The Whole Story
The Dog-Bone by Lisa Schmitt
The Gazebo by Kelly Klopfenstein
The Matchbook by Regan Kearns
I’ve
been waiting for her to feed me for so long.
I
was waiting patiently on the rug in front of the door (the fluffy one that
smells like the outside, my favorite) and daydreaming about bacon chewies when
she came home before, but she knocked me out of the way.
Pushed right past me with that big basket towering above me in her arms
-- the one that looks a little like my bed but has a soapy scent that stings my
nose. Those big black things on her
feet clunk-clunked across the floor. She
didn’t even scratch my ears. I’ve
been following her around ever since. Usually
I can get her to feed me just by looking at her (my eyes have power).
But she won’t even look down.
She’s
sitting on the long pillowy chair now, clicking buttons on that little box in
her hand that makes the pictures in the funny machine across the room change. The annoying little noises and screeches coming from it
change quickly, and she taps her leg against the couch very fast.
I can tell she’s mad, but I really want some bacon chewies, so I hop up
to the couch beside her -- she’s sitting near the end, but I’m little.
I can fit. And this way
I’m close to her, so she has to notice me.
I tilt my head and move my tail back and forth with a swish.
I almost have her. She’s
about to look down!
But
then the door opens and clunk-clunk-clunk, in he comes saying something
“Honey.” That’s her name. Honey. She
should say something “Babe” back to him now, but Honey says something else
instead, accidently swatting me with the little papery packet she’s holding as
she stands up. I’d been hoping
she might let me inspect the packet, so this surprises me. I shake my head and let my fur whip across my eyes.
When I look up, Honey’s standing near Babe with her arms folded in
front of her like she did that one time I had to do my business on that rug by
the door because she forgot to take me on my walk.
Babe’s bending down to pick that papery packet off the floor.
She must have thrown it at him while I was shaking.
I
jump down to the floor real fast, hoping to get a sniff of it -- maybe it’s
food or maybe it’s something I need to growl at.
I hope it’s food. I
don’t like growling. In my
experience, whatever I growl at always growls back even louder, and then I get
scared. Babe has the packet in his hands high above my head before I
get there. I can feel him get
nervous quick, and I know he’s not going to be too concerned with feeding me
in this state, so I decide to go scavenge in the kitchen. Maybe I missed some table crumbs on my rounds earlier.
But
before I can move, Honey’s clunk-clunking into the room with the bed and
slamming the door behind her so hard it shakes the floor underneath me.
Babe clunks after her, and steps hard on my poor tail.
I yelp as loud as I can. It
doesn’t hurt so much (I haven’t been able to feel much in my tail since
Honey slammed it in the car door on the way home from the food store that one
time), but I want to let him know I’m there.
He
glances down and says something, and I hope he’ll pay attention to me now, but
he looks at the door and says some words to it instead.
I wonder why he’s talking to a door, but there’s no time to worry
about that when these desperate little rumblings are coming from my tummy. I pad into the kitchen, sniffing the usual places under the
table and in front of the big cold box. Nothing
but dust. I sneeze and wish I
hadn’t been so thorough during my afternoon snack.
Briefly wondering if there’s any way I could hop up onto the counter
where Honey makes the food, I decide it’s too high up, and I’m not much of a
dare-devil anyway. Plus, as the
runt of the litter, I always had to fight for food when I was younger.
I don’t want to have to work so hard for it anymore.
So I lap up some water from my bowl and head back out to find Babe.
When
I come out of the kitchen, Honey is out of the bedroom again, and Babe is
pulling something small from his pocket -- a treat for me?
But no, he throws it hard on to the long pillowy chair, and the floor
booms as he turns around to walk towards the door.
I look up at Honey, but she’s staring at the object on the couch and
doesn’t look at me, so I run as fast as I can to the door, yelling at Babe not
to go and getting tangled up in his feet. Something
tells me he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but he looks down at me
anyway.
Right
in the eyes.
He
says “Come on Poochy,” like he always does when it’s time to go outside.
Then he moves his feet so we can both walk again, and we are off down the
steps and into his truck, him behind that turning wheel up front and me in back
with the warm fresh air whooshing through my fur.
Best of all, I'm chewing on the bone he keeps there for me.
I told you my eyes have power.
“Awww fiddle, Sadie. There I go dropping my curlers, now there’s sure to be hair on the floor. I better sweep.” I look at Sadie, fast asleep on the fuzzy pink toilet cover, and I wonder for the millionth time why I even bother talking to her.
I open the broom closet in the hallway and select the small blue broom to sweep the bathroom. Sadie doesn’t get up until I am finished, and now she seems to fall off the toilet instead of hopping down. “No more Tuna Lickins for you, Sadie. You’re getting kinda plump.”
The doorbell rings and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Who could that be, Sadie-Bell?” I peer through the small hole on the door to make sure it isn’t one of those delinquents from down the hall; they are always up to no good. “Sadie, it’s Jeff, that nice gentleman from upstairs.”
I open the door to see a nervous look on Jeff’s face and a huge bouquet of daffodils and lilacs in his right hand. I smile and wonder what in the world I could have done to deserve this. The last time I had talked to Jeff, I remember mentioning the ventilation between our apartments. I told him that when his girlfriend bakes meatloaf, I have to air out my apartment for weeks. That certainly didn’t deserve flowers.
“Hello, Ms. Gallinger. I, um, I was, um, wondering if you could do me a favor with these flowers.”
I smile and welcome him inside, quickly glancing around to make sure nothing is out of place. It only takes me a second to realize what he is up to, and I quickly agree to help him. He explains the plan to me in great detail, and I grow more excited by the moment. When Jeff leaves my apartment, I keep my door open and watch him climb the stairs to his apartment, the one straight above mine. I guess he finally took my neighborly advice; living in sin is against Christ’s word and Jeff has heard it from me time and again.
Ok,
so I scatter the flowers all down the steps, leading to the door, and then I run
outside and find the end of the white extension cord and the end of the cord to
the lights he put up in the gazebo and plug them in.
Lori won’t look out the window after he’s home, so she’ll never
know.
I climb the stairs to Jeff’s apartment holding on to the railing with one hand and the flowers with the other. The stairs seem steep to me, but I arrive at the top in a matter of seconds. I take the yellow daffodil and the purple lilacs and spread them on the landing in front of their door.
Jeff’s dog, Pouches or Pooches or something, yelps and Lori starts yelling. I think about knocking, but I don’t want to ruin anything. I keep spreading the flowers all the way to the door to go outside, like I am supposed to. I open the door to go outside and the warm, humid air greets me with its huge suffocating presence. I think about my air-conditioned apartment as I walk the few steps to the gazebo. With the help of the small light from the parking lot, I instantly see the two cords I am suppose to connect.
It’s beautiful. The gazebo hasn’t looked this good in the whole nine years I have lived here. The top is lined with white lights, probably from Christmas, because they hang down around the gazebo like icicles. A bucket of ice, melting quickly, and a bottle of champagne, almost like in the movies, sits on the ledge of the gazebo. A simple rose is lying next to a CD player that is probably ready to play Lori’s favorite song.
As I walk back to the complex, my eyes well up with tears. Life is such a lovely thing when you have the one you love.
I nearly bump into Jeff as I open the door to go inside. I go from smiling to worried to completely confused in less than a second, and I look at Jeff’s upset face for the answers.
“Sorry, Ms. Gallinger. Thanks for your help.” Jeff mutters over his shoulder as he walks past me, Poodles, or Percy, or something at his side.
I stare after him in complete bewilderment. She must have said no.
Sitting at home waiting for Jeff to
come home, I begin doing some laundry. As always I check the pants pockets, and
as I reach in his work slacks I find something small and pull it out. It’s a
matchbook and I flip it open to find a number scribbled on the inside cover. My
heart drops and the matchbook falls to the floor.
How could he! Our relationship was
going so well and now I find a number from a girl! I’m going to say something
to Jeff when he gets home.
Picking up the matchbook again I
wonder about how I am going to approach this situation. Looking down at the
number again a vivid picture of my man and some random girl comes to mind, and I
shake the thought away. I walk to the couch forgetting the rest of the laundry.
I notice the clock on the wall reads
8:15 p.m. It’s getting late for
Jeff to be getting home from work. This is becoming a habit of Jeff’s to stay
at work so late. He’s probably with her!!
The more and more I think about Jeff
with another girl, the more upset I get, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
Looking at the couch, I find the remote and begin to flip through the TV
channels, not really watching what’s on, just thinking about what to say to
Jeff when he finally gets home. I hear keys dangling and I know Jeff is here. He
walks through the door with a smile and says “Hi, Honey!”
I snapped.
“Where have you been?” I yell at
him.
Standing at the doorway looking
dumbfounded Jeff answers me, “What do you mean? I’ve been at work!”
I throw the matchbook that’s still
in my hand at Jeff and before Jeff can answer I storm into our bedroom and slam
the door. I hear the dog yelp and I think Jeff must have stepped on him in order
to get to me. Wiping tears from my face and eyes, I realize I’m not quite
finished with the argument! I need some real answers!
Just as I start to open the door Jeff
says, “Honey, please come out hear and talk to me.”
I open the door and say, “So, why
are you late then? And whose number is on the back of that stupid matchbook?
Don’t lie to me either, if you’re seeing another girl, just say so!”
Jeff looks so confused and can’t
answer me.
“Since day one I knew I couldn’t
you. I knew from the start this day would come!”
Jeff looks as if he’s going to cry
and he never cries.
But what else am I supposed to do? I
can’t be with a man who cheats on me.
Just before I start yelling again, I
notice Jeff is pulling something out of his pocket.
“This might help to explain
things,” Jeff says as he throws a small black box on the couch.
“Come on Poochy!” Jeff says to
the dog and after the dog barks I hear the slamming of the door behind him.
I slowly walk to the couch and pick
up the box. Opening it I hear the creaking sound and gasp as I look at the
beautiful diamond ring inside.
“Oh my gosh! He was going to
propose!” I exclaim, totally unprepared for this. I run to the window and see
the beautiful apartment gazebo decorated with lights. But it is too late.
Jeff’s truck is gone.
He had this proposal all planned out
and now look at what I’ve done, I’ve pushed him so far away that he probably
won’t come back! If only my past boyfriends hadn’t cheated on me, this never
would have happened. I would have been able to trust Jeff from the start. I
ruined my happiness forever. Jeff is a wonderful guy and no one will treat me as
well as he did.
Sitting on the windowsill, I hope and pray for Jeff’s truck to come back.