by Nick Pirog
I take a deep breath, then I message back my mother: Hi Mom
MOM: We matched!
ME: I see that…I also see that you are 44-years-old
MOM: [Smiley face] [Smiley face]
ME: You do know that you don’t look 44-years-old
MOM: I do so.
ME: Um…no…maybe change that to 54…or maybe your real age!?! Which if you have forgotten…is 68!!!!
MOM: Your father says hi.
ME: OMG! Is he on Tinder too?
MOM: Yes. He just matched with a lovely young lady.
ME: Young?
MOM: 62.
ME: Are you guys going to pay for my therapy sessions?
MOM: Therapy sessions?
ME: Yes. Because I MATCHED on TINDER with my MOTHER!!!
MOM: [GIF of a crying baby]
ME: I gotta go. I’m gonna go drown myself in the lake.
MOM: OK. Have fun. [Kissy face][Kissy face]
Cassie
Now I know why Jerry left the TV on so loud. It’s that day. The worst day. Bang Day.
There’s a loud bang and I snap my head to the side.
I bark three times, but my barks are no match for the bangs.
Bang, bang, bang.
I run to the closet and to my bang corner. I lie down and press my face into the carpet.
I want Jerry.
He would rub my head and tell me, “They’re just fireworks, Cassie.”
But who I really want is Hugo. The bangs didn’t scare him. And he would lie on top of me, which made the bangs not as bad.
I close my eyes.
More bangs.
My stomach rumbles.
Sometimes the bangs give me the poops.
More bangs.
I start to cry.
It’s been awhile since I cried.
Years.
Not since First Home.
But I can’t stop.
I want the bangs to stop.
I want Jerry to come home.
I want Hugo back.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
Jerry
The crowd roars wildly throughout the fireworks finale, which I have to admit is beyond spectacular. Within seconds of the final glowing ember falling into the lake, a mass exodus ensues. The music dies, the stage begins to come down, people pack up their tents, blankets, and coolers, and head out. Half the party will go home, as it is a weekday and many have to work in the morning. The other half will make their way to Stateline—the California/Nevada border a mile to the east—and to the small strip of casinos and nightclubs and party until the wee hours of the morning.
“I’m heading home,” Alex states loudly, one eye half closed. He has drunk at least twelve beers, not to mention a few swigs off the Serbians’ bottle of vodka. He gives me two loud claps on the back, then stumbles his way to the flood of departing beachgoers.
I’m still in a weird headspace from my interaction with the Serbs, not to mention my living nightmare Tinder chat with my mother, and I mindlessly begin tossing our pile of empty beer cans into the styrofoam cooler.
“You drink all those?”
I glance up.
It’s Brook.
The temperature has dropped into the mid-fifties and she’s wearing shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. She has American flag temporary tattoos on both cheeks. Even beneath the sweatshirt, her large breasts swell.
I smile. “My friend Alex drank most of them.”
“Did he leave?”
“More like wobbled. But yeah.”
She giggles.
I ask, “Who are you here with?”
“I was here with a big group. They all want to go out to the casinos, but I’m not feeling it.”
“Yeah, I was thinking about that myself, but I think I’m just gonna head home.”
She pokes me in the ribs with her foot. “Or we could go to Nepheles for a drink.”
Nepheles is a neighborhood bar with low lights and a good wine list, and frequented more by locals than out-of-towners.
I should go home. I should make sure Cassie is okay.
“Okay,” I say. “One drink.”
Cassie
I hate to admit it, but I peed inside.
It just came out.
I thought the bangs were done, but then there were more, and it just happened.
I peed.
I’m so sorry, Jerry.
I’m so sorry I peed.
I’m sitting at the front door. When Jerry gets home, I will show him where I peed.
Hopefully, he will forgive me.
I sniff.
There are eight less hours of Jerry in the air.
Where is he?
I can’t remember the last time Jerry left me alone for eight hours.
I hope he’s okay.
What if the bangs got him?
I lift my head.
Footsteps.
I jump up and paw at the door.
I hear a jingle.
Keys.
Keys!!
More jingling, then finally, the door opens. I nose the door open and jump up on Jerry. Oh, he smells so good.
“Cassie!” he shouts. “Are you okay, girl?” he says, falling to his knees. “I was worried about you.”
I lick his face.
I’m okay.
Now.
“Doggie!”
I snap my head to the side.
There’s someone with Jerry.
I sniff.
Nooooooooo.
“Hi, doggie!” Big Bumps says, bopping my nose with her hand.
I glance up at Jerry.
She bopped me.
She…bopped…me.
But Jerry doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Why doesn’t Jerry notice or care?
“Go potty,” Jerry says.
That’s the thing, Jerry. I already did. In the closet. Still, I push past them and into the yard. I force a bit of pee out, then I run back inside.
Jerry and Brook are in his bedroom.
Jerry has his shirt off.
I remember this.
He used to do this with Avery.
Don’t do it, Jerry.
I go and grab my teddy and I drop it at Jerry’s feet. He glances down at my stuffed alligator, then me. He’s all wobbly.
“Fetch?” Jerry scoffs. “Now?”
I never play fetch.
Never.
I bark.
I feel a push on my head.
Big Bumps.
She just pushed me out of the way.
First Big Bumps bopped me, Jerry.
Now she pushed me.
I want to bite her toes.
They’re right there, her toenails all pink, and I want to bite them.
I don’t.
Jerry and Big Bumps flop on the bed.
They’re both naked.
It’s been a while, but I know the smell.
I know what’s about to happen.
I jump on the bed.
I nose my way between them.
“Cassie!” Jerry yells. “Knock it off.”
He pushes me off the bed.
I jump back up and bark.
“Cassie!”
He jumps off the bed and he grabs me by the collar. He drags me toward the door, then he opens it.
“Outside,” he says.
Then he pushes me outside and closes the door.
Chapter 13
“AFTERMATH”
Jerry
Ebola.
That’s what I keep thinking about.
This is what people with Ebola must feel like.
Except instead of a microscopic virus, mine is caused by copious amounts of wine. Three bottles if my memory serves me, which at this point in time, it may not.
I push myself up in bed, the resulting nausea commensurate wi
th twenty minutes on the Teacups. I run to the bathroom just in time to fall to the floor and vomit, half in the toilet, half on the base. I groan, push myself up, splash some water on my face, then glance over my shoulder at the bed and the bare back and the snaking tentacles of a purple octopus.
The previous night comes rushing back.
The beach party. The Serbians. Tinder. My mother. Brook. Nepheles. The wine. Getting home. Cassie.
Where is Cassie?
I run from the bedroom. My heart thrums against my ribcage.
“Cassie?” I shout.
She doesn’t come running.
I grit my teeth against the rising bile in my throat and concentrate. I remember getting home and Cassie, well, she was here. I remember that. Then the bedroom. Yes, she wouldn’t stop barking. Me…oh, no…me dragging her outside by her collar.
I sprint to the back door and rip it open.
“Cass—”
I see her, lying on the back porch, near the baby pool.
“Oh, thank God.”
I amble toward her, my eyes beginning to water.
“Hi, girl,” I say softly.
She glances up, her amber eyes huge.
“I’m so sorry—” I creak, my voice breaking.
The video of dragging her from the bedroom by her collar replays over and over.
I gently rub her head and her neck. “I hope I didn’t hurt you, sweetie.”
I’m openly crying now and Cassie pushes up from her spot on the porch and nestles her head into my neck.
She gives my face a long lick.
I don’t deserve her kindness.
Cassie
I’m mad at Jerry.
He left me alone on Bang Day (for eight hours).
Then he brought her home.
Then he dragged me to the door by my collar.
Then he left me outside all night. I even got thirsty at one point and had to drink out of the baby pool. (What if I drank up a frog baby, Jerry? What then?)
I’m going to ignore him.
For three days.
Justice served.
But then he came outside, and he said sorry, and he stroked my head like he does. Then he started crying.
I can’t stand to see Jerry sad.
So I lift the ban and I lick his tears and I kiss him and love him.
I can’t help it.
I love him so much.
He is my everything.
Jerry
“Hey,” I say, giving Brook’s shoulder a soft nudge.
She rolls over onto her back—her enormous synthetic breasts defying gravity—and smiles, “What time is it?”
I’m not sure, but I know it’s time for her to go.
Cassie may have forgiven me for being such a jerk, but she wouldn’t come inside. I had to bring her food and water bowl out onto the back deck. And I know it’s because of Brook.
I find her bra and panties and toss them onto the bed.
She pushes them aside, then crawls onto her knees. “Come here,” she says.
A primitive urge thrums through my body.
I fight it down.
“Um, I have to get to work,” I lie.
“Awww,” she says, playing up pouty lips.
I find her shorts and sweatshirt and add them to the pile. She gives a soft nod, accepting defeat, then begins pulling on her clothes.
Her eyes are clear and she doesn’t appear to be suffering any lasting effects from last night’s binge.
“Are you, like, not hungover?” I ask.
“What? From three bottles of wine?” She scoffs as if this preposterous. “Why? Are you?”
Well my heart rate is around 170, I have tunnel vision, my head feels like it’s a test site for the Manhattan Project, and I’ve been holding in a second round of puke for the last three minutes.
“No, I feel great,” I say. Then I add, “Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’ll just call Jake.”
“Jake?”
“Oh, did I not mention Jake?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Oh, he’s my, not exactly boyfriend, but you know, we look out for each other.”
I have absolutely no idea what this means. Is that what we were doing last night, Looking out for each other?
She picks up her phone and asks, “What’s your address?”
I tell her.
She sends a quick text, finishes pulling on her clothes, then ambles forward. She notices my bookcase and hunches down. “Is this one of your books?” she asks, pulling a book out, then reading the title, “The Catcher in the Rye.”
“No,” I say, literally biting my lip. “That’s a pretty famous book written by J.D. Salinger.”
“Right,” she shrugs. “I thought maybe you went by J.D. or something.”
I wait for her to ask which of the books are mine, but she tosses the book atop the bookcase, then walks past me and out of the bedroom.
I slip one of the most famous books of all time back into the bookcase, then follow Brook to the kitchen, where she’s standing in front of the open fridge, slugging orange juice out of the container.
I slept with this monster?
Thankfully, there’s a chirp and Brook checks her phone. “My ride's here,” she says, setting the orange juice on the counter and kicking the refrigerator closed with her foot.
She walks past me, gives me a big pulpy kiss on the mouth, and says, “Don’t be a stranger.” Then she exits the front door.
I make my way to the window and watch as she gets into the passenger side of a low slung sedan. I recognize the guy driving. Jake. He was the guy who filled up our beers in the beer tent.
He leans over and gives her a kiss. Then he notices me staring out the window and gives me a fraternal head nod, one I read as, “Hope you had fun, bro.”
Then they speed away.
When they are out of sight, I go throw up.
~
I toss the pine cone twenty feet over my head, deeper into the lake, and Cassie swims for it. I dive under the water and try to beat her there. I pop up right next to the pine cone and grab it right as Cassie clamps her jaw around it. We wrestle for it for a few seconds, then I toss it back into the turquoise shallows and we continue our game.
After spending ten minutes puking up my guts and my self-worth, I forced myself to eat some breakfast and swallow four Advil. I wanted to crawl into bed and watch Netflix all day, but I was compelled to make things right with Cassie.
So I sucked it up, grabbed Cassie’s leash, and we made our way to the beach. When we first arrived, I felt like the walking dead, but after a dive into the icy water, I felt at least human.
Cassie and I play in the water for another ten minutes, then I go lie in the sun, while Cassie chases a few little kids around—including one tiny guy in a water diaper who she lets pull on her tail and yank on her ears.
When we leave the beach, I’m rejuvenated in body, if not entirely in spirit.
Next stop on the Redemption Tour is Cold Stone Creamery. It’s located across from the Heavenly Ski Resort gondola in Heavenly Village, which, outside of the casinos, is the hub of the summer madness. The line is out the door and it takes Cassie and me thirty minutes until we are inside the shop.
Cassie rears up and puts her paws on the glass shield and I ask, “What flavor do you want?” but of course I already know.
Strawberry.
With Sprinkles.
We sit by the fountain and I spoon feed Cassie ice cream. She clomps down on the spoon, then smacks her lips together, then she rests her head on my knee when she’s ready for another scoop.
Our final stop is the pet store next to the Raley’s across the street.
We plod inside and I tell Cassie she can pick out two things.
Cassie
What a day.
First the beach and then Strawberry Ice Cream with Sprinkles! I usually on
ly get this on my birthday!
And then to top it off, the Toy Shop.
And I can get two things.
Two.
But there’s so much to choose from. Usually, I go right for the pig ears. I love a good pig ear. But I also could use a new teddy. My alligator is missing the squeaker from when Hugo played with it. But they don’t have my alligator here. (I know my alligator gets delivered by the nice UPS man.) Still, I head for the stuffed animals and give them a few sniffs. There’s a yellow lamb that intrigues me, but the more I think about it, the less I want a new teddy. I like my old one. I can still smell Hugo on it.
I’m sniffing a few other toys, waiting for one of them to call out to me, when I feel a presence standing over me.
I snap my head up.
“Oh, hi there,” she says.
She reaches the back of her hand out and I give it a light sniff. It smells good. It smells like cookies.
She leans down and says, “Hi, I’m Megan.”
Megan has a huge smile. It’s like Jerry’s eyes if they were teeth. She rubs my head a couple of times. I let her. Only because she smells like cookies.
“What’s your name?” she asks, fiddling with my collar. “Cassie?”
Yeah.
I’m Cassie.
“You are so beautiful, Cassie,” she says. “Did you know that?”
My coat is pretty shiny.
I lick her face.
I mean, when someone tells you that you’re beautiful, it’s only polite to give them a lick on the face.
I like her smile. And her eyes; they are light brown. They remind me of Hugo’s.
You are beautiful too, I want to tell her.
“Do you want a treat?” Megan asks.
Well, if you’re giving out free treats, then, of course, I want one, Megan.
She reaches into her pocket and gives me a little treat.
Dried chicken.
Yum.
~
My dad called the moment we walked into the pet store, asking if I wanted to meet them out for dinner (which I decline as the second coming of my hangover is gathering steam), then we chat about nothing in particular for a few minutes.