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Charles
I clamber out of the car after a quick hug from Erik.
“I’ll pick you up at four? So…two hours?”
“Yeah, sounds great!” I give him a thumbs up.
Erik nods. “All right, have fun! Don’t spend a fortune!”
I shrug. “Can’t promise that! I have more money than I need, so I need to spoil you this birthday.”
Erik scoffs. “Well, I can’t top your fancy gifts. Just…do me a favor and get something fun for yourself too?”
“Fine, I will.” I point to behind the car. “There’s someone behind you.”
“Oh, okay. See you later!”
I wave as he drives off, leaving me alone on the busy Westchester sidewalks. I turn to face the shops and scan the area, contemplating which one to try first. This birthday is a special one for Erik: He’s turning thirty, and that means an extravagant gift that only I can afford. Don’t spend a fortune? Yeah, right. I’ll spend however much I want, and I want to spoil the hell out of him.
I decide on a fancy-looking clothes shop and head inside.
Charles
For the first hour, I amble around on a mission: First, clothes, and I find a really nice turtleneck and a jean jacket that would go perfectly together. Then next, I meander around some food shops, some cafes, and consider buying a few pastries for our movie date tonight.
At one point, I even pass a high-end jewelry shop, see the wedding rings in the front window, and a rush of warmth tingles from my scalp to my toes. Maybe one day. After all, Erik already made it clear months ago that marrying me is something he would want to do someday:
“I can see us settling down together, you know,” Erik had said. “Getting a house, building a life…together. Seeing you walk down the aisle.”
“Are you proposing to me?”
“Well, we’re not there yet, I don’t think. But it’s nice to keep the option open.”
The option gets more appealing by the day. Marriage has come up once or twice in our conversations, whether jokingly or a bit more serious, but neither of us are opposed. In fact, Erik makes it known every day just how much he loves me, and I know the feeling is mutual.
Marriage is a dream that creeps closer to reality with every kiss Erik gives me, and if Jarred’s existence shows any one thing, it’s that two men can fall in love and marry and live carefully but happily in unity behind closed doors.
I purchase a dark green scarf for Erik at another clothes shop, stuff everything in the same large bag, and plop into a nearby bench to relax for a moment. The breeze is cool, but the sun is bright enough that the weather is near-perfect. I have no doubt that Erik taking a walk around the mansion right now, probably trying to guess what kind of gift I’m going to get him.
I shuffle through the items and imagine Erik formulating snazzy outfits in the days following his birthday. His fashion sense is definitely better than mine, and he’s made fun of me for wearing ‘grandpa’ cardigans before. A smile slips onto my face as I picture his joy upon unwrapping the presents.
I put the pieces of clothing back into the box and get on my phone for a bit, scrolling aimlessly through my most recent photos.
A figure moves around in my peripheral vision, as well as the jingle of dog tags. Nearby, not moving away. The automatic burst of fear runs through me, but I calm it down with the affirmations I have at the ready.
The figure approaches, an older women talking on the phone, and I don’t look up, trying to seem as unbothered as possible. She sits down on the other end of the bench, the dog sits beside her on the cobblestone, and–
Oh. Oh. It’s a German Shepherd. A big one.
The fear returns, it zaps through my muscles and makes every limb ache with tension. I stare at it as it plops itself beside its owner, lazily looking about the cityscape. As slowly as possible, I grip the railing of the bench and try to slide further away from it. Or, shit– HER. Not it. It’s a dog, it’s just a dog. She has a name, a family, an owner.
The dog’s ears perk and she glances over at me with chocolatey-brown eyes, astonishingly human. She stands and trots the short distance over to me, and I can’t help but shrink back a little.
She sniffs curiously at me and boops my knee with her nose. Her eyes flick up to me and lets out a little huff of air.
Does she…want something from me?
My question gets an answer when she lifts a single paw and prods at my hand. The claws snag on my skin and I jerk backward for the slightest moment before freezing again. She continues the movement, whining and huffing at me. But it’s not…threatening. It’s almost like she’s…waiting. For what?
She nudges my hand again, then drops her head onto my thigh, her eyes gazing innocently up at me. The lady is still chatting on the phone with the recipient of the call, and her dog is still weirdly enamored with me. I gingerly extend a tentative hand, going slow and keeping an eye out for any of the dog body language I’ve learned in the last few months.
The dog sniffs my hand, boops me once more, and returns her head to my thigh. Despite the pounding of my heart, I outstretch my hand and lay it against the top of her head. There’s a strange, jagged line down her head and a chip torn out of her left ear, but nonetheless, she responds to my touch by slumping further against my leg and sighing in contentment. I start petting her and create a rhythm as I weave my fingers through her smokey-brown fur.
The lady beside me prattles off a lengthy, but sweet goodbye to whoever she’s talking to and lowers the phone. I see her glance over at her dog and she laughs. “Aw, Oly, you found a new friend!”
I peek over at the lady– older, maybe fifties. She meets my eyes and I manage a small smile despite the nervousness flaring through my body. I continue petting the dog, gently rustling her fur, back and forth, and it starts to feel…comforting.
“Aw, she loves that. You’re a fan of dogs, I take it?”
I choke back a snort of laughter before it can surface. Instead, I grimace halfheartedly and shrug. “Uh, it’s…complicated.”
The lady seems surprised, but she doesn’t push. She leans forward and smooths down a bit of fur on her dog’s back.
I stop petting her for a few seconds to put my phone away. The German Shepherd protests with a whimper and nudges me with her nose. I can’t help but chuckle at her insistence.
“Wow, she really likes you,” the lady laughs with a grin. “I’m actually quite surprised. She doesn’t typically take to people like that, not with her history.”
This piques my interest and I give the woman a sidelong glance. “History? What do you mean?”
The woman looks at her dog with a sad smile. “She’s ten years old now, so considered a senior dog. But she was abused when she was a few years old.”
I swallow hard. Oh.
“I don’t know a lot of the details, but her first owners used to violently abuse her, and they threw her out into the streets. Someone found her on the side of the road and brought her to a shelter. She hated any human contact. I was a staff member at that shelter at the time, and when we would come into her kennel to feed her, she’d freak out and snap and scream like she was being attacked all over again. She was terrified.”
The line on her head, and the chink in her ear… I look farther down her body and see bits of naked skin that reveal more thin lines. Scars.
I’m reminded of my own scars scaling up and down my side. Instead of prompting a flare-up of pain, tears flood into my eyes. I try to choke them back, but seeing the dog’s scars is doing something to me. Something…healing.
The woman continues. “She was aggressive at the time, snapping out of fear, so no one wanted her. I decided one day a few years ago to adopt her, and she hid in the corner every day for weeks, barely eating, and growling every time I walked into the room.”
I try to blink the tears back, but the pinch of emotion in the back of my throat only causes more tears to form.
“I took a break from work for a while so I could spend more time with her. I’d spend hours just sitting on the floor across the room from her, getting her used to my presence. I brought a dog behavioralist to my home to work with her, exposing her to the kindness of humans in a way that she’d never experienced before. It took a few very hard months, but slowly, it got to the point where she wasn’t petrified of humans anymore.”
Oh, God, this dog is…
…just like me.
I bite back a sob. The tears drop and pour down my cheeks. I stop petting the dog to wipe my tears away, but I’m so goddamn emotional that more replace them immediately.
I can feel the woman’s immediate concern and confusion. “Oh, are you all right, honey? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…”
I wave her statement away. “No, it-it’s okay. Sorry, I just…” I dab at my cheeks with my sleeves and take a deep breath. “I was attacked by a German Shepherd when I was ten. I almost died, I went into cardiac arrest from losing so much blood.”
The lady is silent.
“I have a lot of scars running all down my side and they hurt sometimes when I think of what happened. I just finished exposure therapy a few months ago, and it took a while. I was…” I gesture to her dog with a sad laugh, “I was terrified of dogs. I couldn’t even be near one without having crazy panic attacks. I was diagnosed with PTSD too.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay, really.” I smile tearfully at her. “I’m much better now, and a while ago, I wouldn’t have been able to even think about doing this.” I nod to the German Shepherd. “But just hearing that…she went through something similar is…” The tears are back and this time, I don’t fight them. “It’s crazy. I never even thought…” I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “It’s just inspiring, is all.”
The woman smiles and, after a pause, rests a hand on my shoulder. “You’re very brave for getting through that. You are inspiring too.”
I start silently crying again. “Th-thank you, that…means a lot.”
She nods in response and pulls her hand away.
An older man comes out of a cafe nearby and calls across the clearing, a name that I can’t make out. The woman glances around and spots him. Her face splits into a smile. “Oh, that’s my husband. I’ve gotta go.” She stows her phone in her purse and gets to her feet. “Come on, Oly! Say goodbye to your friend.”
The dog– Oly?– sniffs my hand and licks it a few times, I guess as her own sort of goodbye.
“What’s your name, dear?” the woman asks.
“Oh, I’m Charles.”
She smiles warmly and pats my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Charles. I’m Mandy, and this is Olympia.” She peers down at Olympia with pride, then looks back to me. “I wish you the best. You’re a very strong man, honey, I can tell.”
“Th-thank you. It was nice talking with you.”
Mandy waves goodbye and joins her husband, taking the cup of coffee offered to her. They disappear around the corner, and I pull myself together enough to stop crying. A staggering happiness settles on my bones, a sort of contentment.
After I feel emotionally okay enough to continue shopping, I go about the rest of my outing feeling light and feathery, like I could float away into heaven any second.
Olympia will not be leaving my head anytime soon. If anything, her image and memory will stay in my head and be the lasting proof that dogs are not only okay and nice and safe, but that they are strong too, and they can struggle and heal just like I have.
If a dog can suffer through such similar trauma and eventually learn to love humans enough to seek out one’s affection, maybe someday…
I can do the same.
Maybe I can learn to love a dog.