“Really?” I ask in a weak voice. I mean, Mrs. Moody’s not my favorite person in the world and she’s certainly not known for her pleasantries, but the thought of her being kicked out actually makes me feel really sorry for her.
“I don’t know what else to do. And I can’t have her injuring anyone else.” There’s a certain finality in her tone that resonates with me as she steps past and continues down the hall. I’m not sure what to do at this point, so I simply stand there, two feet outside of Mrs. Moody’s doorway, and strain my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of the destruction inside.
I have half an idea to just turn around and retreat to the safety of the quiet activity room where normal, subdued residents are getting ready to play Name That Tune with Gail, but something stops me. It’s not something that I see in the room, but rather something I see at my feet. As I stare down at the yellow dog in the wooden frame, with her frizzy tufts of fur, long whiskered snout, and round, expressive eyes, I’m struck with a sudden idea. It may be a shot in the dark, but it’s the only shot anyone seems to be taking around here.
I turn on my heels and head straight for the nurses’ station where Harriet is already on the phone, presumably finding another permanent home for Mrs. Moody.
“Wait!” I plead, coming around the corner. “Don’t kick her out yet.”
Harriet eyes me apprehensively. “Frankly, Brooklyn, this doesn’t concern you.”
I bite my lip, feeling insecure and slightly in over my head, but somewhere deep down, I find the strength to press on. “I might have another solution. Will you let me try something first?” I ask, surprised by how assertive I sound when I could have sworn my words would come out garbled and shrouded in doubt.
Harriet looks reluctant, as do the rest of the nurses at the station, especially Carol, who’s currently having a series of bite marks on her hand cleaned out with disinfectant.
“I can’t risk you getting hurt,” Harriet begins, looking apologetic. “Our insurance company would have my head.”
But in the end it’s her voice that seems to carry the uncertainty, so I waste no time taking advantage of her hesitation, whipping out my cell phone and dialing before she can stop me. “Just give me thirty minutes,” I tell her.
Every Dog Has His Day
I wait outside, pacing the sidewalk and obsessively alternating between checking my watch and checking the entrance of the parking lot. I hope my directions to the nur- home were okay. I was kind of in a hurry when I dished them out, racing through the details at warp speed and rattling off turns like there was a potential terrorist attack with a ticking bomb about to go off.
And in all honesty, there kind of is. Except in this scenario, the ticking bomb would be Mrs. Moody.
I hug my jacket tighter around me to edge out the cold and hop around to keep myself warm. The sun is starting to set and the windchill is picking up. Fortunately, I don’t have to wait much longer because a few seconds later I see a small, blue, beat-up truck pull into the parking lot and veer into a spot. The door swings open and Brian hops out, giving me a quick wave before running around to the passenger side and opening the door. I see him reach inside to grab the end of a leash before a bouncy and eager golden doodle springs onto the pavement, sniffing the ground curiously with his wispy ears perked up and his bushy tail wagging vigorously.
I run over to them and the dog greets me warmly with a lick on the hand.
Brian laughs and smooths back his dark curly hair. In a way it kind of matches the dog’s. At least in terms of its thick, wiry texture. “This is Dudley. Dudley, meet my new debate partner, Brooklyn.”
I kneel down and give Dudley a quick head ruffle. “Hi, Dudley!” Then I pop back up. “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. I hope you two weren’t doing anything important.”
“Just the usual. Chasing fire trucks, digging up flower beds, defacing people’s front lawns. You know, the Dudster and I like to live on the edge.”
I try to laugh but I’m clearly too distracted.
“So what’s going on?” he asks, sensing my distress. “You sounded panicked on the phone.”
I huff out a heavy sigh. “Well, it’s a bit of a crisis situation. C’mon, I’ll explain everything.”
By the time we make it to the hallway that leads to Mrs. Moody’s room, Brian is entirely caught up to speed. Dudley is trotting happily beside us as if he understands exactly what he’s been called in to do and has accepted his challenge dutifully, ready to serve mankind—his universally acknowledged “best friend.”
“I had no idea you volunteered here,” Brian says, taking in his surroundings.
“Well, it’s complicated,” I divulge guardedly. “Let’s just say the whole volunteering aspect wasn’t my idea.”
We’re nearly at Mrs. Moody’s door when Carol seems to appear out of nowhere, stepping in front of us and blocking our path. “You can’t bring that dog in here,” she snarls.
“He’s here to help Mrs. Moody,” I explain, having no patience to deal with her right now.
“We have a strict no-animal policy at this facility.”
“I know,” I begin with an exasperated sigh but Brian is quick to cut me off.
“Dudley is a service dog,” he says smartly, nodding toward his eager companion who appears to be wondering why we’ve stopped in the middle of this hallway when clearly there’s a job to be done.
She eyes both of us with skepticism. “He is?”
Brian nods. “Absolutely. Brooklyn called me in a panic, and I was in such a hurry to get here I forgot to bring his service vest.”
Carol’s eyes narrow. She’s obviously deciding whether or not to believe us. “What kind of service dog?”
“A therapy dog,” Brian replies confidently without missing a beat. “Yeah, we do this kind of stuff all the time. In fact, Dudley loves coming to nursing homes. It’s his specialty.”
We look down at the dog and, as if sensing something is being desired of him, he drops to his haunches and stares back at us expectantly, as if to say “Okay, now what?”
Carol mulls over the situation for an awfully long time until the overhead PA system squawks to life, interrupting her thoughts. “Carol, please come to the front desk. Carol to the front desk, please.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brian cringe at the awful sound of the corroded speaker, but he manages to keep smiling. Carol looks down the hall toward the reception area, then back at us, and finally, seeming to tire of this argument, she mutters, “Fine. Just keep him away from the other residents. Some are allergic.” Then she spins on her heels and stomps away.
As soon as she’s gone, I whisper, “Is that true? Is he really a service dog?”
But Brian just laughs and shakes his head. “Nah.” He nods his head down the hall and gives the dog’s leash a small tug. “Come on. Dudley’s getting antsy.”
Once we’ve reached the door to room 4A, I make Brian and Dudley wait outside so they can be formally introduced, then I step hesitantly into Mrs. Moody’s room. The place is still in shambles, evidence of her aversion to unwanted visitors, and I immediately wonder if I should have worn some type of protective headgear.
“Mrs. Moody,” I say delicately as I hover close to the far wall. Although judging by those items still lying in the hallway, Mrs. Moody may be old and fragile-looking, but she has an arm that could pitch game seven of the World Series.
She doesn’t answer and for a moment I think that she might be sleeping. But as I tiptoe closer to her bedside I see that her eyes are open and her nostrils are flaring angrily with each in-flamed breath. Like a dragon ready to burn the place down with one fiery exhale.
“Mrs. Moody, it’s me, Brooklyn.” Then just in case she really has lost it, I throw in, “You know, Baby Brooklyn.”
The room is silent apart from the sound of her ragged breaths.
“I brought someone who might cheer you up.”
The breathing quickens and I notice her knuckle
s start to blanche again, indicating that she has heard me and she’s reacting with her usual tenseness.
I extend my arm and beckon toward the open doorway. “He’s been waiting in the hallway and he’s been absolutely dying to meet you.”
On cue, Dudley prances into the room, leash-free, and with a quick sniff of the air he veers left and heads straight for Mrs. Moody’s bed. His snout plops down atop the covers as he waits to be noticed and fawned over.
I watch Mrs. Moody’s reaction very carefully, and as soon as she catches sight of Dudley’s large black nose and matted yellow fur around his snout, she hoists herself up to get a better look.
“Ruby!” she cries wistfully. “Ruby, you’ve come to see me.
Here, girl!” She pats the bed and Dudley eagerly obeys, hopping up and stepping around Mrs. Moody’s frail little legs until he’s able to position himself next to her. It’s almost as though he can somehow sense her fragility. Maybe he really should be a service dog.
He lies down against the wall and allows Mrs. Moody to wrap her wrinkled and vein-covered arms around his neck like a teddy bear. “Am I dead?” she asks the dog, having clearly forgotten that I’m even in the room. “Are you here to take me to Heaven? Oh, I just knew they’d send you, Ruby. I just knew it!”
Dudley pants contentedly beside her, and although I’m quite enjoying this brand-new side of Mrs. Moody, I really don’t think it’s healthy to allow her to continue to think that she’s dead, so I have to interrupt the tender moment between them and set the record straight. “No, Mrs. Moody. You aren’t dead. You’re still alive. This is Dudley. He belongs to my friend Brian.”
It’s then that I turn around and see Brian standing behind me, next to the bookshelf. I flash him a grateful smile and a quick thumbs-up to let him know that it’s definitely working.
“Oh,” she replies, sounding eternally disappointed. For a moment I worry that the new Mrs. Moody is going to vanish instantly and disappear out the door like a ghost and the old Mrs. Moody is going to take over again and start barking out obscenities and throwing stuff, like she never left.
But she simply leans back to get a better look at the dog that’s lying next to her, with his head resting on his paws. She repeats the name Dudley quietly to herself, trying it on for size, and begins to stroke his shoulders.
“That’s a good dog, Dudley. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”
I watch in complete astonishment as Mrs. Moody continues to purr quietly to herself, running her hands mindlessly across Dudley’s shaggy coat, as though she were momentarily in a world all by herself. A world without anger, without hostility, and without an ounce of moodiness.
And then the most amazing thing happens. As she sits there, caressing the dog and murmuring to him in a soft, almost sing-songy voice, the corners of her mouth start to curl, her lips begin to part, and before I can even comprehend what is going on, a joyful gurgle of laughter echoes throughout the room.
I turn to Brian and beam. He beams back at me even though I’m certain he can’t possibly understand how huge this is. I mean, he doesn’t even know Mrs. Moody. The only background he has on the woman is the thirty seconds’ worth of information I dumped on him while we were walking from the parking lot to the building. There’s no way he can really grasp how truly significant this breakthrough is.
But even so, I can’t help thinking that on some level he does get it. Or at least he gets how it makes me feel. And for that reason, there’s no one else in the world I’d want to share this moment with.
As our eyes meet, I’m struck by an incredible warmness that soaks through my entire body. Like tomato soup when it’s too cold or rainy to go outside. His smile is loose but knowing. His gaze delicate but penetrating. And his eyes are a truly remarkable shade of greenish hazel. They seem to twinkle even without the help of dashboard lights.
Brian steps toward me and slowly reaches his hand to my face. I stand perfectly still and close my eyes. For some reason, I want him to touch me right now. I want him to be close to me. I want to share this warmth I feel with someone living, breathing, approaching. Someone who will appreciate it, absorb it, and return it back to me with the same intensity.
With my eyes closed, I can feel his proximity. I sense him moving closer to me. The heat from his body radiates off his skin and attaches to mine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My pulse quickens. My breathing follows suit.
And then, I feel it. The tip of his index finger making contact with my cheek. The cool prick of moisture. I open my eyes to see Brian dabbing at a tear that has trickled down my face. Until then, I hadn’t even realized that I’d been crying. Embarrassed, I lower my head and wipe hastily at both cheeks, feeling foolish and childlike. Then, like house lights illuminating a theater at the end of an enthralling movie, I remember where I am. Who I am. What I’m doing. Then I blink and turn back to Mrs. Moody.
Go Fish!
Colorado Springs is a beautiful town, nestled right up against the Rocky Mountains with Pikes Peak as an exquisite backdrop. Izzie went to tennis camp one summer at the nearby Air Force Academy but I’ve only ever been down here a handful of times. Unfortunately we won’t have much time to see any of the city because our schedule for the debate tournament is jam-packed. Three back-to-back debate rounds today, an overnight stay at the Holiday Inn near the hosting school, and then it’s back in the morning for more debating.
It takes about an hour to drive down to Colorado Springs. So just like last weekend, Brian picks me up super early on Saturday morning. I’m still half asleep when I toss my overnight bag on the floor of his truck cab and climb into the passenger seat.
Despite my fatigue, I’m actually really happy to see him this morning. After Harriet witnessed firsthand what a difference Dudley made on Mrs. Moody’s notorious disposition, she agreed not to evict her as long as we could arrange to have a therapy dog visit her on a regular basis. Brian immediately volunteered to bring Dudley in once a week. The gesture really touched me. I mean, he totally didn’t have to do that. And now every time I think about it, I find myself smiling.
The first day of competition doesn’t go as well as our last meet. We win only one of our three rounds. That’s probably because, as Brian explains, this is an advanced level meet that you have to qualify for to enter in so the competition is naturally going to be tougher.
Even though he assures me that I’m doing extremely well, I’m starting to feel very discouraged by the results.
The first day ends at around eight and we stop for a fast-food dinner before retiring to the hotel. Because Katy “Huffy” Huffington and I are the only girls on the team, we’re forced to share a room, which, trust me, I’m not thrilled about since Katy pretty much hates everything about me, but as soon as we get to the room she dumps her stuff on the bed and disappears to an undisclosed location, so now I pretty much have the whole place to myself.
I take off my stuffy debate suit, shower, and slip into a comfy pair of sweats and a tank top. With wet hair and a clean face, I lie back on my double bed, grab the remote and flip on the TV, searching for something to distract me until I fall asleep.
I’m just settling in for a rerun episode of my favorite sitcom when there’s a knock on the door. I peer through the peephole to see Brian’s face on the other side, distorted like in a fun house mirror.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, opening the door and leaning against the jamb.
“You busy?” He glances apprehensively over my shoulder, as if he expects to see me entertaining a group of foreign dignitaries or something.
I look back at the TV. “Not really, why? Did you want to go over the inherency issues again?”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and kind of teeters back and forth from his heels to his toes. For a minute, he almost looks nervous about something. “No. I’m tired of talking about debate.”
I laugh. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
He jerks his head in the direct
ion of the hallway. “A couple of us are getting together to play a game. Do you want to join?”
“What kind of game?”
He shrugs, looking kind of sheepish. “Nothing fancy. Just, you know, the usual. Monopoly, Uno, maybe a little Go Fish if we’re feeling especially rebellious.”
I touch at my wet hair and glance down at my sweatpants and tank top. “I’m not really dressed.”
“Oh, you’re fine,” he assures me. “Totally casual. We’re just hanging out in Jake and Dave’s room.”
I shrug and grab my hotel key off the dresser. “Okay. Let me put on my shoes.”
I follow Brian a few doors down until we arrive at room 202. He pushes the slightly ajar door open and that’s when I come face-to-face with something that is definitely not a game of Go Fish. Unless they totally changed the rules to include making out with someone when they fail to produce the card you’re asking for.
Our entire debate team is scattered around the room and they’re all cheering and counting backward in a unified chant like they’re getting ready to kick off the New Year or something. And smack-dab in the center of everything is Jake, a junior on the team, totally swapping spit with Katy “Huffy” Huffington.
“What is this?” I yell to Brian over the noise.
“Twenty-one! Twenty! Nineteen!”
“Truth or Dare,” Brian yells back, once again looking totally uncomfortable and embarrassed. “They were dared to make out for ninety seconds.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Truth or Dare? I thought you said we’d be playing Uno!”
“Truth or Dare is a Colorado Springs Overnight tradition. We play it every year.”
“Ten! Nine! Eight!” the room chants.
“You lured me here under false pretenses,” I say, looking outraged, although I’m really just in shock. The debate team playing Truth or Dare? Who would have guessed?
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