Nothing But Blue

by Lisa Jahn-Clough

  The dog swishes proudly when I say it, and licks my hand.

  “He knows his name!” the girl screams. “Shadow, Shadow, Shadow. Good dog, Shadow.” Shadow rolls on his back in the grass with his long legs kicking in the air, and this makes all three of us laugh.

  “Where’s his collar? Where’s his leash?” the boy asks.

  “He doesn’t need one,” I answer.

  “Shadow doesn’t run away?” the boy asks.

  “I guess not,” I say.

  “I want a dog like Shadow.” The girl looks to her brother longingly. “I want a dog that don’t run away.”

  “Doesn’t run,” he corrects. “Maybe someday. You have to prove that you won’t leave the door open.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” The girl’s mood shifts suddenly, and she is about to cry. “It was an accident!”

  The boy touches her on the shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “You didn’t know any better. You’re still little.”

  The girl is bawling now. “I am not little. I didn’t mean to.”

  The boy looks at me for help. I shrug. “Come on,” he says to his sister. “Let’s go get our doughnuts. That will make you feel better.”

  This distracts the girl and she wipes her face. She pulls a bill from her pocket. “Look.” She waves it in front of me. “I have five dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” I say. I mean it, too. There was a time when five dollars was like a nickel to me, but now I think of what I could get with five dollars. Certainly a doughnut and coffee, and probably some fresh water, too. Even juice, or some bandages for my blisters.

  The girl nods. “Tooth fairy gave it to me.” She points to the gap in her mouth. “I’m getting as many doughnuts as I can. And, I’m going to eat them all myself.” She grins at her brother.

  He tugs her sleeve. “Let’s go. Mommy will be mad if we don’t get back soon.”

  The girl gives the dog a last hug. “Bye, Shadow,” she says.

  I watch them cross the street and go into the bakery. I put my hand on the dog’s head. “Shadow,” I say. His tail wags in all directions. His ears flatten and he nods.

  About five minutes later the girl comes out with a pastry box. She’s alone. She runs across the street, waddling in a little-girl way. She opens the box and takes out two doughnuts.

  “Here,” she says. “For you and Shadow.” She hands me the doughnuts. “Don’t tell my brother. He’d be mad.”

  She runs back across the street just as her brother comes out. They walk away. The girl looks behind her and waves. I wave back.

  I eat one doughnut and most of the second. Shadow looks up at me expectantly. His eyes flicker with light. We stare at each other.

  “Oh, all right.” I hold out the last bit of doughnut, and he takes it ever so gingerly from my hand, then swallows it in one gulp. “I don’t know how I’m going to feed you,” I tell him. “I can’t even feed myself. And I don’t know where I’m going.”

  He looks at me like he doesn’t care about any of that. He only cares about me.

  “Suit yourself. It’s a free country.” I get up and we start walking. Shadow walks right next to me. I think to myself in the third person: A girl named Blue and her dog, Shadow, walk on to face the unknown.

  I am developing blisters on top of my blisters, but still I walk. I’ve long since abandoned my disgust over eating old food. It’s amazing what people will throw away.

  I found an entire wrapped turkey sandwich in the dumpster behind a convenience store. Actually, Shadow led me to it. It was like finding gold. I ate the whole thing and haven’t gotten sick yet. After days of eating hardly anything, it now seems there is plenty of food, especially if I’m willing to eat leftovers. Or perhaps I’m just less picky. As far as I know, Shadow survives this way all the time. He has a brilliant nose. He’ll eat right off the ground.

  I figure as long as I keep moving I’ll be fine. No one pays attention to a girl who passes by once. If they see her twice, they might perk up. If they see her three times, they will remember and wonder. They might start asking questions and getting concerned. I can’t let anyone see me more than once.

  Sometimes I talk to Shadow, but mostly we are silent. I get the feeling that Shadow is deep in his own thoughts. Yet at the same time he is constantly watching, smelling, and listening. His ears rotate, picking up every sound.

  By the late afternoon I come to a town with a large grassy park where there are enough people that I can blend in. There are nannies pushing baby carriages, toddlers screaming on the swings, picnickers picnicking, dogs being walked.

  Shadow runs ahead to a chubby Lab, and they exchange a good sniff. The owner, a well-dressed woman, pulls the dog hard on its leash, even though both dogs are wagging tails, ready to play.

  “Put that filthy mutt on a leash. There’s a law, you know,” she yells.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  When Shadow comes bounding back I reprimand him. “Don’t go getting us noticed. Or I will have to leash you, or worse, pretend we’re not together.” Shadow hangs his head in apology. “I know you just want to play.” I hold on to his neck until the woman and her dog are gone.

  I get to the public restrooms; this one has a working water fountain outside. “I think it may be time for a bath,” I tell Shadow.

  He runs away from me as if he knows what I am about to do. I chase after him. “Come on,” I call. “It’s only a little water.” He stops, waits until I get close, and then runs again. He does this several times, but he is grinning like it’s a game.

  Finally I catch up to him, and begrudgingly he lets me steer him back to the fountain. “It’ll feel good,” I say. “You’ll see.” I fill my water bottle and pour the water over him several times to make sure he’s wet through all his layers of fur.

  I feel bad, but I can’t help laughing. He looks pathetic. “You’re such a brave dog, how can you be scared of a little water?”

  After he is thoroughly wet I start massaging him, and he totally loves that. “See? It’s not so bad,” I say. “Wait here,” I instruct. “I have an idea.”

  I go into the bathroom and fill my hands with frothy pink soap from the dispenser. I take it back out and rub it all over Shadow, then rinse him once more. He does an extra big shake, splattering me all over, but I don’t care.

  Turns out he’s not gray after all, but much lighter, more of a soft silver, with streaks of white down his back and on his tail.

  He grins, as if to say I told you so. Then he runs circles in the grass, rolling around to dry off.

  “You’re not a filthy mutt now. You look like a prize pedigree and a handsome one at that,” I say. I find a good-size stick and we play fetch. He gallops after it and prances back to me.

  For a few minutes I imagine I am just a girl playing with her dog in the park. Maybe I live nearby where a doting mom waits for me. I’ll come home from my walk and she’ll greet me at the door with a plate of hot chocolate chip cookies, a glass of milk, and a biscuit for Shadow.

  Shadow trots to a garbage pail and barks. So much for chocolate chip cookies. I peer inside, trying to be casual. A quick glance can tell me a lot. What kind of trash is on top hints at what may be underneath. This one has the typical coffee cups, plastic bags, and chip wrappers. I sift around and find one lone sandal under a chip bag. The strap is broken, but if there’s a shoe, what else could there be?

  I search deeper. I find a ripped notebook, an empty pencil case, and a faded orange backpack.

  I hold the pack to Shadow’s nose. “How’s it smell?” I ask. He sniffs it and nods. I move my head closer and take a whiff. “Not bad.” I turn the bag around and check its compartments and zippers. The mesh side is ripped, and a zipper on one of the outer pockets is stuck, but otherwise it’s fine.

  I take the mini-flashlight from my pocket. The key still dangles from its chain. I finger the metal grooves. I don’t know why I even have it. I take it off the chain and fling it into the garbage ca
n. As it clinks against the side it echoes: Gone. Gone. Gone. It disappears under the trash and the echo stops. I panic. What have I done? I reach in to find it, but Shadow nudges my hand and stops me. “You’re right,” I say. “It’s a useless key.”

  I put the flashlight in one of the side pockets of the pack. “Okay?” I ask. Shadow nods.

  Finding the pack in the garbage has given me an idea. On the edge of the town I come to a sidewalk mall. It’s late enough so that everything is closed, but at the end of the parking lot I find what I am looking for—a dark blue Salvation Army bin filled with people’s throwaways.

  “You keep guard,” I tell Shadow. It’s a narrow opening, but I hoist myself up and crawl inside. It smells of a mixture of mildew, cigarettes, bubblegum, and cat pee. There is only a sliver of moonlight shining in. I use the flashlight to get a better look.

  Once I get used to the smell it’s like Christmas, going through it all. At first I grab everything I can—shirts, sweaters, a really pretty flowery dress. As my pile grows I realize my stupidity. I don’t need things like dresses now, even if they are pretty. Whatever I take I have to carry. I carefully select only the practical: a pair of jeans, sweatpants, two long-sleeved shirts, one fleece jacket.

  I look for shoes. The Converse sneakers have no arch support, not to mention the blisters. Something like hiking boots would be great, but even just a pair of regular sneakers would be better. All I find are useless heels and pumps or men’s shoes that are way too large.

  I take off my shorts and filthy shirt and put on the jeans and one of the shirts. It’s like wearing brand-new clothes. I pack the rest in tight rolls. I am about to hop out, but before I do, Shadow hops in. He sniffs, then circles around on a pile and curls up into a small ball.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He lifts his head and yawns.

  I lie down next to Shadow.

  He snuggles against me, and I give in to the first soft, satisfying sleep I can remember.

  At the first crack of morning light, I pack my new items and Shadow and I hop out. We find bread and some brown bananas in a dumpster for breakfast. Then we head toward the rising sun, staying on the country roads.

  The next place I come to is a café called the Bean. It’s much cleaner and more inviting than some of the other places I’ve stopped at. Looks more like a college hangout. I could be near a university. I give Shadow a pat and tell him to wait. He sniffs around the outdoor tables searching for crumbs. I take a deep breath and go inside.

  I head toward the bathroom in the back, avoiding any eye contact with the few customers. Thankfully it doesn’t require a key, so I don’t have to go up and ask anyone. I wash my hands and face, wet down my hair. I wish I had some shampoo—I hate the feeling of greasy hair.

  Once when my dad was on a nature kick he took us camping. I must have been about ten. The whole experience was gross—the tent, the sleeping bags, the mosquitoes. But the worst part was being dirty. I couldn’t stand even one day with dirty hair, so I washed it in the camp spigot. I stuck my head under the faucet and used a cup to get the back part wet. I didn’t have any shampoo, so I just used soap, which I couldn’t completely rinse out. My hair stayed flat and funny-looking all day. But that’s tame compared to what I look like now.

  Why can I remember such a mundane thing like washing my hair at a campsite seven years ago, yet I can’t remember anything that happened seven days ago?

  I concentrate. I remember things about my mother and father. I remember when both of them read to me at bedtime. They read a book called Frog and Toad, acting out the characters together in different voices. We all laughed hysterically.

  But then gradually, over the years, without my even noticing, they stopped. In fact, I stopped wanting to do anything with them. I wanted to be alone more and more. I wanted to cry all the time. My parents said they didn’t know what to do with me, they just wanted me to be happy. Was I ever happy?

  I remember school. I was smart, but not enough to really do anything special or to get into a good college. I knew people and I didn’t have any enemies, but I didn’t have any real friends, either. I didn’t like school.

  I remember my house and especially my room. I liked my old Victorian house. I was happy in my room with the mural of trees.

  And then, of course, I remember Jake. I liked Jake. Jake liked me. He had made me happy, hadn’t he? We were a couple, weren’t we? We did things, didn’t we?

  But that’s when it stops and I can’t remember anything else. When was all that? And where are they all now?

  I’ve hardly heard the awful chant for a while, not since Shadow started walking with me, but it starts to come back now. Slow and quiet at first, then louder: All dead. All dead. No one survived.

  I want to throw up. I splash my face with cold water and rub my temples. I count my breaths. I stop trying to remember. I am here and this is now, and that’s all that matters. The chant goes away.

  When I exit the bathroom I scan the café. The place is cozy, with comfy chairs and a velvet burgundy couch by the window. I could take a nap on that couch—sink myself right into the plushness, disappear between the cushions and sleep forever. It looks so soft, so easy and mindless. But I don’t risk the couch—too close to the window and too obvious. I can’t take any chances.

  There’s free filtered water on the counter with the milks and sugars. I pour myself a cup. I drink it in one gulp, drink a second, and take a third, along with a handful of sugar packets, and go sit in one of the armchairs in the back. The chair wraps around me.

  I sit back and watch, quiet and invisible as a mouse. A pregnant mother and her toddler boy are to my right. The boy smears his face with cream cheese and laughs. The mother tries to wipe it off, and he just laughs harder, then hiccups. This sends him into a giggle fit, and he starts snorting. The mother starts laughing, too, and holds her big belly. They are so happy they make me smile.

  The toddler suddenly jumps up and runs past me. His mother follows in hot pursuit and catches him before he gets out the door. She gathers their things and they go out together.

  I notice that they left almost an entire half of the bagel on the table. I glide over to their table and pretend it’s my seat. I make sure no one sees me and bite into the leftover bagel. Delicious.

  As I’m finishing, two soccer moms with fancy coffees and biscotti sit at the table next to me. They start a very loud conversation.

  Mom 1: You’re so thin these days. How do you do it?

  Mom 2: I joined the Loser Club and lost thirteen pounds. It might be time to buy a new bathing suit, even though swimming season is over.

  Mom 1: I can’t even try on suits. Not until I reach my goal. I lose and gain like a yo-yo. Do they make you exercise a lot?

  Mom 2: Mainly walking. They say walking twenty minutes a day is enough to keep the average person healthy.

  Mom 1: I probably get that just from going up and down the stairs checking on that idiot contractor.

  Mom 2: How’s the remodeling going?

  Mom 1: It’s a headache. Dan wants us to switch over to natural gas instead of oil.

  Mom 2: Didn’t you hear about that house?

  Mom 1: What house?

  Mom 2: There was a house in some new development that blew up. Everybody died.

  These words catch me off-guard. The bagel and cream cheese sting the back of my throat. I stand up too fast and get a head rush and have to sit back down. Everybody died.

  The women stop talking and notice me. “Are you all right, dear?” one of them asks.

  I need air. I have to get out. I stand again, slowly this time. The two women are staring at me. I nod blankly, and they seem to accept that and go back to their conversation like nothing happened. “Really, you should try the Loser Club. It could change your life.”

  I manage to get out before I double over from the pain in my stomach. All dead, all dead is loud and strong. Panicked voices are screaming inside my head. Everything is hazy.
I crouch on the sidewalk and hold my hands over my ears.

  Through all the noise I hear a small voice laughing. It’s a real voice. The pregnant woman and her toddler are walking down the sidewalk toward me. The toddler points. “Doggie, doggie!” Shadow is right next to me. I hadn’t even noticed. I put my hand on his back and breathe.

  “Yes, look at the nice doggie,” the mother says.

  The toddler reaches his fingers toward Shadow. Shadow wiggles over and gives them a lick.

  “Nice doggie,” the mother says again. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asks.

  I muster all of my energy to stand. “I’m okay,” I whisper. I start to walk down the street, one foot in front of the other. Like nothing happened.

  I know the woman is watching me and I hear the boy’s sweet giggle, but I don’t look back.

  BEFORE

  I ran all the way to Jake’s house for our very first date. I was puffed out by the time I got to his door. I rearranged my stretchy black dress and rang the bell.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I said, catching my breath and wiping some sweat from my forehead. Great. He was going to think I was always sweaty.

  But he didn’t mention it. Instead he said, “You look nice.”

  The way he was looking at my chest I could tell the cleavage worked, though it suddenly made me a little uncomfortable.

  I smiled. “You, too.” He was wearing black jeans and a spanking white T-shirt. He smelled of after-shave.

  We got into his car. It was some kind of fancy sports car, bright red and super shiny.

  “I just got a new sound system,” he said. He leaned across to turn up the volume, and as he did his arm brushed against mine. Did he touch me on purpose?

  “Listen to these babies.” He closed his eyes and bobbed his head to the beat.

  We drove for ten minutes without saying anything. He couldn’t have heard me over the music anyway, but I was grateful, since I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d never been alone in a car with a boy before.