Melinda Dus writes short stories and screenplays. She’s an attorney, wife and mother of two young children who lives in Shaker Heights, Ohio, USA.

 

 

Dr. Deanna Allen hitched the beat up ‘70s Airstream camper to her spotless Cadillac SUV. Ample amounts of duct tape held the creaking, tarp-roofed, silver capsule together. Hubert, her new found sidekick, nodded approval. The pot bellied pig drank in air from the passenger side’s open window, hooves up and snout out.

No one stopped her, if anyone saw. She never wavered, not for a moment. Deanna gunned the engine and roared north with Hubert at her side. The Airstream rattled behind them. The duo left Kentucky wheeling toward Cleveland.

 

#

 

Earlier that day…

A call had interrupted Deanna’s morning checklist. In the moment she ignored the intrusion while she set up and tested her equipment. The day’s slate of patients depended on her preparation. She never shirked her duties, that’s how she’d become head anesthesiologist at the Cleveland ambulatory center for outpatient procedures. Deanna retrieved the voicemail later that morning in between patients.

“I found this number in your brother’s things,” Lanelle said. The woman managed the trailer park where Deanna’s brother Travis lived. Her gravelly voice sounded like a rough cough. The sentence arrived in grating spurts.

Display monitors, pressure gauges and flow meters faced her. She checked the anesthesia machinery decked in her usual light gray scrubs. The high-tech equipment cart rumbled over to the side. Her foot toed the wheel brake and pressed down. The message – out of the blue – about her brother commanded her undivided attention.

“Your brother’s been a problem from the start,” Lanelle said. Exasperation tightened her voice. “Probably shouldn’t say it, but you gotta be right to know.”

Deanna’s heart rate quickened. Body frozen in place, she braced herself.

“That pig of his, been rooting through trash, digging up plants. Been cleaning up after it all week. Your brother wouldn’t pick up the dang phone. Finally I marched over to his camper that idn’t even regulation, an Airstream, we got rules.”

Deanna’s shoulders relaxed.

Her breathing returned to normal.

She checked her watch.

“Anyway, that’s when I found ‘im. Ambulance come already. Somebody’s gotta get down here and get this pig. Runs like the dickens any time I come near.” Lanelle finished the message with this sentiment. Some pig remained at large. Her brother’s circumstances paled by comparison. EMS had taken care of him. The manager had yet to capture a porcine menace.

Deanna sucked in the breath she had prematurely released moments earlier. She never heard of this pet or any pet, let alone a pig. An ambulance had taken her brother. Lanelle had found him. Questions, one after another, bubbled up and compelled an immediate callback. A quick stab of the phone icon set things in motion. Her ear and shoulder sandwiched the smart phone while Deanna fidgeted with the machine in front of her. Hook-ups and wires returned to order.

What happened to her brother?

Lanelle didn’t pick-up. Deanna pulled open the supply drawer on the anesthesia cart. The plastic rolled back in place with a satisfying thwack. Deanna wiped everything down threefold. The drawer yawned open and snapped closed in between each task. Lanelle’s number rang and rang, unanswered.

 

#

 

Deanna left Cleveland. She headed to Travis, who lived in her hometown in Kentucky, a place she hadn’t been in years. She sped southwest, down interstate seventy-one, calling every nearby hospital en route. Deanna’s last conversation with Travis churned in her mind. He had contacted her half a year ago needing money.

“Storm came in, blew the roof to bits, Dee,” Travis had told her.

Inclement weather loomed ever present in her sibling’s life. She white-knuckled her tried and true answer, some version of, “Hell no, for God’s sake, man up and get your life in order.” She had ended the call with, “You’re supposed to be my older brother,” her last words to him.

 

#

 

Deanna needed no directions. She located the Sheriff’s office by memory. The squat red brick building stood as it always had on the corner of Main street.

She knew Sheriff Ward since they were kids. Then, he’d been called Jared and only Jerry on the field, the high school baseball team’s catcher. Travis had pitched, basking in the limelight. Jerry had given all the signs that allowed Travis to shine.

“Misadventure,” Jerry said.

Her brother was five days gone when discovered. Calling the death such allowed the file to close. Remorse shadowed Jerry’s face. He had lost an old friend.

The official designation left much to be desired. Her brother had choked on his own vomit. Jerry suggested the asphyxiation was likely unintentional. The officer on the scene had found no signs of foul play. The strange condition they had discovered Travis in, however, caused one to wonder. Deanna would decide for herself.

A strange absence filled her. Somehow, she had outlived all of her family. Their mother had died first. An accident no one ever discussed. Deanna was six. For her dad, death had been liver disease with a dash of alcoholic hepatitis. Travis had taken after him with his love of baseball and stiff drinks. In his death, her older sibling may have been more like their mother than she knew.

 

#

 

Travis faced up on the metal slab. Deanna studied her brother’s corpse. She earned this task as his next of kin and closest relative. She would have anyway. She wanted to see for herself the unusual marks Jerry had described.

Deanna sheathed herself in a sheer disposable surgical gown, papery to touch. She snapped latex gloves over her hands. Her fingers grazed the toe tag. Sharp and acrid, the odors stung. The smell summed up the moment. No one rushed her. Deanna took her time reconciling the person she knew with the body before her.

She aimed her line of sight at the tiled floor. Tears would not come. Her nose pulled in the running snot that threatened her lip. A tiny full body shake dispelled her grief. She settled on anger. Her gaze narrowed, all business. A puzzle laid before her.

Scribbles on Travis’s body showed in marker. Deanna considered every instance. Hours, days or weeks before, no one knew when Travis managed this feat, writing over himself. His body had decayed too much. The colors and his handwriting varied with the sentiments conveyed. Words strung together, far from coherent or linear. Jumbled instructions scattered about like homemade tattoos, his last will and testament.

“Take care of Hubert” appeared most. An arrow pointed to “car wash,” with “his favorite” scrawled nearby. Numbers written like a standing bet, racetrack, last race and horse number stenciled both of his hands. As if a ritual of sorts, ten on three in the final race. Two activities in which Travis had heavily invested his time, drinking and wagers. Her brother wanted one more chance to go out on a win.

“Shit the hill,” marred every limb, his forearms, legs, around his torso. Some of these phrases also bore the words, “I’m serious Dee,” with the name of a baseball field inked beside it. He meant the pitcher’s mound. Leave it to Travis to demand an indecent act as a final tribute. Her eyes traveled to each spot where the entreaty popped up. Deanna’s expression softened as she considered the vulnerable truth Travis had exposed. Her arms folded across her chest. She squeezed her shoulders and leaned in contemplation.

Travis had entered the minor leagues directly after high school with confidence and gusto. Single A had become Double A which had become Triple A. Only, the weekly stipend had never covered his expenses, even at the top tier. Dreams of riches gave way to bitterness. Especially once a shoulder injury had set in. After that her brother struggled to distinguish himself, unable to advance further. Ultimately, Travis had bottomed out of the minor leagues, injured and broke.

One could divide Travis’s life into before and after professional baseball. Her father had gone to every home game. Not a single graduation of hers. Not as a high school valedictorian or summa cum laude in college. She also finished top of her class in medical school but that happened after her father died.

Deanna and Travis had never been close, neither as children nor as adults.

 

#

 

Her brother’s trailer park abutted the racetrack. The manager’s office anchored the entrance, a model home with a wraparound deck. A one-way lane cut through the narrow residences arranged in a horseshoe. Mostly new trailers and modular homes, almost all well kept. Flower boxes and hanging plants decorated the entryways.

Deanna’s Cadillac SUV pulled into lot 17, her brother’s abode. Used and abused, rusted and dented, the old silver ‘70s Airstream camper greeted her. Duct tape reinforced the frame of the front window. She noticed the blue tarp nailed on the roof. Travis had really needed that repair. The front door looked like an interior door picked up from the dump, sized roughly to fit the opening.

Deanna turned the plain knob, no lock apparent nor key needed. Legal papers tacked on to the doorway flitted about. First and second warnings from the property management company, Notice of Eviction and Notice of Foreclosure. Travis hadn’t told her. Of course not. She would have shamed and blamed him.

Deanna stared. Her pupils dilated with wonder as she took the sight in. The interior amazed her. She expected shambles, a mess for sure, but not this, nothing like this. Her thoughts hung in the air. A strange juxtaposition of squalor and beauty occupied the space filled with painted works of art. Color transformed found objects into treasures. Murals coated the walls. No couch, television or radio. Artwork. Everywhere. Travis’s world stunned and intrigued her. She never thought Travis was an eccentric.

Barely any space peeked through except for the path EMS had blazed. This must have been for the gurney. The extraction left its mark.

A collection of hats adorned the short hallway, hung high. Old fashioned fedoras, painted in lively colors. Deanna stepped through to the kitchenette. Her feet crunched on pellets. Animal kibble littered the floor.

Travis had decorated the kitchen cabinets with acrylic paintings of food stuffs and staples. Likewise, he had embellished the dainty Formica counter with decoupage images of leftovers and soiled plates. Very meta. Actual dirty dishes and molding food strangely enhanced the design. She found the confluence arresting and took a moment to discern one from the other.

The walls shuttered, as if a battering ram struck the trailer from outside. Deanna steadied her way out of the Airstream. A large pot bellied pig scratched himself against the metal capsule, knocking into the camper to get the exact right spot. Deanna suspected the pink-tinged animal weighed over a hundred pounds by his size. He wore a collar like a domestic pet and seemed intent on scratching an itch. Deanna took short measured steps until she could read his tag, “Hubert.” The pig nuzzled her hand. The firm, leathery snout flinched, ultra sensitive to her touch. He eventually allowed her to pet him. The two considered each other. When the creature trotted away, Deanna followed.

Hubert led Deanna through the trailer park to a nearby strip mall. He paused in front of a small family-owned hardware store. The pig insisted, shouldering the glass door. Deanna propped the opening wide. The animal waddled through. Hubert proceeded to the back, toward the feed and grain section. Clever beast. He helped himself, feasting away from an open bin. The owner spotted Deanna’s companion and greeted him as an old friend.

“What’re we trading for kibble today?” Upon seeing her, his eyes searched, “Where’s his papa?” Deanna blinked and cleared her throat. Her mouth managed a weak, faltering smile. Her eyes glistened. “Indisposed.”

A bulk purchase would have avoided a return trip. She, however, had traveled on foot. A day’s worth of pellets would have to do.

“I can always find a home for one of Travis’s creations, that’s for sure,” the owner said. He expressed regret at the cash transaction, preferring the original bird cages, cat perches, and custom dog houses that Travis had traded as payment. The shopkeeper’s list of waiting customers grew weekly. “People travel from all over Kentucky. Each one is a one of a kind,” he said.

Hubert barreled out of the store. Deanna caught up to him two doors down at the bar. The pig dropped to his haunches. He nipped at her bag of kibble, announcing his snack time. She piled a heap of food on the pavement and stepped inside.

Stools and booths showcased bold, mix-and-match colors. Table tops displayed images of drinks painted on the surface, an optical illusion. Travis. Deanna approached the bartender.

“Are you ordering?” He asked.

Deanna requested a seltzer. Off the bartender’s quizzical look she clarified and suggested a club soda. The bartender’s frown soured further.

“Gonna order something I can charge for?”

She handed him her card, “whatever you like best on tap,” and asked for a club soda on the side. He set the two drinks in front of her. Deanna pushed the pint toward the bartender, “For you,” and drank her water. She pointed to the painted seat next to her, “Clever.”

“One of my regulars,” he said, “drew someone’s drink on a napkin a while back. It started becoming a thing. Took me a minute to warm to it but he keeps folks drinking longer. They buy the rounds and he paints. On weekends mostly. He has a real knack.”

She toured the bar like a gallery. Travis must have spent a lot of weekends here. Deanna admired her brother’s handiwork and ingenuity.

When she exited the bar, her anticipated reunion with Hubert failed to materialize. The pig had abandoned his post. Worry built for a moment until Deanna caught sight of the animal one strip mall over at the corner convenience store.

Hubert seemed to proceed along a familiar circuit making his rounds. Normally Deanna scheduled her day, every appointment planned well in advance. Allowing herself to travel on pig-time, destinations unknown, felt refreshing.

The pig nudged Deanna into the shop. Hubert maneuvered to the storage area in the back and capsized, as if to nap for a spell. The animal’s actions caused no concern until the clerk noticed Deanna. The startled man gawked and gulped, opening his mouth to speak then snapping it shut fish-like. He managed to make the moment more awkward when he said, “You’re a right sight for sore eyes.”

Deanna went to rouse Hubert, “Watching him for my brother.”

“Well now, Travis, he stocks goods for me from time to time. We have ourselves a system,” the man told her, beaming. He rolled up on the balls of his feet before rocking back to his heels. “Nothing official. I Help him out.”

A side hustle. Travis slung boxes with his damaged shoulder. The owner likely paid him under the table, their system, undoubtedly less than the minimum wage. Hubert seemed to like the place. Deanna did not. She coaxed Hubert up and out they went.

 

#

 

Deanna returned to her brother’s to grab her SUV and find dinner and a hotel. Instead she found an empty space. Her car paralleled a barren patch of packed earth where the Airstream once stood. Her brother’s trailer was gone.

Deanna sounded off. The whoosh of obscenities startled her friend. Hubert grunted in coarse barks. He turned haphazard circles. His girth knocked Deanna onto her backside. She sat still and silent until Hubert calmed down and settled beside her, panting.

She rubbed Hubert’s head, “Tell me you’re house-trained.” He nuzzled her hand, enjoying the attention. “Only one way to find out.” She ushered Hubert into her pristine Cadillac. He clambered, all belly. Cloven feet scraped the sides as he scrambled. The leather upholstery and door frame suffered. All the same, Deanna heaved Hubert in, “I got you.” The car door squeezed shut behind Hubert. Together, Hubert and Deanna, drove to the trailer park manager’s office.

 

#

 

Wrinkles lined Lanelle’s thin mouth. “You came,” Lanelle said, as if the notion surprised her. Tall and lanky, she rose to her full height behind the desk. The manager inquired about the pig right off the bat, then shushed Deanna, while she called animal control. With that order of business completed, Lanelle turned her attention to Deanna.

Deanna parsed through the woman’s long-winded saga. Her brother had fallen behind. The company had foreclosed. Lot 17, Travis’s lot, and everything on it belonged to them fair and square. Lanelle had mentioned none of this in her voicemail.

“We shoulda chucked ‘im and that hunk of junk out months ago. Clean sweep is best for everybody under the circumstances,” Lanelle said.

Deanna stared the woman down. The manager asserted that she had taken pity on her brother. Lanelle had allowed Travis to stay on until her brother could find someplace else. Jerry entered her mind. More than likely the Sheriff wouldn’t toss his old friend to the curb.

The manager had removed the Airstream posthaste. Lanelle had found a buyer for Travis’s home. Someone who’d eyed the vintage camper for a while, or so she said. Glee infused her words. She was not at liberty to disclose the name, “Got rules.” An utter lack of remorse. Travis’s death was one less problem for the manager. The gritty resolve poured out the woman’s dispassionate eyes. Deanna stumbled backward from Lanelle’s office.

Deanna was just starting to know Travis. The Airstream held a part of him she never encountered before. Attributes she liked and admired. Secret parts he had kept private. Travis had carved out a life for himself. He was more than his vices. She wished she could have told him. Perhaps he would be with her if she had.

A truck parked beside her Cadillac SUV. Deanna read the animal control logo on the vehicle. She shot a guilty look over at Hubert who waited in her car. His rear planted in the cream colored cushy leather seat. Deanna dashed into her ride, starting the engine up.

The uniformed man approached her car, pointing at Hubert. “Ma’am, ma’am, livestock can’t roam,” he said, “gotta take it.”

Deanna peeled out, leaving the official shouting behind her.

“Feral pigs ’re dangerous. I’m calling it in,” the man hollered.

Her eyes swept over to Hubert. Feral her ass. Her brother left her this pig. His pig. Her pig. With that, Deanna’s hotel plans changed.

Deanna had misunderstood her brother. She had overlooked and dismissed him as a nuisance. Like Lanelle. His world clicked into place. What Travis had done and why. An accident on purpose. The life that had overwhelmed her sibling.

Travis had trusted her with his final to-do list. Deanna aimed to make good. She wouldn’t let her brother down again.

“Car wash, it is,” she told her companion.

 

#

 

The Squeaky Clean car wash pledged a touchless cleaning. Deanna entered the tunnel. Her SUV in neutral locked into the automated track. Dribbles of soap and sprays of water incited Hubert to snort with pleasure. He wagged his head from side to side. Each splatter delighted him. Deanna’s sighs turned to giggles.

The Cadillac emerged. Hubert bobbed his head and circled in his seat at the towel guy who approached. Deanna waved off the hand-dry finish. Next up, her brother’s little league field.

 

#

 

Her self consciousness grew with each forward step. Her eyes darted about. The pitcher’s mound gave her no cover, in the middle of an open field, more dusty than green. This was where it had all started for Travis. His little league field.

Kibble dropped like bread crumbs. She lured Hubert to the center hill. He pawed the dirt. Deanna couldn’t fathom how to encourage the animal’s defecation. She fed Hubert all that remained from their trip to the hardware store and waited.

Finally he obliged her. Hubert did her proud and dropped a load. The two scampered from the baseball diamond. Deanna’s face flushed with prideful mischief. Ponies next.

 

#

 

Evening approached. Few races remained. No matter. She only wanted the last race. Deanna queued up for a teller to place Travis’s bet. In the line next to her she heard, “This one’s for Travis.” Her eyes swiveled and locked on a distinctive fedora as the hat bobbed away into the crowd. A vibrantly colored headdress painted with fedoras all over the felt. An object decorated with itself. One of Travis’s creations. Deanna followed the hat-wearing man. After the final race, Deanna left when the man departed. Her eyes stayed glued to the fedora.

Fields of parking lots surrounded the racetrack. She locked on the man’s trajectory to determine his intended destination. Deanna hightailed it to her vehicle many rows over. Hubert waited within. His snout slobbered through the partially lowered window.

Her car careened toward the area where the man had parked. Deanna idled at the exit. The man drove a commercial tow truck which clunked out of the lot as he departed. She tailed it. Deanna cautioned herself to stay back. Her vigilance proved unnecessary. The man she followed chatted on his cellphone, oblivious to her. He pulled into Mike’s Towing and Auto Repair and parked the truck which wore the same company name.

The trailer stared at her from Mike’s parking lot. Deanna drove by slowly. She passed Travis’s silver Airstream. Mike had more than a fedora from her brother. He had Travis’s camper.

The pieces fit. Mike had towed the Airstream. Lanelle probably sold the “hunk of junk” to him in exchange for clearing the lot. Her conclusion matched the manager’s spite.

 

#

 

A pensive Deanna and an ecstatic Hubert looped through the Squeaky Clean. The towel guy, who shammies the vehicles by hand with a cloth chamois winked at Hubert. Deanna lowered her window. Hubert climbed over Deanna toward the man and nosed out the window.

The towel man rubbed Hubert’s ear, “Hey Hueby.” He avoided looking at Deanna. He went on to towel vigorously with elbow grease.

“You know each other,” Deanna said.

The man nodded without eye contact, “He loves the car wash.”

Deanna handed the man a tip. He smiled thanks and waved her on. Deanna stayed put. “How do you know him?”

The man scanned the horizon as if Travis, or perhaps his boss, would turn up and catch him gossiping.

“Real quick, ‘kay.” The man stroked Hubert’s ear. “They impounded his car. I, um, so… he pays me to take him through with Hubert.” The attendant’s eyes darted here and there, never settling on Deanna. “Yeah, you know. When he, um, lost his license? With the, uh, DUI?” A mix of guilt and embarrassment came through the man’s voice. His eyes assessed Deana’s reaction, as if trying to figure out if he would be in trouble or not.

Travis had taken good care of his closest friend. Even when he had lost his car, he found a way. Deanna made her decision. She and Hubert would take the Airstream home. Deanna returned to the hardware store. She picked up two fifty pound bags of feed and a hitch for her vehicle.

 

#

 

“It’s not for sale,” Mike told her. “Belonged to a friend.”

“Travis.”

The name caught his attention.

“I’m his sister, Dee.”

Mike’s immediate embrace of her made Deanna uncomfortable. She stood ramrod still until she could step back and gain distance.

“Maybe we can make a trade. He won.” She handed the ticket from the racetrack to Mike. “Ten on three,” Travis’ horse had come in second place.

 

#

 

Deanna hooked the beat up camper to her SUV and roared north with Hubert at her side. Windows down, the night air sweet, the Airstream rattled behind them bound for Cleveland.