by Hazel James
I cup her face in my hands and bring my mouth to hers. My tongue gently grazes her bottom lip before slipping past it. She angles her head slightly and deepens the kiss while gripping the back of my head. I can’t help the moan that escapes my mouth. I catch her tongue between my teeth and playfully bite the tip before pulling away. I take a second to catch my breath.
“Did that feel real?” I ask. I take her hand, which has slipped down to my neck, and place it over my pounding heart. “Does this feel real?”
“Yes,” she whispers, her eyes locked with mine.
“Because it is. Screw timelines and rules about love being for adults only. If anything, ours is more real because we’re not jaded by all the bullshit and distractions they deal with every day. You say it’s crazy to fall in love with me after a few weeks, but don’t forget that I knew I loved you before I ever saw you. Before you, I never had a reason to think about the future and now, I can’t picture it without you in it. So I could care less if the entire lineup of Victoria’s Secret Angels walked through the cafeteria. You are the only person I’d see.”
Her eyes well with tears and she bites the side of her bottom lip. Through her damp lashes, I see a look of hopefulness. “So this is all real?”
“All of it. Don’t worry about falling for me, Ray. I’ll spend the rest of my life catching you.” I pull her toward me and kiss her forehead. “Now, come inside and have some pie before Fletcher comes over and eats it all.”
The next morning, I wake up covered in sweat. Something’s tied around my legs and my heart’s pounding like a jackhammer on crack. I open my eyes, but that doesn’t do much good since my room is almost pitch black. I reach to the nightstand for my phone and feel a searing pain on the right side of my torso. It’s only 5:49. I flick on the lamp and run my hand down my side to investigate the source of my pain. Nothing seems out of place and there’s no blood, though I have a metallic taste in my mouth. I manage to free my legs from the sheets and then lie back down to figure out what in the hell happened. The edges of a dream float in my mind. The last thing I remember is dancing with Rachel, then feeling like my soul was being ripped out of my body.
My mouth is dry and still tastes of metal, so I head to the kitchen for a drink of water. I stop at the bathroom on the way and check the mirror. Apparently, I bit the shit out of my tongue. I sit at the table with my water and try to piece together any remaining bits of my dream. Rachel was wearing a blue dress, and her hair was up, exposing the wondrous flesh on her neck and shoulders. Everything on her was soft, and she smelled like sunshine. Then, everything turned black and the pain came. I know it was just a dream, but the residual ache in my side worries me. I shut my eyes in an attempt to remember anything else, but everything is beyond the reach of my memory.
Since my brain and body won’t calm down, I give up and change into running clothes. The sky is clear and the sun, while still an hour or so away from rising, paints the lowest portion of the horizon in a light glow of orange. Inspired by the scenery, I fit my earbuds into my ears, put my phone into my armband and take off at a jog toward the sunrise. My breath sends warm bursts of steam into the crisp air, and the pain from my dream finally eases. I prefer to take the trail toward the lake when I run eastward, but I’m compelled to bypass the turnoff and head toward the main road instead.
Since it’s still not daylight yet, I put an extra five feet of space between me and the road. Headlights in the distance illuminate an animal at the edge of the treeline. It’s probably a deer, and the last thing I want to do is spook it and send it directly into the path of the car. I slow my jog to a walk and hope the deer runs back into the forest. The car’s high beams turn on for a few seconds, probably because the driver sees the deer too, and then zooms past me. Once the spots clear from my eyes, I resume my jog. I make it about a hundred feet before I see a mass lying in the road.
I turn my music off and switch on the flashlight feature on my phone. Roadkill is quite possibly the last thing I wanted to experience during my run, but I don’t want anyone else to get in a car accident because they hit a deer carcass. I approach slowly and discover it’s not a deer, but a dog. Which makes the whole situation infinitely worse.
“Hey buddy, you’re gonna be okay,” I assure him. He looks to be some sort of shepherd mix. His eyes are closed, but I see a faint rise and fall in his chest. I have no idea how to take a dog’s pulse. He doesn’t appear to be bleeding, so I bend down and lift him up. I carry him the half mile back to the house and gently lay him on the front porch while I run back inside. I scribble a note letting Mom know I’m heading to the animal hospital and grab an old blanket from the linen closet since I’m not sure whether dogs can go into shock. He’s right where I left him on the porch, still showing no additional signs of life or death. As I load the dog into the cab, I make a mental note to thank Grandpa again for fixing The Beast last evening.
Ten minutes later, I reach the animal hospital.
“Can I help you?” a lady behind the counter asks, taking a swig of Red Bull.
“I was jogging this morning and I think this guy got run over.”
“What kind of animal is it?”
I almost respond with a smart-ass remark but then I realize I’ve bundled him too well and she can’t see him. “He’s a dog.”
“Okay, come back to exam room three.” She starts walking and I follow her. “Did you see the accident?”
“No, the car’s lights were too bright. I just saw him lying on the road after the car passed. He wasn’t moving or anything.” My hands are subconsciously patting the dog’s side through the blanket. I stop when I realize I could be contributing to his internal damage.
“Did he yelp?” She folds down an exam table and gestures for me to lay him down.
“I don’t know. I had my earbuds in.”
“Any bleeding?”
“Not that I can see.” I unwrap the blanket and pet the dog’s face. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re in good hands now.” He opens his eyes and blinks at me. That’s a good sign, right?
The tech takes his vitals and does a basic assessment. “He actually looks to be in pretty good shape, so that’s promising. Hang tight and I’ll go get the vet.” She opens the door to the back area and suddenly the dog springs up, jumps down and skitters past her. She snaps her attention back to me. “Are you trying to pull something here? Dogs who got ran over don’t do that,” she says, pointing to the commotion in the back. I hear something clattering and a few people shout and chase after the dog.
I hold both hands up as if I’m under arrest. “I swear to God he was lying in the road. That’s the most movement I’ve seen since I found him.” I push past her to help capture the dog, considering it’s my fault he’s here.
“He went back down the hallway!”
“Block him in that corner!”
He’s surprisingly light on his feet and makes darting through legs look like an Olympic sport. I try to contain my laughter as he knocks over a mop bucket, sending bubbles and dirty water across the floor. When he starts sniffing the counters and cabinets, I finally know what to do. Carefully stepping through the mess, I take a bowl from a cabinet and open the mini-refrigerator. The dog sits excitedly at my feet, his tail splattering soapy water up and down my legs. I remove a chunk of dog food from a tube and cut it into smaller pieces. It smells like bacon and fish. Why he wants to eat this shit is beyond me, but it’s gone about ten seconds after I put the bowl on the floor.
I stand up to assess the room and see two techs and the veterinarian staring at me. The vet speaks first.
“I’m impressed. How did you know he was after food?”
I shrug my shoulders, my standard response when I don’t want to discuss my perceptive abilities. “He was sniffing around. I thought that might mean he was hungry.”
She bends down and calls him over with a kissy noise. He lopes toward her and goes belly-up at her feet. I can tell she’s irritated with the mess, but her soft spot for a
nimals doesn’t allow her to scold the dog. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, little doggy.”
“What do you mean, ‘see you again?’” I ask.
“This is the third time this guy’s been in here,” she says, still scratching his belly. “We adopted him out twice. The first time, he ran away and was back here in a few days. We found another family for him about two weeks later. He ran away the first night. We contacted the new family and they picked him up again. We agreed to give him some more time to adjust. That was two days ago.”
The dog walks back toward me and plunks his haunches down in the water. “I think he’s only coming back for the food,” I say, laughing, though I know I’m right.
“Food or not, he can’t stay here. We’re a veterinary clinic, not a boarding facility. I’ll call the family who adopted him in a while. It’s still pretty early for a Saturday.” She crosses the room and reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Jennifer Brooks, by the way.”
“James Tennyson.” I survey the room. “Do you need any help cleaning this place up? I feel sort of bad for all the damage Lazarus has done.”
“Lazarus?”
I nudge the dog. “Well, he did come back from the dead,” I say, with air quotes around the last word. “Do you think it’s possible he knew exactly what he was doing?”
“I once had a dog who couldn’t reach the counter where we kept the bread. She learned to drag a chair to the counter. Then we started putting the bread in a breadbox, and she figured out how to open that up. So we moved the bread into the top shelf of the pantry. The first day we fooled her. She dragged the chair to the pantry but couldn’t open the doors. The next day she figured out she had to open the pantry doors first, then drag the chair over. So yes, I’d say anything’s possible.”
“That’s epic. What was your dog’s name?”
“Sara Lee.”
I stare at her for several seconds before bursting into laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not.” She stares at me blankly. “Her dad was named General Lee after the car from Dukes of Hazzard.”
“Her name was Sara Lee. And she was a bread thief.” She still doesn’t get it. “Sara Lee is a company that makes pastries and bread.” Her eyes finally light up, and then she facepalms.
“I can’t believe I went through eight years of schooling to become a veterinarian and I never made that connection,” she says, laughing.
I spend the next several hours cleaning up the back area and chatting with Dr. Brooks and the techs in between patients. Just after ten o’clock, I call the family who adopted Lazarus.
“Hi, this is James from Tarheel Veterinary Clinic and Animal Hospital. Is this Mrs. Olson?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m calling to let you know we have the dog you adopted.” I scan the folder in front of me for his name. “Albert was brought in this morning as a stray.” Really? Who names their dog Albert?
“That mutt got out again?”
“Yes ma’am. When would you like to pick him up?”
“Never.”
“Excuse me?”
“You keep him. We don’t want him anymore.” Then she hangs up.
I repeat the conversation to Dr. Brooks, who pinches the bridge of her nose. “Alright, I’ve got a folder on my desk with other applicants. Go through those and see if any of them want to adopt him.”
I make it ten feet toward her office and turn around.
“Dr. Brooks? Maybe I could take him. We’ve been hanging out all morning and we get along great. I could take him home, and I promise to buy the same food y’all stock here.” I offer my best smile and fold my hands into a praying position. She puts her hands on her hips and turns to Lazarus, who’s napping in a borrowed dog bed in the corner.
“What do you think, buddy? Do you want to go home with James?” He stands up, shakes off, farts and flops on the bed again. “I’ll take that as a yes?” She giggles and turns to me. “Alright, we’ll try it. But if it doesn’t work out, you have to promise me to bring him back here. I don’t want him running around out there.”
“Promise! Come on, Lazarus. Let’s go home, buddy.” He pops his head up and stretches, then joins me at my side. “Hey, Dr. Brooks? I actually had a lot of fun this morning. Do you think I could volunteer here for a few hours a week?” It’s not an animal shelter, but it’s close enough for my bucket list.
“I’m always happy to find free child labor.” She pulls a card out of her pocket. “Come by in a few days and I’ll introduce you to the other vet. If you’re real lucky, you can start by taking stool samples.” She grins and hands me her card.
“I can hardly wait,” I say, making a thumbs-up. I walk to the front of the clinic and open the door. Lazarus runs toward the truck and sits at the passenger door as if he has everything figured out. We stop at the pet store to get more of the food he likes and I toss a few toys in the shopping cart too. He sticks his head out the window on the drive down the dirt road to the house. I swear he looks like he’s smiling. When I pull up to the house, I park The Beast and walk around the cab to let him out.
“Come on, Laz. It’s time to go home.”
Fletcher and I set up our equipment as more people filter into the Sweet Pea. We spent the last hour helping Mandy and Devin rearrange the dining room so the girls could get ready. Stanley, one of the waiters, is at the door collecting the five-dollar cover charge. From the looks of the room, we’ve made about two hundred bucks so far. The girls still aren’t here, but that’s no surprise. Avery’s probably holding Rachel hostage over high heels or some shit. The door jingles again and when I look up, I see Gretchen and Lainey walk in, followed by a set of twin boys who look to be about eight years old. Gretchen smiles and offers a small wave. “Hey y’all! Glad you could make it!” Before sitting down, Lainey gives me a hug.
“Hey there, hero,” she says against my shoulder. “That night was super crazy for me and I can’t remember if I said thanks. So, thanks.” She squeezes my arm and steps back.
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, I hope it’s okay that I brought my brothers with me.”
“Absolutely, it’s a family event. Fletcher and I promise to keep all sexual references and curse words to a minimum.” I give her a cheesy smile and bend down. “Hey guys, what are your names?”
“I’m Judd. I’m eight and I’m the older one.” His brother nudges him.
“I’m Jefferson and I’m the stronger one.” He flexes his muscles as proof.
“Well it’s nice to meet you both,” I say, offering fist bumps to both of them. “I hope y’all have fun tonight. You’re probably too young to know the words to the songs we’re gonna play, but you’re welcome to dance. Just no moshing,” I add, pointing at them. “Y’all be sure to have some of my gran’s pie. It’s a special on the menu.” I pick one up and hand it to Gretchen. “You can’t go wrong, no matter what you pick.”
My phone chimes with a text from Rachel.
Rachel: Be there in 5. You better save us some seats in the front row.
I look over at the chairs we’ve tossed our jackets onto.
Me: You have prime access to the hot guys on stage, I promise.
I pocket my phone and take the makeshift stage. Fletcher and I look over the set list one more time and check our connections when his phone rings.
“Hey, Sammy girl. Just one sec.” He flicks the mic off, holds up one finger to me and steps off stage. A few minutes later, he returns. “Sorry, dude. Sammy wanted to hear the monster song before bed.”
“No prob.” He should really tell Avery the truth, but now’s not the time to discuss it. The front door jingles again and the girls walk in just as Fletcher comes back and climbs onto stage with me.
“Good evening, ladies and gents. I’m James and the guy to my right is Fletcher. Thanks so much for coming out on our experimental open mic night. This year the Sweet Pea’s doing something pretty awesome for
prom, so we appreciate your support,” I say. “We’re going old school this evening. Fletcher and I hope you don’t mind going on a little Journey.” We start with Don’t Stop Believin’. The crowd seems to enjoy it, and at least half of them sing along. Perhaps there’s hope for this generation after all.
Fletcher switches out his acoustic for his electric and we start the intro for Faithfully. He’s singing this one, which means Avery is beside herself in the front row. It’s pretty cute to watch, actually. God knows she needs someone good in her life after all the bullshit she’s been through. When Fletcher gets to the “whoa” part of the song, he really opens up and Avery leans her head against Rachel’s shoulder. I see Mandy off to the side wiping at the corners of her eyes.
“Well, now that Fletcher’s done showing off, let’s move into the next song shall we?” I say as I smile in his direction. Fletcher throws a towel at me when he picks up his acoustic and the crowd laughs. I play the beginning of She Talks to Angels and get an enthusiastic “Yeah!” from the back of the room. I don’t want to brag, but I’m pretty sure Fletch and I made Chris Robinson proud. We fist bump after strumming the final chord and move right into Hotel California. Fletcher taps out the percussion on his acoustic while I play the intro, and then he joins in for the chords as I play the melody. Most of the crowd sings along and we have a proper jam session before hitting the four final beats to end the song.
“Hell yeah!” I shout into the mic. “We’re gonna take it down a few notches for this next song. Most of you know me as the new guy, but what you may not know is I’ve never lived in a place longer than six months. I was always up for the adventure, but that kind of lifestyle made it hard to settle down with someone.” I readjust myself on the stool and softly strum the four chords to the next song as I gather my thoughts. “Sometimes I’d wonder when I’d meet that one person, or if it’d even be possible. When I moved here, I’d seen and done a lot of things, but I’d never fallen for anyone. Rachel, all of that changed when I met you. I’ve traveled across the United States and back again, but I managed to find love right here. This song is for you.”