Czar Red #6

* I apologize that this is so long; I couldn't bare to trim it so I'm going to post as is.

I slid out of the car, shakily walking to the front door. My skin was still glistening with sweat from volleyball practice; my kneepads rested at my ankles sticky and heavy. My muscles were tired and all I wanted was to fling myself onto the floor of the living room and let Timmy happily lick the perspiration from my arms.

I looked for him in the yard, but my puppy was nowhere to be found. I shrugged guessing he was inside jumping gaily on my brother.

When I came inside, I saw my mother first. She was hunched over in the rocking chair, her listless eyes staring out the window. I would have smiled if she didn’t look so pathetic – she was much too young to be sitting in that rickety chair.

“Should we tell her?” Dad asked her as he diverted his eyes from mine. She only responded with an apathetic nod.

He stalled for a moment, speechless. His words came stuttered and quiet. “Timmy got hit by a car.”

I reeled. Before I could respond, I was far away.

...It was a particularly hot July afternoon. Not that any day that summer wasn’t hot and horribly dry, but that day was brutally so. It was the fourth day in a row I’d worked in the fireworks stand. The stand was a wooden shack with shelves lined with brightly packaged explosives. My parents were paying me to sit through the grueling afternoons with heat waves so punishing that customers wouldn’t venture to our stand. The shoppers only came at night, but there was always a chance we’d miss a sale if we weren’t ready even during the most hateful hours of the day.

The only relief from the searing weather was a motorized fan in the corner. Every few minutes, it quit working killing the only breeze and only sound with it. I think that bothered me more than the heat. I didn’t mind sweating but I did mind the silence. Dad connected an intercom to the house, which was only about one hundred yards from the stand, for emergencies. But no one was ever around when I just wanted to talk to pass away the time.

When my younger brother told me over the intercom that “Dad had gotten a puppy,” I was more than skeptical. My mother hated dogs. I was angry that he’d tease me with such a sweet suggestion.

“Liar.”

“No, I promise.” His voice was scratchy but clear enough I knew what he was saying. But of course, I didn’t believe him. Who believes thirteen year old boys?

“Prove it.”

“I’ll bring him to you in just a minute.”

I was giddy despite myself. It was too good to be a true, but would he really lie? I jumped out of the stand so that I could see Dan walking from the house in the distance.

I saw him. Dan was carrying what looked like a very small brown lump. The “dog” didn’t move at all and I was quickly convinced he was carrying a stuffed animal. I spent the next few moments quickly calculating what I was doing to do to my pesky brother. As my hands started to clench and I was resolved that a punch in the eye was the only fair retribution for such ultimate a sin, Dan dropped him.

I expected him to bend over and grab the stuffed toy, but instead it ran. The puppy’s ears flapped in the wind as he sprinted in my direction. Dan trailed behind him, laughing as he tried to catch up with the anxious puppy. The weeds whipped at his face, and tore at his legs, but my brother was happy. I stood stunned for an instant before I too was running toward them. I dropped to my knees and pulled the puppy into my arms.

He was the most beautiful animal I had ever seen. His fur, a soft ebony, was splattered with tan on his paws. I fell in love with his droopy ears and loving dark eyes instantly. I dug my nose deep into the fur on his back and sniffing the sweet aroma his skin. I held in my arms a wiggling, licking, excited puppy.

We learned that day that Timmy loved black jelly beans. Dan and I hated them and while eating a bag of jelly beans in the fireworks stand one of us discovered he didn’t agree with our taste buds. When mother found out, she was furious.

“Don’t you know licorice can kill an animal?”

We were horrified; we’d only meant to bring the puppy pleasure. She assured us if we only fed him one a day, he’d be fine. So we began collecting them for him in a plastic baggy in the cupboard.

He loved eating them. He waited to swallow them so the sweetness could spread across his tongue. He always barked asking for another when he was finished. Dan and I couldn’t resist his eyes, and usually gave him a second...

... I realized, sooner than I’d have desired, that I couldn’t escape anymore.

"Is he okay? Did you take him into the hospital?" I managed to squeak out, stammering.

"No, honey, he died." My father’s eyes avoided mine.

"No," I screamed still disbelieving. I cascaded down to my knees, my face buried in the ugly shag carpet. A horrid shriek escaped itself from deep within my heart. Tears pinched their way from my eyes and burned their way down my cheeks. My tightly clenched fists pounded themselves upon the ground and I was screaming and screaming and screaming.

My mother rested her hand on my back and gently stroked me. Darkness flooded through my body, numbing my brain and silencing my shrieking. I didn't understand what my mother was mumbling to me, but the rhythm of the words soothed me. Calmness ran though me, when it became too painful to keep crying. I was silent but my deep angry breathing.

I opened my streaming eyes. Though my tears, I saw Timmy's chair glaring at me -- almost mocking my sorrow. He’d always curled up in the oversized chair in the corner. Just like a cat, we’d teased.

I ignored my powerful urge to destroy something. I wanted to pull the curtains from the wall and tear at the fabric just to hear it rip. I wanted to slam the lamp onto the floor and watch the base shatter into a thousand glittering pieces.

The next morning I awoke certain it’d been a dream. I ate breakfast as usual and opened the door to let Timmy in. I laughed at the irony; yesterday morning, dad had told us that our puppy couldn’t play with us before school anymore since we were always running late. I reached for the baggie that I was sure was still sitting in the cupboard and I went outside.

Blind terrible furry came over me and I ran into the fields. I ran past his dog house, the gate, usually shut in the morning, squeaked as it swayed back and forth in the sharp wind. I kept running until I came to the mound of freshly dug earth.

I opened my fingers that’d been clenched in a tight fist. Two shiny jelly beans rolled from my fingers onto the soil.