Corduroy and Rosemary

The doorknob rattled softly. Shooting up, my eyes were fixed onto the door. The noise stopped. I slowly sunk back down into my hair-ridden bed. The sound kicked back up again, but this time it was followed by the white door opening. I darted toward the door, ready to guard what belonged to my best friend. Her scent turned my stiff position into an ecstatic tail-wag. It was a mixture of sweat, her most recent meal, and what can only be assumed is rosemary. Despite her youth, the first thing I saw were eyes that were sunken and lived in. Her face was narrow and cat-like, which somehow contrasted with her dark and coily hair. She seemed to shrink into her heavy corduroy coat and knitted off-white scarf.

“Hey,” She sighed, “I just went to get this, sorry.”

She held up a small orange bottle with a blue screw-on cap in the first three fingers of her right hand. The bottle had white paper attached to it with writing covering it. In her ring and pinky finger, she carried a white paper bag with paperwork stapled to it. I got up on my hind legs and hopped up and down. She raised the bag and bottle above her head and out of my field of vision.

“No, no, it’s not for you, Bub. Down.” She smiled weakly, patting behind my ear.

I loved that nickname, but I was confused. Stopping my pursuit, I retired to the kitchen. The walls were a white riddled with odd stains. The available counter space was full of food wrappers, noodle boxes, and milk cartons. On the stove sat a recent pot with mac-and-cheese. The sides of the metallic pan were almost crusted over with dry cheese. The rest of the apartment wasn't any cleanlier either: the living room, which was the first room you see as you walk in, had an L-shaped sofa with more pillows and blankets strewn upon it than one can count. The coffee table in front of it held stacks of plates and empty plastic water bottles, napkins and a bag of potato chips. The 24-inch TV sat on top of an entertainment system full of unwatched movies. Pictures taken with friends and family bleakly hung between the two windows next to the couch. She was smiling in each. The dark circles under her eyes were gone and she wore short-sleeved shirts, unlike the same Army sweatshirt I’m used to. The main similarity between then and now was her dark brown corduroy coat. The inside of the coat was made of white, soft, wool that folded over the collar and the ends of the sleeves. Towards the bottom of the jacket, there were two pockets either side of the zipper and a third on her right breast. The kitchen was to the left of this room as you enter the home. The floor of the kitchen itself was clear besides my food and water bowl next to the four-person table. I stared down at it; empty. The sheen of the metal reflected a face. Its snout was dark and its eyes were friendly and expressive but strong. It had cheeks that were a light ashy tan which contrasted with the rest of its face, and with ears that were erect and large, they only added to its stoic gaze. I stood there like that for a while only staring. Finally, giving up, I strolled back into the family room. There she sat, staring at the bottle between her two fingers. Her left hand dangled almost lifelessly by her side. I took advantage of this by placing my nose comfortably in her palm.

“You think it’ll finally work?” She said. 

Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes slightly squinted in deep thought.

“I’m tired. I need this to work. I’m not sure what I would do if it doesn’t.” 

Everything she said, she said softly, like she already knew the answers. She pored a couple of white treats out, swallowed them and collapsed on her side, scratching under my chin now. She closed her eyes momentarily. A nest of blankets and pillows enclosed her small body. Her eyes lazily open once again. I thumped my hairy tail on the carpet and pant contently as she held my gaze. Moments pass. Her eyes study me as her fingers glide over my ribs and my spine. They return to the side of my jaw. Her eyes seem sad but piercing and her lips are pursed. She simply whispered, “I’m so sorry… I never meant to-” Her voice trailed off and her hand fell back to her side. Once again I was confused. For what? I was the happiest I’ve ever been because she’s been here with me at home for months now. It was just us and I loved to be around her even if she would only lay around keeping to herself. She turned away from me and hugged herself. Her shoulders silently shook. I decided I’ve done something she didn’t like and laid next to her on the shag rug to show I still loved her. An hour later, she moseyed to her bedroom and closed the door without a second glance. I sat at the door waiting for her to inevitably come back out.

The next morning passed and so did the afternoon. When the sun was setting and the rain was beating on the windows, the door creaked open. I jumped up and followed her lavender socks to the kitchen, wagging my tail the whole way. She went one by one rummaging through the cupboards. When she found a box or a bag, she would lay it on the counter. She looked drunk, but she didn’t smell of alcohol.  Despite easily being able to keep her balance, her body seemed limp and her eyes were tired and sad. I nudged her legs as she placed a box of Ritz crackers onto the pile she gathered. I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but I was glad to see her. She let out a deep sigh and weakly smirked down to me.

“Sorry.” She croaked softly.

She went to my favorite cabinet: the one above the refrigerator. Crouching down, she filled a bowl engraved “Food” The bowl labeled “Water” was taken to the sink and filled to the brim. She cautiously leaned back down to put it back in its spot. I sat eyeing the bowls and then looked back to her excitedly. She isn’t mad at me anymore.

“Good boy! Eat.” She chuckled.

At that moment I saw a glimpse of how I remembered her when she would always leave me in the morning. She would always come back tired, but she would still invite two women over. The two women were always nice to me, but not as nice as she is.

The rest of the day was spent in her bedroom. I laid on the floor gazing up to her as she ate through her pile. Everything in her room sat lifelessly except her TV which provided the only light in the otherwise dismal part of the house. As she watched, she flipped from national news to her favorite show then back to the news whenever a commercial came on. We sat that way for hours. In between my sleep, I could hear her mumbling. I perched myself onto her bed in an attempt to examine her. Her face was contorting in discomfort. I rested my chest on her hips. I took in her scent once more. Smelling the old rosemary comforted me like an old companion. Although it was being suffocated by the other newer odors, the rosemary was still there fighting for dominance. She let out an almost frightened grunt and whimper. I needed her to know I was there, so I began licking her wrist closet to me. She shivered and pulled her arm towards her. Thinking I failed, I went back to closing my eyes. Moments later, she alighted from her bed. Startled, I shimmied myself off of her. She ran her fingers through her knots while she was gasping and looking to me. 

“They’re back,” She said in between breaths, “The pills won’t work. I still feel the same and my dreams haven’t left.”

She took a moment to process what she said, and so did I. What are pills?

“M-maybe I just need a higher dose. Mrs. Hearman said they would work for me and she’s a professional, right?” She said overly optimistic as if she was trying to convince herself.

She began to wildly scratch her head and pace around me.

“Maybe I didn’t wait long enough for it to kick in?”

Moments pass and she leans onto her dresser that her TV sits on. Her back is to me and I can hear soft sniffles coming from her.

“WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?!” She spun around, “TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Her whole body was shaking violently due to either stress, fear, anger, or all of the above. Her usually kind but empty eyes were now bloodshot, puffy, and full of desperation.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled looking down to her toes. Tears ran down her nose and onto the grey carpet under her feet.

She stumbled out of her room and I sprag up ready to follow her. She traveled out of her door and quickly locked it behind her. She didn't even take her shoes, scarf, or even her corduroy jacket. I jumped up and down to look through the small, blurry window on the door. I saw her messy afro turn left towards the apartment elevator. I scratched combatively at the door with no luck. I didn’t want her to go back to leaving me all the time. I loved being with her these past months and I would give anything to be with her longer.

Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. I laid on my bed once more. I heard the door rattle softly. I lifted my head. My eyes were so wide that I thought they would pop out. Minutes later, the door slowly opened. I barked then grunted. Two men appeared in the doorway wearing matching uniforms. They quickly got to me. They were redolent of the outside world, which was a scent I was fond of and missed. I gave them a low growl as a warning.

“Is this Ashley Grahm’s dog?” The first man said gesturing to me.

He was the shorter of the two but visually stronger. His arms were crossed and his gaze at me was almost threatening, but somehow kind too. There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes and the vertical wrinkles above his eyes and between his eyebrows, which mainly contributed to how threatening he was, gave him a similar likeness to a snarling wolf.

“Looks like it, but I wasn’t aware she had a dog,” The second man noted tilting his head in confusion, “Especially of this size.” 

His whole appearance was much softer and understanding than his counterpart. Although he was visually strong, he was quite tall, making his strength appear lankier than bulky. His entire face looked younger than the first man, which somehow only added to his kind looks. His hair was longer ending under his ears and hair sprouted from his jaw and circled over his lips. The first man had hair buzzed at his ears, then slowly got longer as it traveled further up his head. The very top was long enough for him to run his fingers through with ease.

“What did you expect? A Maltese?” The first man chuckled to himself. He looked over to his friend and saw his lips pursed. The second man was silently looking at him. He quickly swallowed his grin and looked back at me. “We’ll give him to an adoption agency. For now, let’s just look around for answers.”

“Great thinking.” The second man breathed out with a slight smile.

The men went through the living room first, then moved to her bedroom. I wasn't sure what they wanted or what they were doing there, but I knew that she wouldn’t be happy about it. The only thing I could think of was to protect her corduroy coat and wait for her to get back. I laid on top of it; my front paws were straddling the warmth. My chin rested on the fluffy collar. The familiar and soothing scent of rosemary welcomed me again, but this time it was all I could smell.