by Amy Piers
“Needed some free wi-fi?” I quip.
Ezra straightens and laughs. “Sorry, Julia will be home soon. She left a key under the doormat for me, and thought you’d be out until late.”
“Nope, I decided to have a night off partying,” I say, walking to my room. I throw my backpack on the floor and lay face down on my bed.
I feel dirty. I didn’t grow Dallas in my womb; I didn’t give birth to him or raise him. I’m not worthy of his wish that I was his mother. Why did he have to go and make the moment weird? I can’t tell Sarah what he said, but I can encourage her to be more involved with him. I give him the kind of attention and boundaries that he needs, because; (a) I’m paid to do so, (b) I have no attachment to Grey, and (c) I understand the severity of Dallas’s mental state.
I need to train Sarah to reconnect with Dallas, to bond with him again—I only wish they were able to work through their grief together. Grey’s loss has left a festering wound—one that has been untreated for three years. Sarah tried to fix it with material possessions, fancy cars, a giant dog, a relationship with a guy who belittles everything she does, and a sweet, unsuspecting baby girl. None of these things have fixed the wound like Sarah had hoped, and without treatment, infection will kill them all.
Ezra knocks on my door, “Coffee?”
I lift my head and sweep my bangs from my eyes. He’s holding a French press and my favorite mug, with a hopeful expression on his face. Hopeful that I won’t turn him away this time; hopeful that one of these days I’ll give him the kind of attention for which he's vying. I’m not on the same page, but I relent.
“Of course,” I respond. Ezra looks elated, and I realize that I could throw him a bone every now and again. Not being attracted to someone doesn’t give me the right to be a bitch—sometimes I think I use all my ‘nice’ up on Dallas, and at the end of the day I’m a grumpy hermit. I walk out to the kitchen, and he pours two cups of coffee. Grabbing the creamer from the fridge, Ezra takes it from my hands and completes the coffee-making process. He carries the mugs to the couch and sets them on the coffee table.
“Appropriately named table, don’t you think?” he says.
I half-heartedly laugh by exhaling through my nose, the way children do when their Dad makes a joke. Ezra pushes my favorite mug towards me, and drinks from the other.
“I know you like that one,” he smiles. “You use it every time I come over.”
My heart skips a beat, and I don’t know why. I guess it’s been a long time since someone really cared about my preferences, or looked after me in any way. I’ve become so used to being the caregiver.
“What are you working on?” I ask, gesturing towards his laptop.
“Just some code,” he shrugs. “I start my new job on Monday.”
“Typical San Francisco tech guy,” I joke.
He looks slightly offended, “Why?”
“Fashionable haircut, beard, t-shirt from a hackathon, hoodie, skinny jeans, boots… all the vital ingredients of a San Franciscan. All of your Santa Cruz is gone,” I smile (all of my Santa Cruz is gone, too.)
“I was never really into surfing or skateboarding. You know me, I was the kid who stayed inside,” Ezra laughs.
“Yeah, I remember that. You were super into video games.”
“Were? I still am!” he announces, raising his coffee mug in the air. “Here’s to growing older, but never growing up!”
I oblige, picking up my cup and gently tapping it to his. I grab the remote control and turn on the TV so we can watch one of the million reality shows on offer. Kicking off my shoes, I curl myself onto the couch. Ezra closes his laptop and unlaces his old-timey leather boots.
We relax together, and for the first time, I realize Julia’s little brother is a fully fledged adult. He’s not so bad after all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For the Love of Dog
[I see you.]
It’s Indian Summer here in San Francisco—a season invented to explain why it’s only hot near Halloween. While the rest of the country prepares for Jack Frost, we’re making s’mores on an open fire. For this brief window of time all is well in the world. It’s 8am and I’m already sweating, walking from home to the bus stop—I peel off my cardigan and throw it in my (already overflowing) backpack. My skin warms in the sunlight as I bask in the ephemeral, vitamin-drenched rays. As the bus arrives, I squeeze into the diverse crowd of sweaty commuters, where unluckily, my nose is level with a teenage boy’s armpit. Unexpectedly, I start my day spending way too long deciding if it would be socially inappropriate to hand him a stick of deodorant.
Dallas is hovering on seventy-five gold stars. That means we’re twenty-five stars away from my terrifying plan of taking him to an amusement park. I wonder if I can plead insanity and get out of this? Oh boy. I mean, I’m really underestimating him right now, because he’s doing great. He has been for a while.
We’re now two months and two days into homeschooling, and his progress has been exponential. Despite an ever-changing home environment, it seems the consistency of Monday through Friday is creating a safety net for Dallas. In many ways he has grown three years in less than three months. He’s finally mastered pronouns, and tackled many of the giant educational obstacles that have been standing in his way.
Walking from the bus stop to his house, I don’t see him waiting at the fence (as per his recent custom). I peek through a gap in the fence, and he’s on the trampoline, but without Ramsay. That’s odd. Maybe Ramsay is captivated by a new chew toy, or he’s being fed. I walk the steps to his front door and knock. Sarah lets me in, but doesn’t seize me in her regular frantic spiel.
“Jacob took Ramsay,” she says, with tears in her eyes.
My heart sinks. I expected Jacob to be brutal in this time of separation, but I never expected this. The worst part is that Jacob didn’t even like Ramsay until he started to be trained—heck, I’m not sure if he even likes him now he can do tricks. I’m sure Jacob realizes he can’t have access to Aurora, so he’s using Ramsay as a pawn in his sick little game. All the while, the person who loses out most is Dallas. Small wonder, since Jacob blames Dallas for the breakdown of the relationship.
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammer in shock. “Does Dallas know?”
“Yeah, these last few months he plays with Ramsay… well, I guess he played with Ramsay… every day when he wakes up—woke up? God, I hate past tense,” she stumbles, in a stunningly human moment. “Today, he went outside and the dog was gone. He ran into my room, and I had to tell him the truth. He just lay beside me and cried.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sigh. The one glimmer of hope that sparkles in this tragically shitty upheaval is the fact that Dallas is responding in a completely age-appropriate way. I feel like a bitch for finding the silver lining, but if he experienced this kind of loss three months ago he would have run into oncoming traffic. He cried, he sought adult comfort (which, to my knowledge, was given) and took himself outside to the trampoline for a break.
“I know this is a setback—I hope this doesn’t ruin his day,” she says, avoiding eye contact. “God, we just can’t catch a break lately.”
She puts Aurora on her hip and walks out to the car. I walk outside and see Dallas on the trampoline with Ramsay’s favorite toy.
“Can I join you?” I ask, with low expectations, and to my surprise, he nods. I climb through the safety net to lie beside him. Dallas sighs, staring blankly at the sky with puffy eyes and a vacant expression.
For a while, we say nothing.
[I see red.]
I feel like Ramsay is dead. I know he’s alive, but I also know I will never be able to see him ever again. I miss feeding him kibble when he does tricks; I miss his stinky breath and shaggy fur. I even miss his poops in the backyard. I’ll never have another dog like him, never ever in my whole wide life. Zoe and me lie on the trampoline for a hundred years without talking, then I feel ready to tell her something.
“Jacob is an asshole,
” I say, staring at the sky.
Zoe laughs a little, then her laugh gets a bit bigger and it makes me laugh, too. Then we are both laughing so big that we roll into the middle of the trampoline and bump our heads together.
“I agree with you, buddy,” Zoe says, “He’s a big, fat asshole.”
Zoe hugs me with her arms, which I am OK with these days. She does a little kiss on my head, just like my Mom used to do before Grey went to heaven. We lay outside for a hundred more years, watching the wind make clouds into shapes. I see a duck, and Zoe sees a sheep. I tell her that saying it’s a sheep is cheating, because sheeps already look like white and fluffy. Zoe pulls her phone out of her pocket, and the numbers say 10:34am.
“It’s way past breakfast time, little one,” she says.
“Sometimes when I’m sad, I am also not hungry,” I tell her, sitting up on the trampoline. She sits up, too. “But I’m less sad now that you’re here, so I think I could eat some pancakes.”
Zoe smiles, “Of course! But, we have one problem.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“We need ingredients. We’ll have to walk to the corner store,” she says.
I remember that Ramsay used to walk with us when we went to the store, and the park, and the library. My tummy feels less hungry. My eyes feel like they are filling with water, and I am embarrassed to cry because I’m almost seven. I can’t help it; my tears come out even though I want them to stop.
“I know it’s hard to go to the store without our best friend Ramsay,” Zoe says, hugging me with arms. I sniffle, and cry again. I stop, then I start. My nose is putting snot on Zoe’s shirt.
“When will I stop missing him?” I cry.
“When the time is right,” she says quietly, “Every day you’ll miss him a little less, and then some days you’ll miss him even more. One day you might be having fun, and then remember how his tongue felt when he licked your face—and your fun might stop for a while. Another day you might feel sad and his memory will cheer you up. Maybe you’ll always miss him, but it gets easier.”
I want pancakes—but I also want Ramsay.
“Maybe we can have pancakes tomorrow,” I say.
“Today, we can just look in the fridge and pantry to see what we can find,” Zoe suggests.
I shrug and say, “OK.”
We walk inside and Zoe brings out my sticker chart.
“I know these stickers don’t mean much to you, but I want to let you know you have shown a lot of bravery today. You’ve made some really grown-up choices,” Zoe says, peeling a sticker from its paper. “You’ve earned three gold stars today—one for self control, one for using words, and the other is for taking a break when you needed one. Congratulations, Dallas.”
I smile, but not too much. I walk over to the pantry to see what’s inside. Ugh, there is just a can of corn and some dry things.
[I see you.]
I open the fridge—slim pickings. The pantry is basically the same, which leaves me wondering what in God’s name his mother feeds him. Aurora is just starting to eat solid food, so there’s a few cans of baby food hanging around. No eggs, no milk—I’m being careful in case a tumbleweed rolls out. I spy a loaf of bread! I go back to the pantry and raid the barren wasteland.
“I’m going to make you something delicious,” I exclaim.
Dallas looks confused, “We don’t have any stuff—ingredients. We don’t have the ingredients to make something delicious.”
I take his face in my hands and look him in the eye, “Buddy, we can make something beautiful out of this. Trust me.”
The toaster’s lever clicks into place, as Dallas watches the inner walls glow with orange heat. I take some butter out of the fridge, and heat water in a saucepan. I fish two peppermint teabags out of my backpack, and grab two mugs from the cupboard. I remember there’s a decorative teapot on the shelf in the living room, so I wash off the dust and dry it with a towel. The toast awakens with a pop, and Dallas puts two pieces of bread on each plate. The water bubbles in a rolling boil as I shut off the flame, open the tea bags, and pour the water into the teapot. While it steeps, I spread butter on the toast and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar. I cut the toast into quarters (triangles, because I’ll never hear the end of it if I serve him square quarters—believe me, I’ve tried) and set it on the counter. I bring the tea, and the mugs.
Dallas climbs atop his stool, and I sit beside him. I pour some peppermint tea into his cup, along with some tap water to cool it down. I pour hot tea into my mug, and we sit together, looking at our breakfast.
“Something out of nothing—that’s what we do,” I say, raising my mug.
Dallas raises his little mug of lukewarm tea, and says, “To Ramsay.”
“To Ramsay,” I echo, as we clink our mugs together.
“To becoming green,” he exclaims proudly, with a huge grin.
He takes a bite from his small, triangular cinnamon toast, and I can tell he likes it. He eats all eight quarters before I go through three, and that’s when I know he’s going to be just fine.
#
[I see red.]
Today we aren’t sticking to the schedule. Zoe told me it’s only for today, because all people sometimes need to take a break. Also, we are supposed to be training Ramsay right now because it’s project time… but I don’t have a project anymore.
“What should we do instead?” Zoe asks.
“Let’s lie on the trampoline and look at clouds,” I say.
We climb onto the trampoline again, and I grab one of Ramsay’s old toys. It stinks real bad, it’s all chewed up—but it reminds me of my good old dog. We lie on the trampoline and stare at the sky full of white, fluffy clouds. They’re extra high today, and I bet that’s so Grey can get a better view. I scoot over towards Zoe, so our bodies are touching. My ear presses against her chest; I close my eyes and listen to her heart.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask.
[I see you.]
Considering Dallas wishes I’d be his mother, I’m mildly uncomfortable with how close he’s becoming. The problem is, without my affection—he has none. I’m replacing the maternal puzzle-piece missing from his life, but consequently closing the gap so his actual mother has no place in his life. So much of this intervention is about choosing the lesser evil, when it doesn’t matter which way you go—a lesser evil is never good. I have a snap decision to make, and selfishly keep the affection meant for Sarah. I hold him close, because I know he will look back on his life and remember who comforted him when he needed love. I kiss him on the top of his head; his hair smells like a guinea pig.
“I wonder if you’re thinking about Grey,” I question.
Dallas nods, “But… are ghosts real?”
If only I knew, kid. I have asked myself the same question so many times before, but never with the same curiosity as this little boy.
“I don’t know, Buddy.”
“Sometimes I talk to Grey’s ghost, but he never talks back,” he whispers. “Maybe ghosts aren’t real, or maybe he’s still mad at me.”
“Why would he be mad?” I ask.
Dallas screws up his face and looks at me suspiciously. He says, “You know why.”
I wonder if he told me something and I’ve forgotten. I rack my brain, but find nothing. We lay together without speaking, staring at the clouds. Dallas repeatedly throws Ramsay’s disgusting chew toy up in the air and catches it again.
[I see red.]
At 2:45pm, Mommy comes through the normal door with a normal baby on one hip, and a furry baby on the other. She gives Aurora to Zoe, and gives me the furry little thing. It all happens so quickly, but I realize, this guy is actually another dog. He is wiggly and licky, and a whole lot smaller than Ramsay. He licks my face, and I laugh so much.
“Do you like him?” Mom asks. She’s also smiling and laughing with us.
“I LOVE HIM!” I yell.
“What do you want to call him?” she wonders.
I
think for a minute, looking at his reddy brown fur, then I say, “Cinnamon!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ninety-Nine Stars
[I see you.]
Now that Cinnamon is part of the family, there’s all types of canine bodily fluid surprises waiting for me to clean. Every pair of shoes in the house has been chewed through, and that cute little dickens just sits there wagging his adorable tail. Don’t get me wrong: I think the puppy was a good idea, but I’m a little salty that she bought a new dog so quickly. In my humble opinion, letting go of Ramsay was a teachable moment. We finally started to process through some of the grief Dallas felt about losing Grey, and I think it was cut short by the introduction of a new puppy. I guess his Mom had a hard time with past tense, so she went into replacement mode—I guess some patterns are harder to break than others.
We’ve got ninety-nine stars done and dusted. In my opinion, this intervention has been an outstandingly successful, albeit an exhausting, journey. If everything goes according to plan, I’m going to take Dallas to Discovery Country next Friday. When I arrive at Dallas’s house, he’s waiting on the steps for me, with Cinnamon on a leash.
[I see red.]
“I have a surprise for you!” I yell as Zoe walks up the steps. She looks very surprised already, and also a bit suspicious (that’s a word that means not sure if it’s good or bad). I bring Zoe into the house, and I show her inside the fridge. We have eggs, milk, yogurt, fruit, vegetables, and even some muffins. Zoe is smiling, and she looks very happy about this. Mom walks out of her room and joins in our fun.
“I finally went grocery shopping,” Mom says, a little bit like she’s embarrassed.
“Looks great!” Zoe says, “This is a brand new season for your family.”
(It’s called Indian Summer.)
“It was all Dallas. He’s been bugging me to buy real food for weeks. He won’t even touch a chicken nugget these days,” Mom explains (that’s real), then she leaves in the blue car with the baby, and Zoe opens her backpack.