Dogs
People
“I’m coming home!” Sam’s vision blurred as he went faster.
“Don’t.” His sister’s voice was steady. “She’s okay for now. Her breathing has calmed, and as soon as she eats or drinks, I’ll let you know. Besides, with rush hour traffic, it’ll take you twice as long as it did me to drive here.”
Sam glared at the sky. The clouds stacked like snarling teeth. She was right. He pressed his palm against his cheek. “Okay, fine.” His hand dropped, and his face flushed red. “But I can’t make drinks like this.”
“You shouldn’t drive either.” His sister’s voice changed as she put the phone on speaker. “Your dog is fine, I promise. You gave me the vet’s number, and I have a car if, god-forbid, she needs to go.”
Sam groaned. “This day, this dreadful day. I don’t know what I did, or what god has it out for me, but I can’t take much more.”
“Maybe it’s all in your head.”
Sam frowned. “Your bedside manner hasn’t improved.”
“Perhaps you’re letting yourself get caught up in situations you know will make you feel worse.”
“No,” he hotly retorted. “If that were true, I would have confronted my ex.”
“You saw your ex?”
“Just barely.” Sam began to walk again. “I turned onto a different road—little good that did, though.” He waited, but his sister was silent. Sam looked at his phone. “Shit.”
The area that surrounded the coffee shop had notoriously bad cell service, or, perhaps more accurately, Sam had a notoriously bad provider. Either way, he was without the advantages of navigation or his sister, both calming forces. He gritted his teeth, then stopped and breathed.
Okay, okay. At least I’m near work.
On tiptoe, he searched for the spires of the old church, but the tight-knit homes refused to give him a clear view.
He closed his eyes and thought of his dog. She was a fighter; their nightly games of tug-of-war had proven her resilience. He only hoped it would help her now. Sam racked his brain as he tried to recall everything that she had eaten the day before, but nothing would have caused this kind of reaction. When she’d been sick before, the cure had been throwing up the next morning. This was different. His throat tightened, and his hands were sweaty.
A miniature cross caught his eye, planted next to the sidewalk. A garland of wilted carnations hung from the patibulum, and a toy taxicab was half buried in the leaves at the base. His body constricted further, and he stepped onto the road. His heart shivered.
It’s going to be okay.
Car brakes squealed in his left ear, and a horn blared. Sam fell backwards onto the concrete as a sedan swerved into the opposite lane, then shuttered to a stop in front of him.
“You have a fucking death wish?” The driver, a middle-aged man with bright teeth, leaned across the passenger seat and shouted through the open window as Sam stumbled to his feet. “Are you an idiot? I was behind you! I have a kid here! You want to scare them?”
Sam blinked twice. His body shook uncontrollably, and he retreated.
“Say something, fucker!” The man unbuckled himself and opened the door. “You can’t walk across the street whenever you want!” He jumped out and slammed his fists against the roof, then stared at Sam overtop the trembling gunmetal silver. “Use a fucking crosswalk next time!”
Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. He put his hand up and bowed his head in an animalistic display of submission and apology. But it wasn’t good enough for the driver. His hair bristled as he continued to bark insults while Sam remained frozen.
Why’d I take the trash out?
It felt far off. Now, so many dead kittens, ex-girlfriends, and ruined marriages later, this driver heaped abuse upon him. Sam glanced at the man’s kid, a young girl in the seat behind her dad, lost in the blue glow of a tablet, oblivious to him or the stationary vehicle.
A horn zapped Sam back into the present. A sports car stopped opposite the sedan. The man flipped the driver off, then turned back to Sam.
“You’re lucky I’ve got my girl in the back! I’d beat the shit out of you before you knew what was happening. Fuck that, I wouldn’t have stopped. Maybe after getting your head bashed in, you’d have enough brains to look both ways or use a crosswalk! Fucking stupid—”
The sports car blasted its horn again. The man growled and used both hands this time, the way a priest would use a cross against a demon, to discourage them from challenging him.
It didn’t work. The horn shrieked for a third time as the driver put their full weight against the sleek wheel.
The man approached the luxury vehicle as he snarled. “Back off! I’ll fucking crack your skull.” He pounded his fist against the other’s hood, then his expression melted. The driver, a tree trunk of a man, flung his door open and emerged, black baseball bat in hand. Without words, he advanced as the other fled back to his car and fumbled with the gearshift. The sun glinted off the proud metal as the bat crashed against the driver’s side mirror.
Sam sprang away as glass and metal crunched. The hunk took another swing. Cracks scrawled across the tempered windshield. The girl in the back screamed, the situation now just dawning on her. Their engine chugged as the car spun into its lane. The front tire bounced up onto the curb next to Sam before it thundered down the street without stopping at the intersection.
The hunk loosened his grip on the bat and returned to his vehicle. He paused to buff out a mark on the hood, then got behind the wheel and drove away.
Sam sat on the curb. Drained of all his strength, he pushed his hands against his eyes until it hurt. Somewhere, a siren whined; its sharp call steadily built. Sam covered his ears.
That better not be for me.
Sam smirked. What would he say to the police? What even happened?
A neighbor must’ve heard it all. Maybe they felt bad for me and made the call.
He sighed as flashing lights rounded the bend. If he cooperated, the officers might give him a ride to work at least. The lights and siren merged into one as an ambulance slowed before it went out of sight at the crossroads ahead of him.
At least it wasn’t for me.
The siren cut off, and all was quiet. Sam scampered to the intersection and looked down the street. Its lights continued to flash in muted silence as the ambulance loitered, halfway turned into a driveway. Two paramedics were already on their way inside the duplex with a stretcher between them, while a third lingered at the truck.
Sam crossed the street; his feet centered on the hashed lines that bridged the road as he continued towards the scene. All wasn’t lost. The hospital was caddy-cornered from his work. Before the cathedral had been renovated into apartments and the coffeehouse, the church served as a beacon of hope to those in the hospital. Families and staff would seek a quiet moment under the arches and spires.
Though the church was gone, people still sought comfort. Nurses and doctors often stopped to rest at the café, and Sam always turned a blind eye whenever a nurse dozed off with an empty cup of coffee in their hands. As the day rush slowed, vacant-faced loved ones would linger on the couches, fingers laced around their mugs, while they waited for news and prayed for miracles. Sam knew a handful of nurses and first responders and always could spot the restless fidget of someone whose mind was still at the hospital.
Hopeful he’d see a familiar face, he approached, but stopped when the paramedic outside threw him a stern glance.
It was a long shot anyway.
The stretcher’s wheels rattled on the pavement as the other EMTs returned. An elderly man, with tufts of hair that clung to the fringes of his smooth head, lay strapped between them. Two great dogs, their bodies built like muscle cars, barked from the house. Like an oiled machine, the paramedics hoisted the old man into the back and began to connect him to a wall of blinking dials and uneven lines. The doors shut, and the driver thrust them into reverse.
The dogs howled louder as the truck rumbled away. Sam stared at the poor animals who scratched and pawed against the glass, unable to follow.
“He’ll be alright.”
Sam flinched. Please, not again…
He steadied himself and looked up. Behind where the ambulance had been stood an even more ancient man. His hands trembled in place, and his eyes were deep, wet pools, more like an animal’s than a human’s.
“Oh.” Sam glanced at the dogs and wished he could hide behind them. “Of course. You know him?”
“He’s my neighbor. I heard them barking mad as hatters and assumed he’d fallen again. We do that at our age.” His speech was broken by a cough which trembled in time with his hands. “I’m his only friend. At least I think so. He’d probably say I’m a nuisance, but to each his own.”
“Good thing you heard them.”
“Yes. Not the first time, too. He’ll be okay, though.” He stifled the fear in his voice with a smile, then shuffled closer to Sam. “Do you like dogs?”
Sam shook then yawned. “I love dogs. Used to be scared of them, though.” That was a weird thing to say; I don’t even know this guy.
The old man nodded. “I was attacked by a dog once. The damned thing broke my wrist. I still have the scar, even eighty-eight years later. It’s funny, the things that stick with you. I remember his soft coat more than the bite. I loved that bastard mut more than anything.”
Sam glanced again at the house. The larger dog, with short golden hair and pointed ears, had one paw on the glass, while its companion, a mid-sized primeval wolf with thick black hair, continued to bark in distress. “Yeah. I got my dog after my ex moved out because the apartment was too quiet.” Why can’t I shut up? He looked down. “Who’ll watch them?”
The aged man shrugged. “I give them food and water. But I can hardly walk across the lawn, let alone control them.” His hands jittered.
“I can do it!” Sam flinched again. What am I doing?
“You serious?”
“I mean—I could.” He shifted his weight as his body tightened up. “But I’m late for work. Plus, I’ve already killed one kitten, ruined a marriage, and almost died, so I think the further away I am from you and the dogs, the better.” The man raised his eyebrows but stayed silent as Sam continued to speak without thought. “Also, my dog is sick, and—and I’m just now realizing she could be dying. Fuck. I can’t leave her with my sister. My sister’s great, but—” Sam cut himself off. “Sorry, I need caffeine.”
The man nodded apologetically. “That’s a lot.”
“I wish I could help,” Sam glanced at where the EMTs had turned. “But I need to get going back to work.”
“Didn’t mean to keep you.” The old man followed Sam’s gaze. “He’ll be fine, by the way. He’s a fighter. The offer is always open if you find the time and want to help. But don’t—”
“Yeah—maybe.” Sam waved a hasty goodbye and left in the direction the ambulance had gone. As he rounded the corner at the next intersection, he spotted the familiar spires of work. He was back on track.
Editor: Shannon Hensley
