Sweaty, Sweety, and Slightly Unhinged

It was the hottest day of the year, and Taylor was melting - physically, emotionally, spiritually. Taylor hated the heat. Heat was the worst. Cold? Cold was manageable - you can do something about cold. You could layer up, drink cocoa, start a fire, or pretend you were in a Hallmark movie. But heat? Heat was a tyrant. Heat made the rules, and you'd better hope your AC doesn't break.

Taylor lay spread-eagle in the middle of the living room like a casualty of summer. The room was cool, but her body still felt like it was melting into and fusing with the floor. A ceiling fan spun twenty feet overhead, doing its best impression of a lazy helicopter. The room was completely bare, no furniture, no decor - the only thing that filled the room was the faint smell of the previous tenant and Taylor's existential dread.

Why bother with decorating? She wasn't sure how long she would be staying. This place was just a temporary refuge, offering a rent-free grace period, truly a miracle. Her sister's coworker found a new job across the country and needed someone to house-sit his townhouse while it was up for sale. Taylor jumped at the opportunity. Some people in her situation would feel like they were doing a huge favor, but she felt extremely lucky.

With a grunt that belonged in a medieval battlefield, Taylor rolled to her side like a beached whale, exhaled dramatically, and pushed herself upright. Her ponytail flopped sideways like it had given up on life. She tightened it with the little effort she had remaining in her arms and fingers. She could tell it was still a bit loose and lopsided, but she didn't care.

“Time to get your shit together, Taylor,” she muttered, still wearing the same loose basketball shorts and dingy oversized pegasus t-shirt she wore to bed.

Sweety, her fluffy white Pomeranian, pranced nearby like an energized marshmallow. He needed a walk. Her life might be a dumpster fire, but his would remain pristine. He tap-danced his feet by the front door. Taylor grunted her way into a standing position and approached with the leash. Sweety started spinning in excitement.

“Stand still,” she commanded as her arms darted towards Sweety's wiggling body. Click.

Sweety was just thrilled to be alive. Honestly, it was enduring. Sweety loved her unemployment. She was home all the time now. To him, life was a never-ending vacation with his favorite human.

Taylor slipped into her Nike slides and opened the door, immediately slapped with a wall of heavy heat and humidity. It wasn’t even 8 AM, and already 93 degrees outside. No breeze. Just heat. And sweat. A trickle slid down her back like a passive-aggressive reminder that she was outside by choice.

As she trudged around the block, she noticed the morning commuters headed from the nearby gated community towards downtown. All wide-smile people wearing their best business casual. The men looked especially obnoxious. How were they all Bluetooth-enabled, caffeinated, corporate winners? One after the other, they headed to their steady jobs supported by their steady lives with their steady families and steady friends. Taylor imagined them talking to themselves, "Better stop by Starbucks on the way to my big boy job to get my 3rd cup of coffee! Cross-fit was absolutely BRUTAL at 5 AM this morning! Whoo-wee! That 3rd cup will get me to my corporate thrown where I'll take a big corporate crap on big corporate dime right between the CEO and the CFO, where we will synchronize and synergize on the shitter, crunching data to plan our next big reorg - all before 9 AM!" She imagined the three C-level executives chanting, "Layoffs! Layoffs! Layoffs!" side by side in the bathroom stalls as their feet stomped and their pants and belts jingled in unison on the bathroom floor.

Taylor laughed to herself, doing an impersonation of the corporate commuters in her best rich-sounding voice. Despite her internal taunting, Taylor couldn't shake the pang of envy she felt. It was so sharp it could slice right through the body of the nearby Tesla speeding down the road. She imagined the car's last video capture being her, leaping slow-motion through the air, face adorned with a crazed look, a sword held high above her head, flowing dingy pajamas and limp ponytail rippling through the wind, hurdling straight into the Tesla's metal body as the white collar commuter below braced themselves, spilling coffee everywhere screaming, "Noooooooooo! My laptop!"

Taylor shook away the image in her head. She would never take employment for granted again. Those people were living the dream and had no idea how lucky they were. She was living in a borrowed townhouse with a dog who pooped exclusively on sidewalks.

“You live in the unit next door?” a voice called out.

Taylor jumped - ripped out of her inner thoughts and back into reality, followed by an adrenaline surge that felt like a bucket of ice water to her system. She turned to see an elderly man, probably close to eighty years old, dressed like a retired farmer. John Deere hat, fresh blue jeans, tucked-in checkered button-up. How was he wearing jeans in this heat? Probably decades of farming had turned him into a heat and cold-resistant superhuman.

“Oh,” she stammered. “Yeah, I just moved in last weekend.”

“Is it just you, or do you have some little ones? I have five of my own - all grown up, twelve grandchildren, and one great-grandkid on the way.” He adjusted his hat proudly and smiled.

“Just me and Sweety. He’s a Pomeranian.”

“Oh, good. He'll keep ya' busy!”

“Yeah.”

He kept smiling. Taylor panicked. Small talk was her nemesis. Her brain stalled, then threatened to spill her secrets. She wanted to tell him everything - about her fiancé, his addictions, her failed attempts to get him better, and the emotional implosion on the floor of her kitchen when she discovered that bag of unknown pills and Fireball shooters hidden behind the breadbox in her kitchen. Instead, she blurted out, “Have a nice day! It was nice to meet you!”

As she walked away, she rolled her eyes at herself and winced. No name exchange. No pleasantries. Just a verbal exit strategy. Classic Taylor.

As the embarrassment faded, the heat from outside returned to Taylor's senses. Soon, however, another kind of heat began to overwhelm her: jealousy. The man she had just met had a perfectly manicured lawn adorned with vibrant flowers, sparkling lawn ornaments, and a small flag featuring a groovy-looking frog in bell-bottoms, flashing a peace sign. Unbeknownst to him, his lawn was a symbol of success - success that was built by two people who had shared a long and happy marriage. More specifically, it represented a man who had dedicated his life to working for his wife and family, a man who kept his promises, and a man who had created a life that led to a peaceful retirement on a quiet street with a beautiful lawn.

Taylor longed for that life with an intensity that pained her. She dreamed of having children and someday grandchildren. She envisioned a life that unfolded effortlessly, one where spending money on decorative lawn flags felt like a natural choice. She couldn't help but wonder if that dream would ever become a reality.

Instead, she was questioning her entire existence. She was unemployed, but was she also homeless? Technically, she still owned a home and was graciously allowed to house-sit a townhome, but both of those homes were not in her control. The one she owned was occupied by a man, her fiancé, who was the complete opposite of the one she had just met.

Taylor had no idea that her fiancé would refuse to leave her home, the one that she purchased on her own after years of hard work and sacrifice. She could have never anticipated that he would claim tenant rights. She never thought she could experience such a level of betrayal from him. But that’s the nature of addiction. At least, that’s what the professionals she spoke with had told her; that this wasn’t him, that this wasn’t the man she fell in love with. This was the addiction at play. Logically, Taylor understood that distinction, but in her heart, it was incredibly difficult to separate the man from the addiction. The devastation and betrayal felt just the same.

Her fiancé never stayed at any sales job for more than a year, quitting without warning her. During the day, he relied on stimulants to stay awake and focused at work, and at night, he turned to a cocktail of pills and alcohol to get by. Over the years, his drug and alcohol use became increasingly severe. When she first met him, she thought his partying was no big deal; it resembled many of her peers' habits in their early twenties. However, as they approached their thirties, he never became the man she had hoped he would be. The wedding day he promised her never arrived, and all the dreams she had for their family and life, along with all of his potential, faded away.

Taylor felt despair. He needed help. His family offered to pay for treatment if he moved back home with them. Why is he refusing?

Taylor's efforts were met with his demands and accusations, "You abandoned me, Taylor. I need you here. I will get better if you come back. I can't get better unless you're by my side. I'll die without you, Taylor. I love you, you are my soulmate. Come home! I need you." But hadn’t she been by his side? She held down three jobs to pay the bills, made and drove him to his therapy appointments and treatment programs, and she even filled out his job applications. This was her last straw. She left her home, her job, and the people she loved - because she needed help.

Sweety squatted.

“Oh, Sweety,” she sighed. “Why is it always on the sidewalk? She stared at the poop like it held the answers to life’s questions. It didn’t.

She picked up Sweety's poop, reassuring herself that today would be fine. She would be fine. She had a job interview at 1 PM. After that, she’d hit the food bank. Maybe cry in the car. Maybe eat a popsicle. Maybe both.

One thing was certain: she was still standing. Sweaty, awkward, emotionally exhausted - but standing.

And Sweety? He was still wagging his tail like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Honestly, that was enough.