Just Life

by Neil Abramson

  “Louis. After Channa’s father. She would’ve liked that.”

  “No,” Sam said. “She would’ve loved that.” She placed the stethoscope on Louis’s chest and listened for a moment while the puppy nibbled on her fingers. “What can I say? Everything looks perfect.”

  Sid grinned, but then a shadow clouded his face. “What am I going to do without you?”

  “Whatever happens, I’ll still be around.”

  “You know it won’t be the same. Isn’t there some other—”

  “I’ve tried everything I could. I called in every chit that I had. I guess it just isn’t meant to be.”

  Sid wiped something from his huge doe-like eyes. “Tell me, do you know a sadder phrase?”

  “There’ll be time enough for dark days. Today we need to celebrate that you have a new family member.”

  Sid kissed Sam on the forehead, gathered Louis, and almost bumped into Beth on his way out of the office.

  Once Sid departed, Beth cornered Sam. “Nobody wants my help.”

  “Wow, I’m shocked,” Sam said with a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “You being such a caring person and all.”

  Beth’s most expressive form of communication appeared to be her shrug. In the half day they had been together, Sam had observed an “I don’t know” shrug, an “I don’t care” shrug, a “don’t blame me” shrug, an “I’m not impressed” shrug, and perhaps a dozen more. Now Beth showed Sam her “Popeye” shrug—a mildly embarrassed elevation of the shoulders with palms open and upward that said, “I y’am what I y’am.”

  Sam led Beth to the back of the shelter. “Don’t take it personally,” Sam said. “They really care about the animals and they don’t trust you. They assume you’re a screw-up.”

  “Well, as long as it’s not personal.”

  They found Luke kneeling before the open door of one of the larger cages. Inside, a big, handsome mix of Lab and collie waited.

  “What’s her story?” Beth asked Sam.

  “His. We found him a year ago,” she said. “Pelvis was crushed. Some kids took a bat to him. Sweet guy, though. We call him Hips.”

  “C’mon, boy. Time for your walk,” Luke called to him kindly. Hips raised himself up on his front legs; his back end didn’t move. “Can someone grab me his chair?”

  Greg brought forward a device that looked like a cross between a small wheelchair and a luggage cart, with two wheels connected by an axle. Instead of a seat and back, a wide sling of stretchy material dropped down from a bar over the wheels.

  Luke took a wide leather strap, slipped it under Hips’s waist, and gently lifted the dog so he was standing on all four legs. Luke carefully fit Hips over the sling so that his useless hind legs were lifted off the ground. When Hips was secure, the wheels supported his back end while his two front paws made contact with the floor.

  “Jesus,” Beth whispered.

  “He’s figured it out OK,” Sam said defensively. To the dog, in a much softer tone, she said, “Haven’t you, sweetie?” Sam slipped a hand under Hips’s collar and scratched a spot on his neck. The dog pressed back hard against the kind contact. Despite what some humans had done to him, Hips never displayed a moment of hostility or aggression. Sam wanted to learn how to forgive like that, but so far Hips wasn’t talking. “Why don’t we let Beth take him out today?”

  “Me?” Beth responded as if she’d been picked out of a lineup.

  “Andy’ll be pissed,” Greg said. “He takes Hips.”

  “Andy’s late,” Sam replied.

  “But I don’t know how to handle him,” Beth protested.

  “Not much to do,” Sam answered. “Put a leash on his collar. He knows how to do the rest.”

  “But what if—”

  Sam cut her off. “Just be a helpful human.”

  Hips whined and Luke reluctantly stepped aside. “Just walk next to him,” he said. “Simple.”

  Beth reached for the nearest leash, an extend-a-leash lying on a counter. As soon as her fingers touched the device, Greg grabbed it out of her hand. “That’s my leash.”

  “It’s just a leash,” Beth said. “What the hell’s the big deal?”

  Luke stepped between them. “No, no. It is never ‘just a leash,’” he said solemnly.

  “Oh boy,” Sam muttered. “Here we go.”

  Luke adjusted his ponytail. “The leash is not ‘just’ anything. It is the sacred source of the bond between the human and the animal in her care. It is the symbol of trust between the caregiver and the care receiver, that control and discipline will be used wisely and not merely to secure obedience when it is not otherwise necessary. The leash defines who leads, who follows, and, ultimately, who must be left behind. This is true whether it is the tether to a chopper flying low along the Mekong or an extend-a-leash wielded by a firm but caring hand.”

  Sam, Greg, and Beth stared at him. “IMHO,” Luke added self-consciously, and then pressed his hands together and bowed. “Namaste.”

  Beth sighed. “OK, Gandhi, so what the hell should I use?”

  Sam pulled a Gordian knot of leashes from a drawer. “Just grab one of these and take him to the park before he pees on himself.”

  Beth freed a leash from the tangle while Hips waited patiently. She attached the leash and pulled a little too hard. The dog stumbled and yelped in surprise.

  “You need to take the brake off,” Luke said, and pushed a lever on one wheel of the device.

  Beth threw Sam a pleading glance. “I’m not very good with living things.”

  “You’ll be OK,” Sam said. She thought about trying to be more encouraging, but rejected the idea; Beth hadn’t earned that type of gratuitous kindness yet.

  Beth pulled on the leash again and this time they made it to the shelter door without incident.

  Following his injury, Hips no longer had the ability to wag his tail. The dog had learned to show affection in other ways, most often by leaning into his human companion. He did that now to Beth. Although she might not have known what it meant, Beth seemed to understand that it was a good thing; she smiled down at the dog.

  Sam watched them leave and felt a tiny tug of jealousy.

  After Beth and Hips were gone, Sam turned to Luke and Greg. “You’re going to need to give her a chance.”

  “Why?” Greg challenged.

  “Because she is us yesterday and maybe again tomorrow,” Sam said.

  “Nope,” Greg said. “I was never a large white woman and don’t intend to become one. Try again.”

  “Then because I said so,” Sam answered.

  “OK,” Greg yielded. “If that’s the best you can do.”

  “It is,” Sam said.

  Andy arrived, a dog at his side. “Hey, Doc, got a new one you need to take a look at.”

  “Christ, Andy. Not”—one-more-living-thing! she almost screamed, but she stopped herself when she noticed the dog’s long-suffering face and Andy’s hopeful smile. “Take him to my office. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Sam closed her eyes against the day, but instead of total darkness, she saw that enormous digital clock again. It was now in countdown mode.

  Thirty days.

  9

  Andy found Beth asleep on a bench under a large Central Park oak with Hips standing guard beside her. Hips trotted over to Andy and rested his head in the boy’s hand.

  “Don’t bother my dog,” Beth said with her eyes still closed. “I don’t know if he bites.”

  “He doesn’t,” Andy said. “This is one of the sweetest creatures God has ever made.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances. And God’s not here to vouch for him at the moment, so go away, please.”

  Andy didn’t move. He was close to piking again, recalling the moment when he first found Hips, broken and bleeding in the park. He could see the bone jutting out of torn flesh, the unnatural twist of the dog’s body, the huge brown eyes pleading for an explanation. Andy chased the bastards who did it deep into the park
and made sure they understood what an aluminum bat felt like. They whimpered just like—

  “Look,” Beth said as she finally opened her eyes. “You’re sort of creeping me out here, kid, so if you’ve got something to say…”

  “Sorry.” Andy rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Brain fart. Didn’t mean to be rude.” He removed his backpack and sat down on the bench next to Beth. “I’m Andy. Dr. Sam sent me over to make sure you didn’t get lost or fall asleep.”

  “Well, I guess I didn’t get lost.”

  An ancient black man with short silver hair, dark eyes almost lost in a deeply etched face, and a long black coat walked past the bench. The man paused for a moment and nodded at Andy. Andy shivered and the old man quickly moved on.

  “So you’re the shrink?” Andy asked.

  “Was,” Beth said. “Not my job anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t care for mental health professionals?”

  “Not really.”

  “Me neither. What do you do at the shelter?”

  “I volunteer when I can. Sort of paying off a debt.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Beth nodded to the violin case showing out of the top of the backpack. “Gun?”

  “Some days. But today it’s a violin.”

  “How do you know which one it’s going to be?”

  “Depends on which Andy I feed the most.”

  “Ah. So you just carry it around or do you use it?”

  “The gun or the violin?”

  “Both.”

  “Sometimes I use the violin.”

  “I was a musician too.”

  “Really?”

  “No. But I used to play the bells in marching band in high school.”

  “That counts. Notes is notes.”

  “Not really. I never learned to read music, so I just kept hitting the same note over and over.”

  “Did anyone notice?”

  “Yeah. They finally took my mallets away, so I just marched with the bells and pretended to hit them. Then they took my bells away. That’s when I took up the bass drum. Bad conduct followed. The usual ‘girl loses glockenspiel’ hard luck story.”

  Andy laughed. He usually wasn’t good around new people—particularly shrinks—but he recognized another inhabitant of the island of misfit toys when he saw one. He always experienced a “mashed potatoes and mac and cheese” sense of comfort on those rare occasions when he found someone at least as screwed up as himself. And laughter was like kryptonite to piking—the two could not exist in the same space because laughter, like hope, was forward-looking. Andy had also found, however, that laughter was far too fleeting; his memories always returned and hope did not linger.

  “Where do you—” Beth started to ask, but a human steroid advertisement texting on his iPhone rounded the path. Hips couldn’t maneuver fast enough and the man stumbled over the dog. Hips yelped.

  “Hey, watch it!” Andy shouted. The man continued without apology or even acknowledgment. “Dickhead!” Andy called after him.

  That got the man’s attention and he turned. “What’d you say, kid?”

  Andy rose and stepped forward to meet him. Even though the man was several inches taller and about forty pounds heavier, Andy didn’t seem to care. “I said, ‘Get your head out of your ass, moron.’ If you can’t even pay enough attention in the world to avoid stepping on a crippled dog, what are you really doing here?”

  “You gonna do something about it, faggot?” the man challenged.

  Beth joined Andy. “Maybe we should just get back,” she told him.

  “Yeah, maybe you’d better,” the man sneered, jabbing his finger into Andy’s chest with each word. Hips growled at his tone.

  Fingers… hands… dirty nails… a brutal touch. Andy felt the pull. Heat spread from his chest up through his neck to the top of his skull. His head throbbed and his eyes narrowed as he became completely quiet. All his muscles knotted. Someone looking at Andy objectively would have seen something older, larger, menacing—an animal balanced on an unpredictable precipice of violence.

  The man must have seen something dangerous too because he faltered, took a step backward and then another. Andy advanced.

  “We’re cool,” the man offered hopefully.

  Andy shook his head slowly. “No.” His voice was calm, a whisper. “We’re not.”

  “I’m sorry, OK?” The man backed off another two steps.

  “Let it go,” Beth told Andy. “He said he’s sorry.”

  After one last frightened glance at Andy, the man turned and walked away from them at a pace just short of a jog.

  Once the big man cleared the corner and disappeared, Andy’s shoulders dropped and his eyes widened and cleared. He had returned.

  “Sorry. I don’t like bullies,” Andy confessed.

  “Yeah, I got that,” Beth responded. “Just curious. What would’ve happened if the guy hadn’t backed down?”

  Andy shrugged. “I’m sure we would’ve worked something out.”

  Beth appeared to ponder that answer. “So, just between us, are you dangerous?”

  Andy laughed. “Were you a good mental health professional?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “OK then. Just between us? Only on days when it’s a gun.”

  Beth nodded. “Actually, I’m oddly comforted by that,” she said.

  As they walked back to the shelter with Hips between them, Andy worked hard to forget the memory of hands reaching out for him in the darkness.

  10

  At seven that evening, Sam ran into the shelter’s break room and found Beth on the floor with Hips nestled in the crook of her arm. The dog looked so comfortable in the shrink’s company that Sam hesitated. But delay was not possible. “I need another pair of hands,” Sam said.

  “Huh?”

  “I let everyone else go for the night and I need some help.”

  “But I just—”

  “Now, Beth!” Sam snapped.

  Beth rose shakily. “You are such a bully… but I can see how some men might get turned on by that.”

  Sam grabbed her by the arm and tugged her into the first open room.

  Beth gasped. Little Bro flailed on a metal table, heaving uncontrollably. Bloody vomit sprayed from his mouth. “Holy shit,” Beth muttered.

  “Beth, meet Little Bro. An Andy special.”

  Without any further argument, Beth pushed up her sleeves. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “I shot him up, but it’s not doing crap. Hold him still. I need a vein.”

  “This I can do.” Ignoring the bloodstained vomit, Beth threw her arms around the dog’s body in a massive bear hug, pinning the dog against the table.

  Sam inserted the needle end of the IV line into the dog’s front leg. “You’re pretty good at this,” Sam said.

  “Rotation at Bellevue,” Beth explained. “Sometimes you need to hold a patient until help arrives. Plus I’m actually freakishly strong.”

  “OK, I’m in.” Sam secured the IV needle with tape and checked the line to make sure the saline solution was flowing properly. When she was certain the line was set and working, she filled a syringe from a small vial and injected it into a port in the IV. “Just another minute for this to work.”

  In less than sixty seconds, the dog’s movements under Beth’s body began to slow. “We’re good,” Sam said. “You can get off him while I examine.”

  Beth stood upright and stretched her back. She glanced down at her bloodstained front. “I feel like a human Tampax. Will anything get this out?”

  “It’s very goth. I’d leave it.”

  Another Beth shrug—this one apparently meaning “OK with me.”

  Sam felt the dog’s abdomen, looked into his eyes with a penlight, and then listened to his chest with the stethoscope.

  “Is he going to be OK?” Beth asked.

  “No,” Sam answered, and tossed her stethoscope on the table. “He crapped out.”
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br />   “What?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “He’s dead? You’re sure?”

  “The fact that his heart’s stopped and he’s not breathing is really the giveaway. I went to vet school and all.”

  “But it was so quick.” Beth’s voice trembled. “I expected there to be… I don’t know—”

  “Angels blowing golden trumpets? A celestial light dropping down from the ceiling?” Sam asked with a bitterness that surprised even her.

  “No. Just… more, I guess.”

  Sam saw the confusion in Beth’s face and felt some of her armor loosen. “That’s all there is. They are here, and then they’re not. If they’re lucky, it’s a sudden stillness, nothing more.”

  Beth ran to the nearby sink. Her lunch came up in a rush. She rinsed her mouth and the sink and turned back to Sam. “Well, that was professional, wasn’t it?” Beth said with a weak smile.

  Sam smiled back sympathetically. “At least you made it to the sink. I often don’t. Come on. I’ll buy you dinner. A nice bloody steak. Put you right on your feet.”

  Beth gagged at the word bloody. “You really are a pleasure, aren’t you?”

  In the booth of a diner a block from the shelter, Beth worked her way through a burger, fries, and a vanilla shake while Sam largely ignored her salad and nursed a beer. Beth had changed into a large T-shirt that said, “Forecast tonight: Drugs, followed by impaired judgment, ending with poor decisions. Forecast tomorrow: More drugs…”

  Between bites, Beth said, “Sorry I was such a bitch this morning. I spoke to my lawyer today. I do prefer avoiding the orange jumpsuit on the side of the parkway and he tells me you had a lot to do with that. So thanks.”

  “I just needed the hands. It’s not personal.” Sam took a long pull from her bottle and noticed Beth watching her swallow too closely. The recognition hit her mid-gulp. “Does the beer bother you?”

  “Nah. I was never a beer kind of girl. Mine was a terrible struggle between eating something salty to get the sweet taste out of my mouth and then eating something sweet to get the salty taste out of my mouth. Witness…” Beth popped a French fry in her mouth and then washed it down with some shake. She made a slight bow. “Ta-da!”