When Life Gives You O.J. (19 page)
Read When Life Gives You O.J. Online
Authors: Erica S. Perl
“No,” I told him. “I think it’s a plastic jug. But I’m practicing for when I get a real dog. A big one that bites,” I added.
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard!” hooted Nicky.
Just then, someone yelled, “Hey, shrimp!”
Allie and I turned, while Nicky seemed to flinch at the sound of the words. “What?” yelled Nicky at his big brother, who was sitting in the driver’s seat of a yellow convertible parked next to the Dairy Barn.
“Be sure they make my milkshake extra-thick!”
“I don’t have enough,” whined Nicky.
“Just do it,” demanded his brother. Nicky scowled back at him but said nothing.
When Allie got her creemee, she followed me over to our favorite picnic table.
“Let’s go,” she hissed again.
“No,” I told her, even though my heart was pounding from what had just happened. We always ate our cones at this table. I wasn’t going to let Nicky take that away. Just then, I heard the cashier saying something to Nicky.
“Aw, c’mon, close enough,” said Nicky. “Just give me the shake.”
“You’re ten cents short,” said the cashier firmly, shaking her head. When she said the word
short
, I noticed for the first time just how short Nicky actually was. He looked particularly tiny and naked-mole-rat-ish trying to glare over the ice cream counter, which was fairly high up.
Allie smiled with satisfaction. I felt like smiling too. It was great to have a front-row seat for Nicky getting what he deserved. Without really thinking about it, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the change I had left. Shining in my hand was a dime.
I wrapped my fingers around it and lifted my clenched fist high.
“Hey, Nicky,” I yelled.
Nicky turned, his eyes narrowed, his mouth pinched into a scowl.
I could already picture Jeremy’s wide-mouthed laugh as I replayed the scene for him and described how I got Nicky back for the pennies. I imagined the expression of surprise and alarm that would cross Nicky’s face as he saw the coin hurtling toward him. He might even put up his hands and cry out in fear. Come to think of it, he already looked like he might cry.
I lowered my hand. “Catch,” I called, tossing him the dime underhand.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, after examining it. He paid and carried the shake back to the car without another word. I noticed he didn’t have an ice cream for himself. As the car
pulled away, Nicky looked at me. Not with gratitude or anger. Just confusion. And maybe suspicion, like he wasn’t used to people doing nice things for him.
I laughed. I was surprised at how good it felt to show him he didn’t get to me.
“What did you do
that
for?” asked Allie.
I shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere,” I said.
On the way home, Allie took a turn pulling O.J. “I’ve always wanted a dog too,” she said shyly. “Maybe I should ask my parents if I can get a dog when you get yours.”
“That would be so cute! Hey, maybe we could get puppies from the same litter!”
“Yeah! And we could name them something that went together,” said Allie.
“Like Apollo and Artemis,” I suggested. “Or Ruby and Amethyst.”
“Or Bacon and Eggs!”
“No, please,” I groaned. “No more breakfast names.”
“What? I think that’d be cute,” said Allie.
We walked on, planning what our puppies would look like, how we’d get them matching leashes and collars, and where we’d take them on walks together. O.J. lagged behind us on the path, rattling along companionably.
“I really thought you were going to hit him with that coin,” said Allie.
“So did I,” I admitted, kicking a little stone along the path. I guess sometimes you don’t know things about yourself until you do.
Since Ace had his heart attack, my mom has started talking about going to temple to check it out and maybe even to join. I’m still not sure how I feel about the Hebrew school part, but I guess I’m game to give it a try. It might be nice to meet some other Jewish kids, whether or not they live on cherry farms. Unfortunately, I probably won’t get to actually go with Jeremy because my mom thinks we’d be more comfortable at the
Star Wars
Shema temple. This makes Jeremy very jealous.
“Look on the bright side,” I told him the other day while we were taking a walk. “Maybe your rabbi will figure out a way to sing some other prayer to the theme song from
Malone at Last.
” Which was the new Matt Malone movie that was about to open. Jeremy and Allie and I had made plans to go
see it on opening day as sort of a last hurrah before the summer ended and sixth grade began.
“Yeah, sure,” said Jeremy, but I could tell from the way he said it that he hoped I was right. “Hey, look out,” he added, pointing to a puddle on the sidewalk.
A puddle freshly made …
by my new puppy.
That’s right,
my dog
.
A real, flesh-and-blood, tail-wagging, stick-fetching (well, not yet, but someday!) dog, which my parents finally agreed to let me get after—and, now that I think about it, maybe
because
—O.J. survived Ace’s heart attack.
“No fair!” howled Sam. “How come she gets a dog?”
“Now, Sammy,” said my mom. “Your sister has been very diligent about taking care of O.J.”
“And,” added my dad, “she’ll be eleven in a little over a month. So, Zelly, you can consider this an early birthday present.”
I picked up my puppy and hugged him tight, just like on the cover of
Shiloh
. I breathed deep, smelling his puppy smell. It was the best smell I ever smelled, even better than the tall grass in the field out behind The Farm. My puppy licked my ear, making me laugh. I set him down in my lap and petted his velvety dark-brown-and-white fur and scratched behind his small, floppy ears. He wagged his whole body with happiness, almost as if he hadn’t figured out how to control just his tail yet.
“I guess Ace was right,” mused my mom, watching me. “She’s ready.”
“They always said he was the wisest man in Chelm,” said my dad, winking.
“Not just in Chelm,” I said. I still couldn’t believe Ace had pulled it off, even though the proof was right there in my lap. But somehow he had. Somehow
we
had.
“What kind of dog is he?” asked Sam, still looking a little jealous. He had one hand on his favorite birthday present, the new lightsaber I made for him out of a flashlight, a long cardboard tube, and yellow fluorescent paint. It looked as if he was trying to reassure himself that it was almost as good as a puppy. Both his wrists were covered with rubber bands, which, in some sort of nutty tribute to Ace, he still refused to take off.
“According to the authorities at the Chittenden County Humane Society … he’s a mutt,” said my dad. “Although I think he’s mostly English springer spaniel.”
“His coloring is called ‘liver and white,’ ” added my mom.
“I’ll have you know he is a
Jewish
springer spaniel,” called a voice, “and his color is chopped liver on rye.”
With that, Ace hobbled determinedly into the living room. Yes, Ace had come home from the hospital. And he had finally given in and started using his cane. He was still working on getting back his energy, not to mention getting back to his old volume level. He seemed different in a lot of ways. Except for the bad jokes way.
My parents laughed. My puppy wriggled around in my
lap, clearly enjoying the attention. I didn’t care what anyone said about his breed or his colors. He was all mine, and I was so happy I felt like my heart would burst.
“Thank you,” I told my parents. I turned to Ace. “Thank you so much!”
“You should use him in good health,” said Ace. Or, I should say,
Grandpa
. Because, true to his word, when Ace came home from the hospital, he actually decided to retire the whole “Ace” business. Whenever it comes up, he makes jokes about how he’s trying out new nicknames, like “Czar” or “Emperor” or his favorite, “Grand Pooh-Bah.” And if you call him Ace, he waves his hand and frowns. “That guy?” he says. “He’s ancient history.”
My dad says it won’t last. He says that as soon as Grandpa’s voice returns, he’ll go right back to being the same old Ace. Me, I’m not so sure. Though, in a way, I hope my dad is right. I can’t believe it, but I actually miss the old Ace. Almost as much as I miss Bubbles, because as much as I loved Bubbles, she didn’t drive me crazy the way Ace did. I guess that’s what love is, sometimes. The power to drive you crazy. And to make you do crazy things, like drag an old orange juice jug all over town. Which seems a whole lot less crazy from where I’m sitting: on the floor, with my new puppy in my lap.
“What are you going to name him?” asked my dad.
“O.J., perhaps?” asked my mom.
I shook my head.
I knew just what to name him, and it wasn’t O.J.
Not because I don’t like the name. It’s just that it’s a Jewish tradition to name things to honor special people who are no longer with us. Like me being named after my great-aunt Zipporah. And O.J., I’m pleased to say, is still around.
O.J. sits on top of the bookcase in my room, in a place of honor. He’s a little dirty, a little dented, but always, always smiling. When I come home from a walk, my new dog curls up in a dog bed right next to my bookcase, and O.J. smiles down
on my new dog,
who
(with my grandpa’s blessing)
I named
Ace.
THE END
by Zelda Irene Fried
My grandpa is named Abraham Diamond, and my grandma was named Belle Diamond. A long time ago, when they were kids, their parents and grandparents spoke a language called Yiddish. My grandpa sometimes calls this language “Jewish,” which is what
Yiddish
means.
Yiddish is a very, very old language that started as a blend of German, Hebrew, French, Polish, and other languages in the twelfth century or earlier. Yiddish is written using the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. My grandpa says he remembers his father reading Yiddish newspapers in New York when he was a little boy. My dad told me that in Orthodox Jewish communities all over the world, some people still speak, read, and write Yiddish. He showed me online that there’s even a Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, Massachusetts. Their purpose is to rescue Yiddish books and share them with the world. They have a huge collection of old Yiddish books, plus new ones too. They even have a book called
Di Kats der Payats
. You know what that is? It’s
The Cat in the Hat
in Yiddish, even though “payats” really means “clown.”
My grandpa doesn’t read or write in Yiddish much
anymore. But he does use a lot of Yiddish words, even when he is speaking English. Like
bagel
. Did you know that was a Yiddish word? Neither did I until my grandpa told me. Here are some more Yiddish words and what they mean:
bubbe
– Grandma. My grandma was called “Bubbles” because I got the words
bubbe
and
bubbles
mixed up when I was little.
bubeleh
– Little grandma, but people sometimes say it to mean “darling” or “sweetie.” You can say it to a man or a woman or a kid.
bupkis
– Nothing, or something that is worth nothing. What it actually means is “beans.”
chazerai
– Junk, but people usually say it to mean “junk food,” like candy, especially if there’s a lot of it.
Chelm
– A mythical town of fools, where the wise man is the biggest fool. My grandma always called my grandpa “the wisest man in Chelm” to tease him.
chutzpah
– My mom says this means “nerve.” My dad says you say this about someone who does something outrageous. Here is his example: A beggar asks for food, saying he has no money and will pay next week. The baker feels sorry and gives him a dozen bagels. The beggar then points out that the bakery rule is that if you get twelve bagels, you get an extra one free and demands a thirteenth bagel. “That’s chutzpah” is what my dad says.
Chutzpah
can also mean “courage.” For example, it would take a lot of chutzpah to jump in a pond that might have leeches in it.
goy
– A person who is not Jewish. More than one are “goyim.”
hock
– My grandpa says “Stop hocking me” when he means stop bugging him about something. My mom says it actually means “to bang on something,” like a gong. So you could say it about someone who talks your ear off, like our neighbor Mrs. Stanley. Only she’s really nice, so I wouldn’t say it about her, even if it is true.
kvell
– To act very proud of something or someone. My grandma used to kvell about things my brother and I did.
kvetch
– To complain. My grandpa kvetches about things my brother and I do.
meshuggener
– A crazy person. My grandpa yells this at the TV a lot. You can also say that a crazy thing—like a fish that jumps out of the water and into your lap—or a crazy idea is “meshugge.”
nosh
– To have a snack. It also means “a snack.” So you can nosh on a nosh!
nu
– This sort of means “so?” or “well?” But my grandpa says, “So, nu?” which seems to me like saying the same thing twice.
oy vey
– Oh no! My grandpa also says “Vey iz mir,” which is like an “oy vey” times ten.
Shabbes
– From Friday night at sundown to Saturday night at sundown is called Shabbes. My mom says in Hebrew it is also called Shabbat, which is the day of rest. When she was growing up, her parents would make a special meal every Friday night and sometimes invite friends and neighbors to join them.
shammes
– This means “helper,” which is why you call the candle you use to help light the rest of the Chanukah candles “the shammes.”
shayna
– Beautiful. My grandma called me “shayna punim,” which means “beautiful face,” and “shayna velt,” which means “beautiful world,” and sometimes just plain “shayna.”
Shema
– This is a special Hebrew prayer. My friend Jeremy says the word
shema
means “hear.” So the prayer starts “Shema Yisrael,” which means “Hear, Israel …” But it doesn’t mean Israel the country. It’s more like “Listen up, all Jewish people …” He learned this at Hebrew school, so I guess that must be right.
shiksa
– A girl or woman who is not Jewish.
shiva
– “Sitting shiva” means “staying home and mourning,” usually for seven days (“shiva” means “seven” in Hebrew), after a family member dies. There are lots of rules about sitting shiva. I think one of them is that people who visit have to bring food.
shmeer
– A small amount of something you can spread, like a “shmeer” of cream cheese on a bagel.
shmendrick
– I think this means “a loser” or “a jerk.” I asked my grandpa and he said “A shmendrick means a shmendrick.”
shtikl
– A small piece of something (the
l
at the end means “little”). My grandma used to say “Nem a shtikl cake” whenever we visited. She meant “Take a little piece of cake.”
tuchus
– You sit on this. Guess what it is.
zorg zikh nisht
– My grandpa says this means “Don’t worry about it.” But whenever he says it, you
know
there’s something to worry about!