by Vicki Green
Standing in the middle of the living room, twirling a lock of my hair and just staring at the floor, I feel her arm slide around my waist and lay my head down on her shoulder. She’s shorter than me so I have to bend a little. “You don’t have to make any decisions now, Ry. Take your time. You deserve time to grieve.” I nod, moving the fabric of her cotton t-shirt with my cheek.
Molly’s always been there for me. From when the other kids picked on me at school to when the boys tried to pick me up at The Hangout drive in. She’s a tough chick but only I know better. She needed me too when her dad walked out on her, leaving her for a woman who only wanted him for his money and was young enough to be her big sister. Gram took Molly in and she lived here with us for several years until she turned eighteen then Gram let her live in the apartment over the shop, saying she needed her independence at that age. And when Gram offered it to me, I told her I wanted to stay here, that I loved this place and my room. Of course, Gram gave me the master bedroom when I reached my teens. Even though I was still so young, she said every young girl needed a big bedroom with an attached bathroom of their own and that she was old-er, so she was good to move into one of the spare rooms upstairs. I sigh. All these memories are not helping my state of mind.
Molly grabs my hand and I follow her into the kitchen, dropping me off on the closest barstool. I lean my elbows on the breakfast bar and watch her. She goes about getting a big bowl and all the ingredients for making her homemade cinnamon rolls, knowing they’re my favorite. I watch her move around the kitchen with ease, making the huge mess she normally does. My mouth lifts into a sad smile when I think of all the times Gram, Molly and I cooked up recipes in here. Gram was a great cook and taught us so much. Her baking was better than Betty Crocker, I swear! She could have put some of the women on those cooking shows to shame. Molly always watched those shows and Gram would laugh at her. That and the loud rock and roll music Molly continually played in her room when she lived with us. I didn’t mind watching the cooking shows, although I’d rather watch Gram in our kitchen. I also didn’t listen to music, that much, instead I always had my nose in a book. Guess that’s where it all began for me. While Molly loved the smell of dough, my favorite scent was that of a page in a paperback or the unique smell of a matte finished book cover.
Strange? Not really. Have you ever taken a big whiff of a paperback? Right, I didn’t think so. You should try it sometime.
Where Molly loved to feel the floury substance on a rolling pin, I loved the feel of holding that book in my hands, flipping the pages as I scoured the words. And the paperback didn’t hurt as much when it would fall from my hands if I fell asleep, unlike the hardness of a Kindle or the heaviness of said rolling pin. Guess she wouldn’t have that in bed though, huh? Well, maybe she would. Oh well. No matter. Still, our hobbies are unique to us, yet we still have one thing in common. Men. Mine just happen to be fictional. I’m way too shy and klutzy to be around them in real life. God forbid!
The days dragged on, finally getting up the nerve to pack up the things I know Gram would want to give to those who needed them and being tired of sitting around in my pajama pants and t-shirt – which desperately needed to be washed or burned now. I taped up the last of the boxes just as Molly and her boyfriend-of-the-moment walk in. “There,” I announce as I stand and take two steps back. I look around the living room, several boxes and large trash bags belonging to the one person I thought would never leave me.
“Jimmy, start loading up. I’ll be down in a minute,” Molly whispers.
I feel the warmth of her arm around me. “Still so hard.” She pushes her hip against mine, and I walk beside her around the couch and into the kitchen.
“Probably best if you don’t watch.” I nod, just staring down at the counter and hearing the sounds of them walking in and out my condo a few times until the door closes. I turn around and walk to the doorway, leaning against the frame, and see how different it looks in there now. Actually, a lot roomier, if I was to be honest. Gram was a bit of a hoarder. Things she didn’t really need but would say, ‘One day I might need it.’ I don’t think I ever knew anyone with three small sculptures of a horse figurine, especially when that person didn’t even really like horses. ALL THREE THE EXACT SAME ONE. Anyway, I kept the things that mattered. All her bedroom furniture, her bookcases and most of her books, and all the pictures of us. I even boxed up the ones with Mom and put it up high on Gram’s closet shelf. After looking at them, I know where I got my blonde hair and blue eyes from. Although, Gram had blue eyes as well, she had light brown hair before it began to change to a beautiful shade of silver/gray.
I sigh and turn back around deciding to make a pot of mocha coffee in my latte machine. Molly will probably want one when she gets back. I’m sure it won’t take long for Jimmy to unload everything, for her to kick him to the curb and return here. I reach down and open the bottom drawer and roll my eyes, not able to stop the laugh that leaves my mouth. A gazillion and one plastic bags from the grocery store. Hoarder. I grab a ton of them and walk over to the trash can, stepping on the lever to pop the top, and throw them away.
I hear a sound from outside the back door and walk over, looking outside at my small backyard. I don’t see anything but I hear the faint sound again. Curiosity takes over. I open the sliding door and walk outside and further toward the steps of the deck. Another thing I love about my condo is the small fenced in backyard and small deck. I can sit on my lawn chair, soak up the sun, and read until my heart’s content. The noise sounds again, and I whip my head to the right. The only thing in sight is my large trash container behind a big bush. I slowly creep across and down the steps, tiptoe on the small sidewalk until I reach the container, looking around it but scared to move. Maybe it’s mice. I hate mice. They’re fast and have beady little eyes. Another small sound and I jump, my heart pounding in my chest, the same chest I hit hard with my hand to cover my heart.
Why do people do that? Like covering their heart is gonna make whatever bad is about to happen stop from happening.
Another whimper. That sounded like a puppy’s whimper. Can’t be. None of my neighbors have any pets that I know of. I bend down and creep slowly around to the back. My eyes widen when I see a little furry puppy, at least I think that’s what it is, with matted hair, and their little paw caught in a piece of plastic that’s tangled in the foot pedal on the can. Squatting down beside it, its little head turns up with eyes wide in fear. I carefully grasp its leg and untangle it from the plastic. As I stand I pick up the frightened puppy, so light in my hands. Its head burrows into my chest, whimpering and shaking. “Aww, you poor thing. How long have you been out here?” I look up and around the area. Being the condo on the end of our section, the sidewalk follows out the side gate meeting up to the walk along the street. So, I have a little more room than the other side. The one next to me has an attached one car garage with a small driveway. My only neighbors are really nice, even though I rarely speak to them. I look back down at the puppy cradled in my arms, not sure if it’s a boy or girl. Whatever the sex, it’s mostly black with some light brown in spots, has dark brown eyes, and looks to be maybe a Yorkie mix of some kind. I think. It’s furry, scrawny and dirty as hell. “Come on, little fella… er… girl. Let’s see if I can find you something to eat.”
The warm breeze blows and I catch a big whiff of the dirty puppy. “Ew. You smell disgusting.” I walk back around and up the steps, walking inside and shutting the door, feeling a little queasy from the odor I’m having to breathe in. After grabbing a bowl from the cabinet, I pour some cool water into it from the faucet and place it and the puppy down in the small open spot next to the end of the cabinets. It looks at the bowl and stretches its little body to it, sniffing. It actually turns its nose up in the air and turns its little head to me, giving me a sneer. I swear! A sneer! Either it doesn’t like water or it has gas. I’m not sure which. Could be both. I look in the fridge a
nd take out the milk, pouring some in another bowl, then set it down next to the other one. I figure it’ll want to drink some water at some point. Right? It scurries over and starts lapping up the white goodness and I rise smiling. Maybe it thinks it’s a cat?
I never thought about owning a pet, not sure I’d even want one. It would be kinda nice to have the company, but I wonder if it belongs to someone. There isn’t a collar around its tiny neck, but I’m not stupid enough to think everyone puts a collar on their pets either. Plus, it’s so small. How could anyone not want it? I could watch the paper and even put out an ad that I found it. I ponder all this as I lean back against the counter, watching it drink and making the most god awful loud slurping noises. How can such a small thing be so obnoxiously loud?
The front door opens and as I guessed, Molly walks in alone, shutting the door behind her then walks straight to one of the barstools and sits down. “Jimmy?” She shakes her head slowly. I thought maybe she’d be upset but she sits up straight and smiles. Yep. Another one kicked to the curb.
She looks down and frowns. “What in the hell is that?” I laugh as I watch her legs cross, her face scrunching. “It looks like a drowned rat. What the hell, Ry?” The little thing’s head raises and looks at her, huffs, and goes back to drinking. Thirsty little bugger. I grab the milk container and pour some more into the bowl then resume my position.
“It’s a puppy, silly.” She gives it a weird look. “I think,” I say under my breath. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows raise almost into her hairline. “It’s just really dirty and needs some TLC.”
“Huh. Well, I think it needs a ton of TLC. I didn’t think you liked dogs or animals for that matter.” Her head tilts as she studies it. “I guess it could be cute if we give it a bath and....” She takes a deep breath. “Pour a bunch of lilac salts in the water.” She pinches her nose closed with her fingers as she holds her breath, looks at me, and shrugs. By the time this puppy drinks its fill, her face will turn a lovely shade of purple.
After two bowls of milk and adding milk to my ongoing grocery list, I take the puppy into the hall bathroom and as Molly pours lilac salts into the running warm water, I place it in the tub. I turn my head to her and my face scrunches into confusion. “Uh, what shampoo do I use?” She looks around, her head turning like the exorcist, jumping up and opening the cabinet doors underneath the sink, bringing out Gram’s dandruff shampoo. I bend over the puppy in protectiveness and shake my head.
“Hey, it says....” She turns the bottle and scans the back. “Treats dandruff and is mild to the scalp.” She looks at me, her shoulders lifting. “Should be okay for a puppy if it’s mild. Right?”
With nothing better to use and against my better judgement, I agree and she helps me wash the now highly excited puppy. It’s not that big but dang it can wiggle and move. By the time we’re done, the puppy really looks like a drowned rat and so do we. She holds the drenched pup down with a towel on the bath rug while I run, more like slide on the hardwood floor in the hall, into my room and grab us both a dry pair of shorts and t-shirts. I quickly change and then take my turn drying the pup while she changes.
“Well, that was certainly fun.” She smirks as she dries her hair with a towel. “Never a dull moment with you.” Her mouth lifts into a smile. She loves it and she knows it.
I laugh, and I mean belly laugh. Suddenly, everything is hysterical. I move the towel back from the pup’s head, and it gives me a death glare. Then, I look up at Molly and she bursts out laughing. “That’s more exercise than we’ve had in several years,” I choke out between laughs. She plops down on the soaked bath rug and her laughter stopping quickly at her mistake. Her eyes widen. “You can get you another pair of my shorts.” I giggle. Some of our funniest times have been from our own stupid mistakes. We sit there laughing until our stomachs hurt.
Later, I call for some Mexican takeout from one of my many menus in the kitchen drawer, and we sit at the coffee table eating while watching a comedy movie. The pup sat between us, its little eyes following our movements. I thought it would get a head strain from its tennis game of watching us, its head turning back and forth at us. Finally, Molly left after helping to clean up the dinner and the bathroom messes. She’s such a great friend.
Once I lock up, I stand there and look down at the pup. It’s sitting there, wagging its tail, and looking up at me. What should I name it? Is it a boy or girl? Where in the hell is it gonna sleep? I start turning off lights, little feet scampering behind me, its little nails clicking on the wood floor. I walk into my bedroom and lift up the lid on my hope chest that sits at the foot of my bed. Taking out two blankets, I take them over to the wall on the right side of my bed and lay them down.
“Here you go, puppy,” I say as I pick it up and place it on the blanket bed. “This’ll be a nice comfy place for you and really close to me.” It sits there looking up at me, pretty much like I’m a crazy person. Suddenly feeling shy, I grab a t-shirt, walk into the bathroom and make quick time getting undressed and pulling it on. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and throw my hair up into a ponytail. I walk over and flip on the lamp on my nightstand then walk over by the door and turn off the overhead light and climb into bed, under the covers, reaching over and picking up my reading glasses and book. Placing the glasses on my face, I put my fingers where my bookmark is and open right to where I left off. I snuggle down into the mattress and take a deep breath.
Soon my breathing accelerates along with my heart as I read an amazing love scene then jump when I hear a noise. Oh, my God. I’m not reading a damn horror book. Why am I so jumpy? My eyes move around the room but it stops. I inhale a breath and start reading again, trying to get back into the moment. You know when you get emotionally invested? Can feel exactly what the girl is feeling in the story, and even the guy? I mean to the point that B.O.B may need to make an appearance? Yeah, that moment.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch, scratch.
What the hell? I close the book on my finger and look over the mattress, my reading glasses sliding down my nose. The pup is standing up on its hind legs, the front nails digging into my sheet covered mattress. I slide my legs over, putting my bookmark in its place and set the book down, and push my glasses back into place with my finger. “Oh no. This is my bed. Yours is over here,” I tell it as I pick it up and set it back onto the blankets. I pet its head and climb back into bed, looking over at it as I try to get comfy again. I open the book, clearing my throat, my eyes shifting back from the words to the pup, the words, the pup, the words, the pup, until I get dizzy. The pup is being still, so I let myself get engrossed in the story again and just as, he thrusts his engorged cock into me....
Scratch.
Scratch, scratch.
Scratch- scratch- scratch - scratch – scratch.
Slowly I place the bookmark back between the pages and set the book down beside me. Leaning over the bed, my glasses sliding down my nose again as my eyebrows raise, I look down only this time the nails on both little paws are clawing at my mattress. It’s like it’s trying to dig a hole. “If you tear up my sheets, I’m gonna cream you,” I say through gritted teeth. I get out of bed, once again, and put it back on the blankets then climb back under my covers and start to read. This happens continually about five times until I’ve had enough. Sometimes I think I’m just too damn gullible for my own good. Putting the bookmark in its place and setting the book once again on the nightstand, I get out of bed and pull puppy’s blankets over next to the bed, get back in mine and reach my hand down, my fingers scratching its head. It finally lays down and I take my glasses off, setting them on the nightstand, and reach over and turn off the lamp. Finally. I didn’t get to read as much as I’d like but I know it’s probably feeling weird being in a strange place. I know I feel weird with it here. I close my eyes and mentally start a list of things I need to get and do tomorrow.
>
Dog bowls.
Dog food.
Collar and leash.
Toys.
Look online for a vet, also ads on lost dogs, and create an ad for a found dog.
Get milk.
Lots of milk.
Chapter 2
My eyes open to darkness as my alarm beeps its loud shrill. I reach over and smack the top, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep and close my eyes. I’m a bed hogger. I start out on one side and end up either in the middle or on the other side. My mind doesn’t seem to shut off completely in my sleep and I dream of the book I read the night before or the list I’ve mentally made of things to do or get for the shop. I take a deep breath and feel something tickle my nose. Five more minutes. I start to doze off. My nose twitches as something tickles it again. I swear someone is flicking a feather back and forth across it. My eyes flutter around behind their lids when I hear a loud buzz saw. Who would be cutting down a tree around here? And why would they be doing it at four-thirty in the morning?
Silence.
Ahhhh! Just five more minutes. I let out a sigh and get comfy, snuggling back into the mattress. Then the buzz saw starts and that infuriating tickling strikes again. “What the hell?” I bolt up into a sitting position, my head turning slowly to my right. It’s hard to see in the dark so I turn back to my left and flick on the lamp then turn around again. There, curled up on my other pillow is the pup. Geez, he looks comfy and shit is he loud. The buzz saw sound hits again, and I watch his little tummy move up then down. Great. It snores. Really loud.