To Love and To Leave / The 500-Word Project: Week 9
2013
I turn away from my empty bedroom, having just given it the final once-over. All the scattered belongings I’d nearly forgotten have been tossed into a spare shopping bag by one of my housemates, and it bulges so that I can scarcely hold the handles together. I glance down and notice a shoe lying across the top; the younger of their two dogs has enthusiastically chewed large holes into its toe.
For reasons I don’t entirely understand, things are not coming to an amicable end in this house where I’ve lived for the past couple of years. My chest aches with the urge to repair the relationship somehow, and with the apprehension that I probably never will.
My now-former housemate stands near the front door, one arm horizontal across her chest, my key dangling from her finger. The false cheerfulness of her demeanor forms a slick veneer over the tension in her body.
The elder of the dogs runs to me, toenails clicking and skittering on the hardwood floor. He has brown patches above his eyes like eyebrows, and they slant with concern. I kneel and bury my nose in the fur at the back of his neck, stroking the tender openness of his throat. His scent has the musty tang of an older dog and, at the same time, is just his very own. Hanging low between his legs, his tail wags cautiously with restrained pleasure. I stand and kiss him between his eyes, still oblique with worry, and gently tug his ears through my hands just the way he likes.
I think of the many nights these two dogs spent in my bed, gradually unfolding their bodies hour by hour until eventually I lay teetering on the edge of the mattress, a forepaw or two grazing my face.
The younger dog bounds toward me then, her tail whipping back and forth as she barrels ahead. Her feet lift and fall in a dance of excitement, and she thrusts her head between my knees—her preferred position for receiving affection. I scratch the spot just above her tail and she wiggles eagerly, fully receptive and brimming with zeal.
Her nose bumps the leashes hanging behind me and her whole hindquarters waggle expectantly. “Not today, sweetheart,” I say, backing up to rub her ears. “Maybe sometime soon.”
I flash a glimpse up at my housemate. She half-smiles but her eyes dart immediately away. My throat tightens and I return my gaze to the dogs.
Outside I climb into the car, eyes welling up, and look over at the friend who’s been waiting for me here.
“You OK?” she asks.
“I’ll be all right, thanks,” I say, turning back for a last look at the house.
As usual, both dogs stand alert on the couch, peering out at me as I leave. In perfect synchronicity, their two heads follow the car as it slowly pulls out into the street, drawing me away one last time.