t often make stuff up to me. “So why did you write me a haiku?”

“I write haikus all day long. That’s what I do. All I do.”

“What do you mean that’s what you do?”

“I mean, I get up in the morning, walk and feed Ms. Jenny, write haikus until five PM—keeping my thoughts concentrated and pure—walk and feed Ms. Jenny, read the haikus of other more talented poetry masters at night—keeping my thoughts pure and concentrated—and then I go to bed at eight PM.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“No bull?”

“It’s what I do. Not very interesting, I’m afraid.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s the most interesting hooey I’ve heard in—like weeks.”

PJ smiled at that one, but in a confused sorta way—like he maybe had to pass gas. “You’re teasing me.”

“No way. I really dig haikus. Five. Seven. Five. Seventeen syllables. That’s the bomb.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Why would I make fun of you?” I asked PJ.

“I’m not used to taking walks with people.”

“Neither am I.”

“We’re here,” PJ said to me, and when I looked up and around, I realized that we were on the town baseball field. She runs the diamond. “Watch this. It’s beautiful. The opposite of a door slammed in your face.”