Year of the Dog

Year of the Dog

The car went medium speed, about 30. With the cold, he kept the windows up. The 17-year-old heater in his 17-year-old Plymouth went on and off as he fiddled with it to keep the inside just right. He needed the temperature in the car to be just right. Please god.

His cell phone rang next to him on the shotgun seat. He picked it up and looked at the number and then laid it back down again. He hated cells phones. He hated phones in general. He tried not to use the word hate too much because he was sensitive to the evil feeling it gave him. But he hated phones. He recognized they were an absolute necessity, for life as he knew it. Certainly for his job. But he could not bring himself to answer them when they rang. He could only deal with them later, after the message had been left. Maybe he’d call back, maybe not. Mostly he did not. People always asked where the hell had he been, why hadn’t he let someone or the other know that he was or wasn’t going to come, or go, or be late, or pick something up, or get something done. He hated phones and it was developing into a phobia. It was more than hate. He feared phones. They were a constant reminder of what needed to be done.

He pulled into the driveway and y-turned into the garage. He walked medium speed to the back door, opened it and went in. He felt soft all of a sudden, standing in his kitchen. Tired. He would have a meal he loved. . . Sloppy Joes from last night’s spaghetti sauce. Delicious. In fifteen minutes the meal was ready. People said he was a good cook. He wasn’t sure about that. All he knew was that it pleased him to be able to feed hungry people and make them happy. 

He called his son, Jack, to the table. His son’s appetite was a wonder. Jack worked out regularly and played baseball for Lyndon Johnson High. He could, if pressed, eat enough to be on an eating team, if there were such a thing. . .and the main thing that pissed everyone off. . .he was rail thin.

The house phone rang. Steve would have no part of it so Jack picked it up. It was Susan, the once and future true love of his father’s life.

“Yeah, he’s here. He was ignoring the phone.” If Jack only knew it was just the opposite.

Steve took the phone, an old black land line phone from 1956, the one his Dad had used back in the day, before cell phones and shit.

” Hi.” Susan said. ‘How ya doing?’  

Everybody says that. . .How ya doing? Susan does it every time. Even he did it sometimes. So odd. He’d just seen Susan, like 30 minutes ago, and still she asks, how ya doing. And now, he knew, he was about to do the same:

‘I’m good. About a B, maybe a little less, a B-, but still well above passing. How are you doing?’ There. He did it. It was mandatory. Now they could talk.

‘Honey, I meant to ask you, what about the movies tomorrow night? Do you think we can still make it? Ben and Carol are still planning on coming up.’

‘I’m planning on it, too.’ Steve said. ‘I didn’t make dinner reservations yet but I will after this call. The Rail good enough?’

‘Oh, you know I love The Rail. . .’

He didn’t say he loved her, too, when she used the word ‘love’. He might have said it under different circumstances. Usually he did say it. But now, he didn’t feel particularly lovey.

‘Oh Steve, I miss you when we’re apart. I can’t help it’

‘I know. I miss you, too.’

Too long a pause, with attendant silence hanging a bit heavy on the warm kitchen air.

. . .

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I guess I’d better get back to making dinner. How’s Jack?’

‘Like always. Happy and young, strong and healthy.’

‘Well, honey, don’t let me keep you from dinner. Are you gonna get that hair cut? You don’t really want to, I know. Oh, well. Never mind. Sleep tight. I’ll call tomorrow. I love you.’

And the phone went back to its cradle.

He did love her. That was no sappy bullshit. He loved her more than he ever thought was possible. He loved her beyond any love he’d ever heard of or read about. Ever. Anywhere. . . .and he knew it most profoundly late at night, when demons rule the earth, it was then he knew that the love he had for Susan was slowly reworking all his moving parts. 

He decided he’d get that haircut. He didn’t care but she did. It’s been literally five years. His hair never got long, not even down to his shoulders. He was like a Labrador Retriever, his mom used to say. “They let their hair grow. It never gets long, either.” He was, in fact, a dog, born in the Year of the Dog, 1958. Jesus he was old. . .and apparently, needed a haircut.

Next morning, around ten, with Jack off to high school, Steve went to the Table Top Barber Shop, which was owned by one of his best friends, Jerry, who immediately asked what he wanted, and Steve said a fucking haircut, whadayathink, and Jerry said but you never get haircuts and Steve said so what and I guess you’re right but do it anyway and Jerry said Jesus man, why so touchy and Steve said well, I don’t know, maybe because . . . .he paused . . . it blurted out. . . .I’ve gotta go to the movies tonight with Susan and she and I are almost, like, . . .gonna get married. . .maybe, and it’s on my mind and that’s why I need a haircut, because Susan wants me to get one and Jerry said so how do you want it to look and Steve got right out of the chair and turned and said if you’re gonna make such a fucking big deal out of it then forget it and he walked out.

He walked to his car and stood there like a lump of shit. He was actually shaking. He looked off in the distance at nothing, for quite a few minutes, talking to himself. What in the hell are you so jumpy about? Everything, he answered. But why? You didn’t used to be. What’s the worry? I’m not sure how certain things are gonna turn out, he though. How everything is gonna turn out. Is that the worry? Nobody knows the answer to that question. That’s the whole deal. Nobody knows. You’ll never know. Are you letting that stop you from everything else? What is fucking wrong with you. You didn’t used to be this way.

He worried about Jack’s health, which was stupid because Jack was fine. He worried about the car, which was also stupid. The car was fine. He always worried about money but, really, that’s okay, too. Sometimes he worried about how his son, Jack, felt about Susan but he knew, he knew Jack loved Susan. Jack was six when his mom, Steve’s wife, Emily, had died. They’d missed her like air itself, but they got through it. They never thought they would but, they did. Now, she’s a memory. They went to counseling and they grew very close and it had been almost 12 years and it had been just Steve and Jack for all those years. But as Jack got older he’d said several times it was okay if you date, Dad. When Susan showed up two years ago, she and Jack had become fast friends almost overnight. So, get over it, Steveroo. That’s not the reason you’re so weirded out. It’s you. It’s your bones. Or, maybe, it’s not your bones. It’s some crappy attitude. Something that could be changed. Like a bad haircut. He actually thought that. Maybe his crappy attitude was just exactly like a bad haircut. And then, in the broad daylight, he was honest with himself like he was in his dark nights . . . he was getting older and he was gonna die. That was it and it froze him solid and made everything seem so pointless. Getting old. Losing everything. Not just losing the car or money but. . .everything. That’s what death was. Losing everything. Including your own self. Fuck.

But, everyone faced it. Somehow, everyone faced everything. They moved on. They had losses and they got over it. How? How the fuck do you get over the losses? But he knew how. You keep moving and keep looking around at how beautiful everything is and fucking forget about your own selfish little world and just take in a big gulp of beautiful air and look around. It’s all great, he thought, if you can pull your own sorry selfish ass out of it for one second. 

You can’t be letting the thought of death stop you from enjoying the few precious moments you have left, he said to himself. Worrying about not having any more ice cream cone before you even take a bite of the one you have. You just need to look around, he thought, his counselor had said it a hundred times. Look at how fabulous it all is. Yeah, yeah, but . . . . it was just words. He needed to feel it was fabulous. Feel it, not just talk about it. Fuck that. Actually, when he was around Susan, he did feel it. What the fuck was wrong with him. He needed a new attitude. Maybe he could get a new one. Like the song said, walk on the sunny side of the street. After all, he hadn’t always been like this. When he was younger he was quite a happy fellow. His mom used to tell him that all the time, that he was like a dog, always wagging his tail. Year of the Dog. So, wag your fucking tail, Bowser.

He turned around and went back in and walked right up to Jerry who was just putting the apron on another guy and Steve said he was really sorry, he didn’t know what was going on inside his head and Jerry said sit down and I’ll give you a cut that’ll allow your pathetic self to get some serious ass after the movies tonight and by the way, be quiet.

So, Steve and Susan went to the movies, a romantic comedy, and it was funny and Susan laughed, genuinely, like she always did, and they went home and on the drive back she said, I really like your haircut. You’re a handsome man. And, of course, he wasn’t sure what to say but he put his hand on her knee and looked at her and said, with a sincerity that surprised even him, thank you. And Jerry’s prediction came true and the next morning Steve went for a short walk around the block before Susan got up and he thought, yep, for sure he was going to get married and he thought it might be the actual right thing. He really liked Susan, so did Jack. He was scared shitless about what it all meant but he really liked her, and, maybe the more important thing, she really liked him. It was as all the poets have said since the beginning of time, there is nothing so sweet as the love of a good woman. 

Right then, his cell phone rang and he took it out of his pocket and his old grievance began to rise. He looked down at it. It was a business call from one of his clients. He looked up at the tree next to him, where some goofy birds were chirping like maniacs in the morning sun, and he smiled a big broad smile and hit the phone button and said, “Hello, this is Steve.”