Dog In The Fight

From a bird’s eye view, in the bare steel rafters of the C terminal at the O’Hare Chicago International Airport, which really does have the occasional bird, Michael Kelly stood out from the huddled masses. A small dot, pacing back and forth. He was a seasoned flier. Typically, he would be in first class, but as it happens he was called last minute to a corporate emergency that saw him relegated to Economy Plus. 14A. To make matters worse, he was hashing out the final detail of a prolonged divorce as veterans and families with small children began their “pre-boarding” shuffle. That detail, of course, was the ownership of a cherished border collie, Dixie.

"I don't care. She can't have him."

"Mike, buddy, this is a small concession. It's 11 years old anyway. The future holds medical bills and euthanasia. You can skip all that and just cherish memories playing fetch or whatever you did together."

"I don't care. It's about the principle. She thinks she can just run off with her yoga instructor? Fine, but she can't take my dog."

“Look, I get where you're coming from, Mike. What do you want me to say? That dog clearly means something to her. She’s been amicable. Let’s just put a bow on this."

Over the terminal loudspeaker a tired woman's voice rang out, "Now boarding group 1 for United flight 2654 for San Francisco at gate C24."

"Take a firm stand on the dog. If they don't budge then I want something, maybe her skis or…I don’t know.”

"Her skis? Mike, what use coul-"

"I pay you!" Mike's lowered his voice to a whisper as he caught raised eyebrows from onlookers. "Just- if she gets the dog, then I just want something, Angelo. Can you make that happen for me?"

"Sure Mike. I'll try my best. Have a safe flight."

After he boarded, he got settled into his seat and began his pre-flight ritual. Observing, guessing, and praying which sad schmuck he would get saddled with for his journey from ORD to SFO. He watched as the stream of bodies flowed past him. A haggard mom. A sweaty looking middle aged man. Jeanette, his mother-in-law.

What? No, it couldn't be. He stared longer than commonly acceptable, examining the weathered face he had seen so often around dinner tables and across Facetimes between his wife and her. That was definitely her. She was squinting, scanning the overhead bins for the correct seats, when she locked eyes with him. Oh no. A look of surprise, and then a smile broke across her face.

"What are the odds?" She stepped into the row and slid her large bag under the seat in front of her, before carefully lowering herself into her seat.

Mike was stunned. "I uhm- why... why are you here?"

"I had a layover from Logan. We have the Golden Gate Kennel Club this week."She pointed at the black suitcase that sat underneath seat 13C. Through the holes he could make out the silhouette of sinewy black Italian Greyhound, shaking. Jeanette had become obsessed with competitive dog shows in her older years, especially after her husband had passed. "This is Jackson, he's a bit nervous on flights, but he is generously medicated."

Typically, Michael might have held his tongue, and simply teased Jeanette behind her back, when undressing for bed as Rebecca ran through her extensive skin care routine. But this wasn't typical. He was feeling the freedom of an impending divorce and couldn't resist the opportunity.

“Jackson?” He savored this moment. “Have you completely lost it, Jeanette?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You named your dog after your deceased husband? That's crazy. You want the memory of him to be represented by this... anorexic ball of nerves?"

"Shame on you, Michael. I never liked you."

"Well that much has been obvious since we met."

The two of them settled in silence. Michael returned back to his pre-flight ritual, eyeing down the normally dreaded, but now necessary middle seater, who would act as a human shield between himself and Jeanette.

Jeanette piped up, "It's just us three for this trip. The middle seat is for Jackson if he feels compelled to get some space.”

You’ve got to be kidding. This was a bit much, even for her. She had always treated each of her dogs like royalty. They were pampered like grandchildren and spoiled well past rotten. It had always astounded Michael that the same dogs that would gallop around the blue carpet could be such nasty creatures. Though, Jackson seemed a bit calmer. Albeit, tranquilized to oblivion.

"Speaking of dogs, Michael. Must you be so stubborn with everything? Dixie mattered more my daughter than just about anything. Especially recently.” She noticed his looks of surprise. "She texts me constantly, you know this."

He reached into his backpack and fumbled around looking for his headphones.

"I'm not talking about this with you.” He was to treat his mother in law the same way he would treat any stranger on a 5 hour flight, with absolute disinterest. He slid on the headphones in the international sign of peace and quiet and pressed the power button, waiting for the electronic chime and the static hum of it's essential "noise cancellation". No hum. The noise persisted. Shit. He had forgotten to charge them before his flight. He awkwardly stuffed them back into his bag and retrieved his Kindle. A slightly less powerful repellant.

…

Michael was awoken by garbled mumbling of the captain announcing a successful ascent to thirty thousand feet. They were now free to move about the cabin. He glanced over at Jeanette who was busy cross stitching what appeared to be a portrait of Jackson, the dog, not the deceased husband. The seat in front of her reclined suddenly bumping one of her needles out of her hands and onto the airplane floor. She quickly grabbed the back of the seat in front of her, right behind the headrest and began shaking it vigorously in protest.

Almost immediately, the passenger in front jumped up and shouted, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It's impolite to recline your seat onto an old lady like myself."

Michael always had a quiet admiration for fire of the women of the Hughes family. Rebecca, and especially Jeanette were ferocious when they needed to be. Never afraid to speak there mind and correct a wrong-doing stranger. Even if it was a bit batshit. The occupant of 13C had had enough. He was a tall man of Pakistani descent, dressed well in a merino wool sweater vest with a well ironed oxford shirt neatly buttoned underneath. He had slender, almost beautiful hands with cleanly manicured nails which he used to press the call-button, summoning an impatient looking stewardess over to the feuding neighbors.

"Mr Chaudry, how can I assist you?"

"It's Doctor."

Jeanette rolled her eyes.

The flight attendant corrected herself. "My apologies Doctor. What seems to be the problem?"

"This batty woman" he pointed at Jeanette, "has been kicking my seat like an insolent child."

Jeanette cut in. "I merely bumped his seat by accident, as it was fully reclined against my poor, elderly knees. They get so jumbled on a plane ride like this, and the right one has just been replaced." This was total bullshit, but it appeared to work.

"Dr. Chaudry could you just move your seat up a bit. I'm sure this lady meant no harm, sir." The distant ding of another call-button went off and without waiting to hear his response, the attendant muttered ‘you’re welcome’ and hurried over to her next customer. The doctor glared silently at Jeanette and in a begrudging act of surrender clicked his seat back into the upright position.

Jeanette looked over at Michael and smiled. He couldn't help but laugh and soon they found themselves sharing a couple airline sized bottles of red wine, recounting the drama. At some point the conversation came to a natural pause.

"You were right Michael. I never have liked you."

"Excuse me?"

"I've never thought you were good enough for my daughter and you've done nothing to prove me wrong. All this stuff with the dog." She quietly shook her head.

Michael really didn’t want to get into it. Though he would never admit it, he was took some pleasure in the fact it was her who been in love with someone else. It made the story easier to tell without having to worry about how he came across.So fine, if she wanted to dive into their divorce then he was prepared to.

"I'm not the one who fell in love with their yoga instructor.”

"First of all, it was her therapist. Secondly, is that what you remember? She said she was 'falling' in love with. She wasn't leaving you for him, but in a moment of vulnerability you tucked your tail and ran."

He scoffed. “Is that any better? What's a man supposed to do when his wife comes to him with something like that. If the tables were turned-“

“She had a feeling and came to you with it and what did you do?”

Well it wasn’t that simple. Didn’t the contents of the feeling matter?

She continued, ”If you’re too afraid of a feeling to have an honest conversation with your wife then what’s the point of a marriage. I've never liked you, because you're someone who approaches a conversation with something to say, not something to hear. If you can't answer the question 'why is my wife falling in love with her therapist' with anything other than personal insults or fantasies about adultery, then you have failed your marriage and you don't deserve it. On top of all that you've been an absolute buffoon for prolonging this separation over a dog that is on it's way out."

He was stunned. It may have been the airline red wine or the sheer lunacy of the day but he wasn't prepared for that. He turned over her words in his head and grabbed onto the only part he could face.

"It was my dog."

"That dog-" She paused for a moment. "That dog was the only thing keeping her company after she miscarried."

What?

"She was too terrified to tell you because your entire relationship was crumbling. It happened the next day after she told you about her feelings for the therapist. You had run away back to your parents while she sat alone in your apartment wondering if she had married a man she couldn't speak to honestly, and if that marriage was over."

A punch to the gut. A child? When? He replayed their last interaction in his head. How could she not have told him— or how did he miss it? Wasn’t she more closed off than usual? Or had she been seeking more affection? He couldn’t remember. His thoughts were swirling now and his stomach felt uneasy. With nothing to say he decided it was time to sleep. Jeanette silently agreed, popped her pills and took a last sip of wine. He lowered the cheap airline eye mask over his face and began to let the subtle hum of the airplane engine draw him further into sleep.

…

"ARFF! ARFF!"

Jackson was barking from his carrier under the seat.

"ARFF! ARFF!"

Mike glanced over at Jeanette who was lying slack-jawed, slumped in her seat.

"Jeanette, wake up Jackson is losing his mind. Jeanette?"

He poked her shoulder. Nothing. He prodded her harder. His heart sank. Something didn't feel right. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her vigorously. Running out of options he reached forward and tapped the doctor on his shoulder.

"Doctor, sir. My mother in law isn't waking up- "

"I'm sorry, I'm not that kind."

"Excuse me?"

Dr. Chaudry stammered, "I'- uh I'm not that kind of doctor. I hold a degree in English literature of the Norman conques-"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." He reached up in a fury and slammed the call-button. "I need a doctor! Please help!" A stewardess scurried into the first class cabin and emerged with an old man, slouched in a tweed jacket adorned with a speckled bow tie.

"She's going to be okay." The medical doctor removed the stethoscope from Jeanette’s blouse and let out a chuckle as he adjusted his thick framed glasses. "It would appear that your mother in law here may have just mixed up her medications." He turned the blue prescription bottle on the tray table to face Michael. The label which was marked with tiny paw prints in the corner read:

TRAZODONE 200mg TAKE AS NEEDED, WAIT 1.5 HOURS BETWEEN DOSE

The doctor continued, "She is just asleep, though will not be feeling awake for quite some time." He put away his stethoscope and shuffled into the aisle. "The red wine, no doubt intensified the effects. You may want to find someone to keep an eye on her tonight once you land. I don't foresee any issues but given her age I'd strongly advise it. Is that something you can arrange?"

…

Streetlights and moonlight crisscrossed through the cheap curtains of the Courtyard Marriott near SFO as Michael stared at his snoring mother in law. Her and Jackson both curled up in a twin bed. She really at times looked like Rebecca. The first night Rebecca and Michael had sex he had stared at her for a long time after she fell asleep. He had imagined her face etched with wrinkles and laugh lines from a long life lived together. He imagined her blonde hair tinted gray, and the freckles more frequent across her skin. That's when he knew he wanted to marry her. He wanted to grow old with her and see his vision come to fruition. A long wispy fart ripped through the air. Michael was jarred from his thoughts. Jackson, or ... maybe Jeanette? Rebecca too covertly farted in the night. It stank. He glanced over at the ancient digital clock on the bedside. 4:03 AM.

KNOCK KNOCK

"Michael? It's me."

He leaped out of bed and opened the door. His soon to be ex-wife stood there shaking out an umbrella. For a moment they paused.

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She's been sleeping mostly. Pretty groggy when she is awake but I'm sure she'll be up in a few hours. Thanks for coming out here so quickly. How was you flight?" Michael noticed Rebecca came alone. Of course, he never explicitly asked her to bring the therapist. He was hoping she wouldn't. But still. He would've thought she wanted him to come.

"It was fine." She slid her suitcase into the room and plopped her umbrella onto the tv stand. She was shaking her head. "So how did this happen?"

"She mixed up her m-"

"No, not that. How did this happen?" She motioned her fingers between him and her sleeping mom.

"Oh, well a tragic coincidence it would seem. She had a dog show and I had a client meeting."

"Tragic?"

"Well, you know how much Jeanette and I love each other."

Rebecca silently crouched over to pet Jackson who had waken from his slumber. The playful banter receded as a sad tension settled into the room. Michael had known this feeling. It had defined the past year of their marriage. He took it has his sign to go. He zipped up his backpack, grabbed his roller suitcase and made his way to the door.

"Well, thanks for flying out here, Rebecca.”

"Michael", Rebecca paused and stood up from petting Jackson. "You can have Dixie. I don't want this to drag out any longer."

The dog? Michael had forgotten how his afternoon had started. It felt like a lifetime ago. He got to keep the dog but there was still just sadness. Days, even weeks ago he had imagined how he might gloat over this final victory. While in his daily shower, he sparred victoriously with a figment of her and imagined the satisfaction of it all. There was none of that feeling. Only that sad tension. This past night he had imagined what he might say to her when she arrived at the hotel room. What witty banter would heal wounds and how he would deliver the most heartfelt apology. Alas, he was tired. All he had was this.

"It doesn't matter. Look, I'm fried. I owe you an elaborate apology for... well, a lot." She looked surprised. "I don't have it in me though. Not right now. are you free to grab a drink or dinner tonight? Maybe 7pm? That'll give me enough time to come up with something good."

She stared at him for a while, silent. This last year had taken a toll. She looked back at her mom, starting to stir in her twin bed.

"We'll see."

"Oh for the love of god, just go on darling." Her mother croaked out from under the covers. "I can't stand him, but I think you might owe him for lugging me half asleep around San Francisco.” Jeanette sat upright in her bed looking disheveled. "And anyway, If I'm going to be running into him on airplanes I'd rather he not be you ex husband. He's much more unpleasant as an ex."

Rebecca let out a snort and laugh that seemed float up through the sadness that had lingered in the room.

"Fine", She said, "7 pm."