Ferret was in a rare good mood this morning. He has been so dour lately.
"I am going to get a home," he fiercely told me as he sipped on a 40 ounce of malt liquor this morning. "I swear. I am."
"Good," I replied. "You can do anything if you put your mind to it."
"How did Clara get a home?" Ferret then asked.
"I got her a ride down to Columbus and she went into a program for homeless alcoholics at the Rescue Mission."
"Do they take men?"
"Yes, they have a men's program. I almost went to join myself about a year ago when I couldn't quit drinking."
"It has been so cold lately and I feel cold all the time. Always shivering and having to wear layers of clothes. And I stink."
I was expecting Ferret to ask me to take him out to the truck stop for a shower, but he didn't. You can smell him -- that acrid smell of underarm odor. It is starting to affect his ability to go into public stores and places. He hasn't taken a bath since he became homeless.
Dexter has been so overjoyed about having a job. I was happy for him today. I was asking my mother the other night if she remembers teaching him.
"Oh, Dexter was terrible," my mother said. "A terrible student. He wouldn't sit still. They finally put him in 'special' classes for special people."
I told my mother the legend surrounding Dexter about him stealing pork chops out of someone's home.
"Did he go to jail?" Mom asked.
"Yeah," I replied. "Just for a few hours, though."
My mom just laughed.
"I shouldn't be laughing," she said snickering. "The poor boy just couldn't help it. He is a good kid. He just needs a helping hand."
I wanted to say Dexter was a man now. Quite a big man. And no longer a boy. He will always be that little school boy to my mother though. I wonder if she thinks the same way about me?