Twice Spiced

The kids abandoned me for the weekend. Their dog refused to go with them. Or at least they said. I didn’t know. 

But when I asked her, she shrugged.          

Know what? I said.

The dog just pursed her lips and shook her head.

What?!

The dog blew a huge breath of misunderstanding. Like she didn’t understand how I didn’t get it.

 “Hm?”

The dog escaped to the screen door. I looked up my bedroom window. Looking away to the road in front of me and then forest, excitement pulsated in me.  

But also…confusion.

 My favorite lime green jacket and I joined the dog. At least I can run. While that dog’s asleep.  The screen door banged shut.  I stopped dead. And turned around.

The dog was standing there, panting, eyes sparkling with happiness!

I shook my head and went for a run. Upon my return,

The dog’s nails click-clacked against the hardwood floor as I went to get my breakfast.

Just ignore her. Just ignore her.  I looked for the TV in this vast room of a living room while I carried my oatmeal into the room with the soft leather couch.

“So.”

I looked down at her. She waited patiently for me.

“You creep me out!”

I just wanted to curl up and watch TV. I grabbed the remote and flipped to an interesting-looking show. The dog barked—startling me—and then I felt her presence—her furry, small self—invited herself on the couch right next to me. Like if-she-breathes-on-me-she’ll-get-shoved-off close. Then she moved in for the kill.

Pink tongue met black skin.

“Ew—gross!” I shuffled away, wiping the yucky spit from my face. Wiping it on the couch, I jumped up. “Now I got to clean it! Come on—what’s with you?”

Grabbing a rag from the laundry room and some couch cleaner, I doused the cloth with such stuff, rubbing the stuff into the couch. “Don’t do that again, you weirdo! I got to clean it.”

Done with the stupid chore, I threw the cloth into the laundry room, and then proceeded to sit down and watch some good o’ TV. That night, I coughed and gagged, sputtering. “What—”

Even with the place pitch-dark, my eyes squeezed shut, barely able to guide me through the cabin. Groping for a flashlight—wishing desperately the kids had told me where everything was and what other rooms were in this thing—I fumbled and stumbled over—I think—chairs and a coffee tables. “Where in the world is that thing?!” I roared, as I knocked my knee for the fifteen thousandth time into something hard, undiscernible and huge.

In the way.

The dog came to mind. “Where are you, dog?”

She barked, whined, and barked again. The sound of her barking guided me. Suddenly, I saw a yawn of fire, bright red, behind me when I whizzed around. As the fire became bigger, so did my eyes. “Dog!”

She barked.

“Okay—Spice Pumpkin. Let’s go—”

The fire had consumed the whole of the laundry room, the first half of the kitchen and then the living room—here it comes!

I grabbed the frantically barking Spice Pumpkin and bolted through something. Glass pierced my face, but I kept going, dashing, sprinting as fast as I could. The fire, I knew instinctively, followed us. “I’m sorry, kids. I’m sorry! I guess I’ll just get attacked by a bear. A bear will take me—as the price of burning your remote cottage down!”

As soon as I reached water and rocks—which I felt were skipping rocks by a small pond—I waited for day to break. As soon as the sun spread its arms of colors of periwinkle, baby pink, lemon yellow and bright orange, I looked back, Spice Pumpkin squiggled in my grasp. Letting her down, I stood there, just letting every black piece of wood and—

“Ow!”

My face was bleeding—my finger came away with blood on it and when I pressed my finger against my face, I jerked away. I turned around and looked in the water. My reflection didn’t reveal any shards of glass. I pressed my bloody finger against my face. I jerked back! “Ow!”

I looked down at the dog. Then I whimpered helplessly and sat down. Crossing my legs, I melted into my depression. “No…shards of glass in my face. But…I promised I’d be…careful…”

Spice Pumpkin whimpered and jumped into my lap. I blinked, and tears cascaded down my face. “Ow!” I screamed in panic, my mind about to blow from the inability to take care of the problem. “AHHHH!” Suddenly, I felt no pain.

I opened my eyes, and turned slowly to Spice. “What…?” I touched my face, returning to the water. Splashing my face, I could touch it! I patted my face. No glass. No blood. How…?

“Spice, you did that?”

The dog looked up at me. She panted. And blinked. I crinkled my face. “You better not be playing tricks on me! What happened?”

She backed away, eyes wide. Maybe wider than my eyes when I saw that blazing heat roar like the all-consuming fire it was. I looked over. My hand was in the air, and I instantly shot it down. “Look—I had this happen before.  It was in the cold, the artic. I built an igloo. I wasn’t careful, and I burned my igloo down. I didn’t mean to—”

The dog whined. I took a deep breath and looked around me.  It was daylight—like morning. I saw nothing but water. Then I studied the area where the cabin was. I squinted, bending forward. Then I ran towards the ruins. I ran back to the street—to my Jeep—and then I heard splashing. Stopping, I stared down at water. “What—”

Then I gazed all around me. The horizon full of clouds stared back at me. No pebbled driveway. No Jeep. No—

“Spice Pumpkin?”

I sighed in relief as I saw her right beside me. “Oh,” I picked her up, soothing her shaking body. She tried curling up in my lap, but struggled. When she shook me free, she panted—happily.

“Yeah, you can just shake yourself dry. But me.”

She barked.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a towel.”

She went up to my arm and bumped it. I patted blackness, not lime greenness. I curled up myself, depression sinking its venom of hopelessness into me. “Not—now. I can’t.  My jacket’s gone!”

She barked.

“What?” I tore apart, jumping up.  She backed away, eyes sparking with fear.

“Yeah—fear me! I’m the one who can decide whether you get dry.”

She closed her mouth.  Then she sighed. “Yeah, I do. But you’re the one who’s been murderously angry at me the whole time. You’re bitter. You’re frustrated. You don’t even like me—not even a little bit. Please! I’m just a Dingo. I’m not even a dog. Well, not domesticated. I couldn’t eat you in your sleep. I’m too kind.”

I stared, my jaw on the ground. After shaking myself, I crinkled my face. “What?”

“Please—believe me. We’re going to get off this island—”

I ensured she was right by spinning around. “Please! I’m trustworthy.”

She knocked me over and I felt the bumpy sharp pain that my butt made with the pebbles below. Crying out, I returned right to standing. Glaring at the dog, I said, “Dog! Just—get me off this stupid island. You healed me. Now do your little magic tricks!”

“Tricks. I don’t have tricks. I just do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just…” The dog turned away. “I’m not going to give you what you want without your love and care.”

“Look!” I thundered. “You’re all I got. I don’t have my lime green jacket, my Jeep or anything. It all burned down—”

“And how is that my fault?!” She shrieked, her little blue eyes sparking. I actually jolted. “You’ve blamed me for everything—from my dog food color to my collar. You’re no different from that fire—just consuming everything in your path. No wonder your love for me had burned down long ago.  Actually, you never burned it down—you just didn’t stop. You’re an ever-lasting fire. Why?”

I turned to her. I swallowed and said, “I…” I shook my head. “No—I’m not talking my feelings out to a dog!”

She glared at me. “Why—because I’m an animal?”

“I’m not with my best friend!”

“Or anyone else you trust!” The dog turned tail. And ignored me for the rest of the day. That was okay—I was looking for land. Which I could never find.

“Where’s land?” I spun around. “Where?”

“Maybe if you’re kind, I’ll tell you. I’ll point you there.”

“If you know, why don’t you tell me?”

The dog whizzed around. I’m not talking anymore. She turned around and sat there. I went over and stood beside her. I saw nothing but water. Seagulls flew overhead, crying for bread or something. I looked down. Remembering how I threw a pebble at a seagull before and it dropped dead into the water after the pebble broke its skull at the impact, I struggled to clench my fist.

“Dog—”

“Spice Pumpkin.”

“Spice Pumpkin.”

“Yes?” The dog turned around, excited. “Yeah? Can I show you?” In her enthusiasm, Spice Pumpkin led me over to where she was standing. “Do you see that?”

“See what?” I’d rather throw up in this water. I was nauseous-sick of looking at water and no land—like I had been stuck here for years. Decades. Centuries.

“See…” The dog looked up. “That. You don’t see a boat?”

“I see nothing but water. And water. And the horizon.”

“Hm.”

I looked at the dog. It would take a decade to get all these pebbles to make a bridge from here to a piece of land. And to pull up all the stones from underground. I don’t think I could do it even with the help of Spice Pumpkin. I can’t make a bridge. I looked all around me. It was just a bunch of pebbles. Then I turned. “Pumpkin Spice?

“I mean, Spice Pumpkin?”

“Yeah?” She whirled around. “What’s up?”

I began to speak, but she interrupted.

“Okay—okay.”

She burst over to me, and I fell over, laughing a little. Then I laughed out loud. Grabbing the dog, I threw her up like a parent tosses his or her child up in the air when lying upon his or her back. Smiling wide, I suddenly closed it when the dog’s eyes bulged, her tail went between her legs and her ears were pinned back. Catching her, I put her down on the pebbles. Then I stood back. “What’s going on? I thought we were friends now—”

“Now?”

The voice sounded louder than any other dog’s voice—if other dogs could talk, too. The dog roared at the water, and great water dragons rose. They reared back their heads, about to shoot water out of their mouths, when I, eyes wider than when seeing the fire, pleaded for them to not kill me. The dragons closed their mouths, looking down at me with intense stares.

“Spice Pumpkin, you can’t just shoot me with—”

“Why do you hate me?”

“Look—it isn’t your fault. It’s the kids. They left you alone. With me. For a weekend. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just sat there and accepted it. Did you not want to be with me? Because if you didn’t, you don’t need to tell me. I already know. You couldn’t have just told them you didn’t want me? Why—you hate me? You want to…” The dog shivered. “You want to kill me?”

I looked at Spice Pumpkin. I put my head down. “You…” I took a huge breath. “I don’t want to murder you. I’m just angry. I…”

The dog distanced herself from me, and the dragons blocked my view from her with their sky blue watery bodies. I blinked. I wish I could take off the glasses of difference. I didn’t understand why I had to take my anger out on such a little creature. Innocent. One that didn’t need to get into this mess. What was I doing, agreeing to let the kids agree with letting their dog with me? Now she’ll never return to them.

I somehow found my way back to land. But I had to explain to the kids my dilemma.

They bolted, sending me names I didn’t want to be called. I hurt inside. I hurt for Spice Pumpkin. I felt I had to go back. To the dragons. Tell them to reveal her as the dog I was with.

I tried telling the kids I had the dog back on an island. They cautiously told me. When the dragons rose up, I told them I had the kids, and they could have their dog back. When Spice Pumpkin bolted away from the dragons and into the arms of one of the kids, I was told by Spice that she was going home. To a real home where no more fire was going to burn her down.

No more murder. Or anger.

I spilled. My words drilled themselves a hole into the ground. They could rot underground. I told Spice I was sorry. I was sorry about everything.  

“No! I’d rather die alone than from your hands!”

“Let’s go, Spice!”

The kids all got on their mopeds and sped away, Spice, in the passenger seat of one of the mopeds, never looking back. I stood there alone. I I clenched my hands when I reached the edge of the water. . Night soon fell. I fell asleep.

In my dream, I was standing before the dragons, their fiery breath very hot. They were fire dragons, but they felt as if they were water dragons. I wanted them to be water dragons, but I felt their water and then jerked my hand back. It burnt my hand! “You see water. You just don’t feel it. Or at least you can’t because you’re—”

“That’s weird!”

“Spice Pumpkin belongs to those girls. One of them—the one with the moped in which she had ridden—was her owner. ”

“I need to apologize!”

“They’re taking a serious risk bringing Pumpkin Spice into all this.”

“Into what?”

“Dropping Spice off with me. I could’ve murdered her. With my past—”

“Go. Make peace with that dog.” That dog. The words sounded chillingly foreign. Like a bad taste in the mouth. I raced away, finally finding her along a highway, abandoned. The kids had gone, their mopeds’ wheels’ tracks telling me where they went. Ah ha! I followed the trail until I came upon them. They were all a bunch of stupid Girl Scouts, hanging out in the woods, eating marsh mellows. A bunch of fools! And thieves on top of murderous hatred. I sighed. How could I approach any of them, asking to be forgiven? How could Spice Pumpkin say that?

Pumpkin—I’m sorry. Could you pardon my guilt?

“Hey!”

I tossed their sticks away and the bag of sugary white gooey stuff into the fire. All the girls reared up like the dragons, but unlike them, they instantly cowered.

“What do you want?” One glowered, her fists balled.

“I want to tell you of what I did. And why I did it.”

The girls looked down, pursing their lips. Then they growled at me. “Get back!”

I did. Then I asked for their forgiveness.

“Please?”  

“What?” Spice looked at an eyebrow-raised me. “What?”

She barked. Dirt dogs and dirt dragons appeared from the ground. They surrounded the girls, the dragons rearing back their heads, about to blast these fools with dirt. I may have done the deed, but I needed to forgive their bitterness.

“I did a horrible crime to your family, Spice. I’m not lying.” My eyes welled with tears. “My lime green jacket has the pictures of the dogs. Her family.

“We didn’t do anything.” One girl shrieked. “We didn’t—”

The pitch blackness of the cabin.  I was lying on the couch in my lime green jacket. I must’ve forgotten my pajamas. Whatever. I’ll call it camping. I got up. It was probably the middle of the night. Anyway, I turned on the lamp light behind me. I disclosed the pictures.

The dogs were all lying there, some panting. Some had their mouths closed, but they reminded me of Spice Pumpkin—how her eyes shone. How she was so excitable and energetic. She shone with amazing calmness and wisdom. In a way.

I looked over at her, sleeping on her dog bed.

I smiled—for real—and tucked those pictures back into my pocket, and hiked over to a local café and then jogged to a local bar. Inside, I asked for a local store.

He pointed. “Five miles.”

“How long is that by walking?”

“An hour and forty minutes.”

I nodded sadly. Jogging felt good, but I didn’t have my wallet. Hurrying home—

“What are you doing?”

I changed in the bedroom. I dashed out the house. When I returned, I returned to the couch with my pajamas returned onto me.   

“Spice, come here.”

She hopped up onto the couch after I had fell into it. I yawned. “This is your family?”  

“Yes!” A sparkle in those usually shimmering eyes. I squinted.

“You love them, right?” Spice Pumpkin asked, cocking her head. “Too?” A little pitchy, like she was scared.

“Yes!”

“The kids don’t.” She put her chin on her paws. She looked up at me, like she wanted to be protected from those kids—from her owner. Then she retreated to her bed. “Good night.”

“Spice?”

“Yeah?”

“They don’t know you talk, right?” I said quickly.

She flicked her eyebrows up and down. “No!” She laughed. “No, they don’t. And no, they won’t!”

Deep in my heart, we belonged to each other.

“Spice?”

Snores rose into the air.

I smirked. Goodnight—pet.