Strays

This was originally a screen play to a short film I wrote in College. But a little bit ago I decided to go back to the drawing room and turn it into a short story. I originally got the idea when I had a dog in Santa Fe named Gracie. She is the most beautiful, intelligent, and wonderful dog I know. Raising her from a puppy to lady dog taught me so much about myself and of life in general. I dedicate this story to her. 

If there is no heaven for dogs, 

then I want to go where they go when they die.

~anonymous

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You couldn't tell from her face, but she was beautiful. Behind the pinkish lump of scar tissue used to be a beautiful dark brown eye like her right one. What used to be a beautiful coat of short brown fur was now mottled by long slivers of flesh where hair couldn't grow. Even her movement was off-putting; an uncomfortable step-step-limp that was caused by missing tendons. But she wasn't always disfigured. She was once a prized pure-bred boxer puppy; energetic, playful, and completely loyal. All it took was a box cutter, a heartless being, and a gang dispute. An innocent soul caught between bad people. No longer the beautiful breed she was supposed to be she was given up for adoption. The shelter took care of her; her wounds healed, but left deep scars over her eye, her chest, her legs, but most of all her heart. It would take her a long time before she could trust any human again. How could one trust such a cruel animal capable of so much hurt? It took an angel by the name of Sarah to teach her to trust again- to love. 

Sarah was a volunteer at an animal shelter. She helped by walking the dogs and filling their bowls with dry food and water. The first time she met Belle was during meal. As Sarah opened the chain-linked fence door Belle began to huddle into the corner, feebly growling out of the corner of her mouth. "Hey pretty. You hungry?" Sarah cooed.  Belle growled louder. "It's ok, I'm leaving. See?" She dropped the bowl and closed the gate. 

Sarah knew she needed to be patient. It wasn't the first time Sarah had befriended a stray. Unlike Belle he had two good eyes, two legs, and stood at five foot ten. But like Belle they both shared scars. No visible scars on his body, but his heart bore lashings from the heart-ache of infidelity. And like Belle, David lay a heavy mortar on his walls, creating a tall and thick blockade keeping all others out. They met in college. Their mail boxes were ten boxes apart, and he caught her eye. Bashfully he pretended not to notice, but her sunny charm over-powered him. A flighting smile turned into dinner. A dinner turned into a late night discussion. Late night discussion turned into a week. Weeks turned into a month. And months turned into two and a half years, which was right around the time when she decided to adopt Belle.

After months of breaking through Belle's hardened defenses  she finally stopped growling at her. She even allowed herself to be pet. She was still afraid of loud noises, other dogs, any men, cars, and darkness. She often peed herself when such nightmarish things presented themselves. But she trusted Sarah. Her kindness and warmth broke down the barriers of fear, and allowed her to get close to another again. 

~  •  ~

She kept her eyes glued to the back seat. Sarah wasn't sure how Belle would take to the car, being her first trip (that she knew of at least). She drove slowly, smoothly, guiding the sedan sweepingly through her neighborhood streets like a large boat in a small canal. She arrived. "Finally", she thought as she let a deep sigh out. She quickly unbuckled her seatbelt and went to the back of the car to carry Belle out. She was sad she still couldn't get her to walk out on her own. Even with trust they had established she wouldn't come to her. If anything Belle had humbled her. She reminded Sarah that no matter how much trust one had in you the decision to step forward was always in the hands- or paws- of the other. She let Belle down onto the grass as she heard the front door of the house open, she looked up. 

 

"Hey beautiful. Hey Belle." Sarah smiled and looked into David's deep blue eyes, then looked down at Belle's scarred body. 

"Say hi Belle." She was glad he was there to share this with her. Belle's first time in a stable home. She saw Belle had a different opinion, as demonstrated by the raised lip and a low growl.

"It's ok Belle. That's Dave." Dave walked a few steps forward and squatted down, like Sarah recommended. Get low, down to their level. Present yourself in a non-threatening fashion. 

"It's ok Belle, I won't hurt you," David said, in his softest tone possible. Sarah glowed inside. She hadn't heard Dave use that babyish tone before. He was new with animals, and she was endeared by his desire to be in this part of her life. Belle continued to growl, and began to turn towards Sarah. Sarah picked her up and carried her into the house. Belle continued to growl the entire time in, keeping her one good eye on David. Sarah felt the uneasiness from Dave as he watched, his stomach in his throat, unsure of the proper conduct in such a scenario. 

"It's ok. She's just frightened, she won't actually hurt you."

"She sure sounds like it," Dave said with bone dry wit. She appreciated his efforts. She knew it was a tough task, to bring get close to an emotionally scarred animal. But time heals all wounds. It had taken her about three months before Belle let her pet her, and it too six months to have David let her in and say "I love you." Sarah let Belle down, her nails clicked against the hard wood floor. Belle walked into the house, her legs shaking like a branch in the wind. After a few steps she released a small spurt of urine onto the floor. 

"Well at least she's housebroken." Sarah punched Dave on the arm. "Ow." 

~ • ~

Belle never asked to be cut, but the demons of time and chance took care of that. Had her previous owner picked any one of her brothers or sisters over her perhaps she'd have depth perception instead of nightmares. But timing and chance rule all. They can be the cruelest of creatures or the savior of souls. Had Dave not walked in on his ex-girlfriend perhaps he'd still be with her, wondering why she was so distant when they made love. Had Sarah and Dave not met in the mailroom at that exact time, or had those exact mailboxes, perhaps they would have never met. And had Sarah not been born with an empathetic heart perhaps she would have never adopted Belle. But chance is not always so kind. It was an empathetic heart that brought their family together, but it was the hypertrophic cardiomyopathy of her heart that separated them. She died of a sudden heart attack one month after Christmas. Dave knew something was wrong when he came home. Belle, who was almost always quiet, was barking loud and often. He followed the noise and found her breathless body lying on the kitchen floor. 

The funeral was small and quaint, Sarah would have wanted it that way. Not a mourning, but a celebration of life- regardless of how worthless Dave felt his was at the time. He continued to watch after Belle, Sarah would have wanted it that way. She would have never wanted to see her back in the cold concrete and steel fenced halls of the dog shelter. Belle still hadn't warmed up to Dave. He tried everything Sarah taught him. Show the back of his hand and let her smell him. Give her treats when she behaved well. He sculpted the tonality of his voice to convey his various emotions and moods. But nothing worked. She snapped at his fingers when he tried to pet her. Get up and leave the room when he entered. Growl at him as he placed her feed bowl in front of her. At first it broke his heart, but after a few weeks he developed a cool indifference towards the animal. It was almost like having a plant that he had to let out the back three times a day. He kept it fed and watered. It grew. It added life to the house, but little else. 

~ • ~

The cool autumn air blew through the streets. The ruddy green maple leaves held limply onto the trees, trying to escape their inevitability that came with the fall. Dave liked this time of year. It was not an intuitive affection to most, but he liked the shift in seasons. He liked the way the added layers clung to him like a warm hug. He liked the way frost would make the grass sparkle in the morning light. But most of all he liked how the cold smell of winter lingered in the distance. 

As part of his fall ritual he would break out his winter clothes. Pushing the polo shirts to the back, and bringing  out his sweaters and coats forward. Belle lay curled in her dog bed, her chin on the floor. Even though she would never follow Dave around the house she would still go up to the bed room at night, as though she were still expecting Sarah to sleep in their bed. Dave was shuffling the clothes about inside the walk-in closet attached to the bed room. The closet had become much bigger ever since he had donated Sarah's clothes to Goodwill, but it was something he tried not to think about. Instead he let his clothes slowly take over the closet. First his slacks took over the back left-side, then his shirts joined them. They couldn't fill the space that Sarah's dresses did, so they hung a few inches apart, awkwardly filling in the large space. 

Finally, Dave found his suede jacket tucked behind the his sport coat and robe. He pulled it out and slipped it on. The strong leather smell creeping its way into his nostrils. He felt the rough leather arms, then zipped it up. He stepped out of the closet and shut the door. He stood tall, and inspected himself in the mirror on the closet door-regardless of how silly a suede jacket and pajama pants looked. He hadn't worn the jacket in awhile, but he was very satisfied with the way old leather fit. Out of habit, he slipped his hands into the pockets. Something small hugged the pinky finger of his right hand, he pulled it out. It was a ring he gave Sarah for their second year anniversary. Made of small polished silver with turquoise stones; it fit her perfectly, but couldn't make it past the big knuckle of his pinky finger. He had forgotten that the people at the morgue had given it to him after after the funeral. He hadn't worn that jacket since that day. Finding the ring created a small crack in his damn, and it began to spread. At first he felt the heat in his face, then a pit in his gut. Then the same punched-in-the-gut feeling he had felt when he was standing their in the graveyard, thumbing the ring in his pocket. 

Crack. He couldn't stand anymore, so he walked over and sat on the bed. It was all coming back to him, a deluge of memories that he couldn't hold back. He remembered first seeing her, the way that little strand of red hair would cover her face. The way she'd place her tongue between her teeth when she'd laugh. The way she fit in his shoulder as they slept, and the way she'd roll with him as he moved in his sleep, as though they were one. He remembered the way she'd put her arm out the window on long car trips and ride the wind with her hand. The way she'd walk around the room naked, her beautiful essence shining out from her pale white skin. He remembered how she would skip when she was drunk. And the way she would always point out the natural beauty of life to Dave, whether it was the phase of the moon, the honeysuckle blooming at spring, or the dusky sun-light against the buildings. Dave's lip trembled. He tried as hard as a man could not to cry, until he couldn't help but lay his head into his hands. His body convulsed as he gasped for air between inaudible sobs. He was thankful no one was there. 

 

Suddenly he felt a faint brush against his leg, then a heavy warmth. Dave opened his hands and looked down. Belle had crossed the room and was leaning against him. She was looking the other way, but she was leaning against him. He reached down with his wet palm and stroked her scarred head. She didn't move, she didn't growl, she just peacefully rested against him. Dave smiled. She may have been leaning against his leg, but it was Belle who was holding him up. 

Fiction for Fiction Sake

I thought I'd try to spice my blog up tonight, and write some fiction before I go to bed. I haven't done this in awhile, so bear with me. *cracks knuckles* 

*************

It started slowly. A low inconsistent hum, unsteadily building up into a sharp steaming whistle, breaking the silence of the night. He slipped on a faded blue oven mitt and picked up the scalding pot, placing it onto the stone counter top. One cup of tea before bed was the normal routine, or at least it had become his nightly regiment when he moved to the South West. The nights were much colder than back in LA. It was similar, they were both deserts- although one would not know it from the amount of flowers and trees blooming from the side of the road daily. No, it was much colder at night here. It was beginning to be that time of year where your breath would cloud and the Aspen leaves would create golden streaks running across the thick groves. He didn't know it at the time, he was still new, but after that autumn the images would resonate in his head. It's hard to not have that kind of beauty leave a mark. 

Throwing a sweater on he wandered into the dimly lit streets. As the door slammed behind him the cold air brushed his cheeks, carrying with it the undertones of fall. His small adobe house stood at the dead end of a street. Where the pink pools of night-lamps light ended, and the black darkness began. Just beyond it was an empty field of dirt and rocks. Such an odd concept he thought, an empty space within a city. Another odd change he found was the quiet. The absence of helicopters, traffic, city din, and barking dogs (well, that wasn't quite true, on occasion dogs and coyotes would pepper the night with noise until their throats went sore).  He walked down the street and into the dark field, his tea leaving a faint ethereal ghost tail behind. Keeping the cup between his hands he peered about the dark field, letting his night vision settle in. 

Soon the dark night sky began to separate itself from the black horizon, and the stars began to appear like thin needle pricks through a dark cloth. He hadn't quite gotten used to the stars yet, the sheer magnitude of the heavens. He had always known there was sky. He knew there were pink sunsets, gray overcast days, rainy dark days, clear moonlit nights where the entire world was a pale blue. But he never really knew the night sky until he moved. He looked about and tried to imagine constellations, he knew there was the big dipper, and there must be the little dipper. The only thing he knew of stars from back home was the north star sometimes, and Venus, which of course was a planet, and not a star at all. 

Venus glowed a dull pink color, matching the dull pink of the LA night sky, and was the only thing bright enough to pierce through the light pollution in the small blot of sky he could see from his hot tub. That was about all he knew about Venus, that and he was a Gemini, which meant he must have some intellectual rapport with someone before he loved them. That he learned from some book that was the planet where women came from, and no where near the planet men came from. He scanned the heavens for his old friend, that ball of pink gas burning in the sky. As his eyes began to become more and more accustomed to the night sky he began to notice more and more stars, like a billion small Christmas lights in vast darkness. There were almost too many, he couldn't determine which was his planet, that single heavenly body he could recognize. The earth and heavens danced in rotation as he stood solid like a statue; watching.

His tea slowly became tepid from the cold night. He was disappointed, sad, lonely. He couldn't understand why it was so difficult to find something he had known for so long. He knew what his planet looked like, he had it for all those years in the city. It was the only thing he knew of his night sky. But this wasn't his night sky anymore. It was huge. It was a dark blue tarp lit up by thousands of bright diamonds. It was the kind of night sky tribal wise-men and poets would write about, admiring its beauty. But it wasn't his night sky. It wasn't what he knew. Amongst the beauty and the vastness he lost the only thing he knew of night. 

Defeated and holding an empty cup of tea in his hands he walked back to the warmth of street lights. His feet shuffled across the dry rocky flats, kicking up unseen dirt with each foot step. Walking up the wooden stairs to his house he made a promise to himself- tomorrow I'm buying an constellation book.