Something To Dream On (3 page)

I have got to do something about my appearance. Sadly, every diet in the book leads me down the same road—an instant loss of five pounds, then weeks and weeks of painfully adjusted eating that amounts to maybe another two pounds before I hit a wall and can’t seem to lose another ounce. Then the initial five pops back on. How can I be motivated to exercise when I come home exhausted each day? If I could see progress, I could find motivation. But to have my body reject my efforts, time and again, leaving me as embarrassed over myself as Denny just did, makes me question the point of trying. Why not just surrender to the other gifts God gave me and enjoy my life?

Sometimes I try to accept that I am really not all that big, but then moments like these happen and …

What is it going to take for someone to see that I am worth loving? It’s such a painful road that sometimes I am left to question my own value.

Larry chugs the last of his beer. The smacking down of his near-empty cup signals the end of the encore. The cold splatter that flies onto my face feels awesome. It’s like a victory shower after a hard-played game where you scored every goal you took a shot at.

Even though the pressure is off, it’ll take a long time for my adrenaline to dive. Nothing is better than playing, and nothing revs me up as much as being on stage—not even blow.

Laura’s smoldering body is all over me before I even get a chance to shake off the sweat and beer. She gets a polite smile before I make it into the dressing room, grab my friend for the evening—Mr. Johnny Walker—and toss my ass onto the sofa. Two chugs later, we already have company to let us grace them.

Of course we have company. That’s part of the deal. Free booze and the bar allows anything with tits and a lack of dignity backstage. I get paid, too. I should spend every weekend like this.

Oh, wait. I do.

Laura jumps on top of me and snags the bottle to quench her own thirst. I don’t let her have much. Every other guy in the band is happy to give her what she wants. I take back what is mine while flashing her green eyes a smile that makes her want to drop her panties—not that she’s wearing any under that microscopic skirt. In fact, it’s rather obvious that she’s not.

More of my friend refreshes me. When the bottle leaves my lips, our company catches my eyes again. Two really hot babes in corsets and mini-skirts have their business in front of me. Next to them is a girl that I’d rather not look at. She leaves a lot to be desired. She also looks sweet.
 

I don’t do sweet.
 

Sweet means trouble. I do easy girls, which is why Laura and I are
almost
a couple. When I do get attached, it’s going to be with someone who commands respect.

I don’t get attached, and I certainly don’t do girls who look sweet, like that girl does.

Laura catches me ogling the two babes and tries to get my attention by going for my zipper. I smack her hand. “Not now. I’m busy.” Yeah, I’m a prick, and it disgusts the hell out of me. I’m disgusted with myself for a lot of reasons, but I’m also another swig away from not caring about any of it—if that’s possible.

It’s not possible, but I’m a damn good liar.

My pseudo-girlfriend gets pissed and relinquishes her spot of honor on the sofa. The two hot girls slip in, one on each side. The gawky one just stands there, lightly swaying with nervous energy. I really do feel for her. It’s not her fault God didn’t bless her with the flawless skin and trim curves he gave these other women. I’m about to play the gentleman and ask her name when Larry starts chatting her up. He’s got that look in his eyes. I chug again before turning to the babes next to me so that I don’t have to witness whatever cruelty is about to happen. Larry’s a way bigger prick than I am, even though that doesn’t seem possible to me.

Guilt and stupidity can turn a person into a real bag of all that is unholy. Diversions help you hide from how much you can’t stand yourself. Not being able to stand yourself shelters you from what turned you into a scumbag. It’s a vicious spiral that keeps sucking me down. I should care about that.

If I let myself think, I find I care about a lot of things.

Thinking kills joy, so I down a little more of my friend.

My eyes are all over what is next to me, and my hands are about to go for gold when Laura catches my attention. It’s her standard game. She tries to divert me away from whatever competition she has so she can claim victory for the night. In her eyes, the fact that she usually wins the battle makes her my girl.

It’s convenient to let her think that way.

Laura stands behind the homely girl with the zitty face and braces. She’s already flipped her head upside down and scrubbed her hands through her long, sandy locks to make them appear frizzy. Now she starts making like she has buckteeth and chomping like a horse. I lie to myself that my cringe isn’t because she is rude. Laura is really pretty, but now she looks like a donkey that has been kicked in the jaw. She then balloons out her face and gut. It’s ridiculous, because the girl she mocks may be a little chubby, but she’s hardly the whale Laura makes her out to be. It makes me lose my shit to the point where laughing hurts.

The poor girl catches on and hurt blankets her face. Her friends stop giving me their attention and, rightfully, bail on all of us while tossing expletives and half-empty bottles of beer. One nearly misses my skull and smacks the wall, spraying beer all over my head. Still, I can’t stop laughing.

More girls come in, and as much as they look like a gourmet buffet of willing, I pretend not to notice. The second I walked off that stage, I had already gotten what I came for, so I let my girl, who is so not my girl, drag me back home.

THREE MONTHS BEFORE DESTINY

Saturday, January 2

My purse strap wraps over my shoulder as I head off for lunch. I’m almost in the lobby when the receptionist says to Griffin, “I can’t believe the owners had the audacity to abandon that poor dog. Imagine hearing that your friend has a tumor and needs to be put down soon, then asking for the cremation bill and leaving. Now Rufus is spending his last moments alone in a cage.”

No. Not Rufus. We’ve all known he was getting up in years, but …

I head to the back where the scraggly angel sits in a cage with his chin to the ground. His sorrow brings water to my eyes. How could anyone abandon such a sweet creature?

Griffin steps up and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Poor Rufus. You are never going to believe—”

“I heard. How long?”

“Dr. Leopold returns in an hour and a half. Imagine having to sit there like that while—”

I can’t, and I won’t.

Without a word, I dash off for a leash and then hook the darling, black and white Shih Tzu up.

“Crazy Bloomers, what do you think you’re doing?”

How can Griffin be so clueless? We’ve known each other far too long for him not to figure this one out.

Finally, he tosses up his hands and shows me he gets it. “You just return before the good doctor does. I’ve no idea how I would cover for this antic.”

“Griffin, today is a special day for Rufus. Do you really think I care what anyone else thinks? I’ll be back in an hour.”

Not far away is a park with a man-made lake. Rufus’s tail wildly wags, and his eyes grow round in hope when we approach it. His spirit soars the moment he is free of his leash, and he flashes off with new vigor. A few yards in, he slows to a fast walk and then down to a normal pace. Though his breathing is a little labored, his smile screams, “This is the best!”

You are right Rufus; this is the best. This is how we are supposed to live every moment.

He returns with a stick, and we spend the next half-hour standing by the water’s edge and playing fetch. He’s so excited that I have to wonder how long it has been since anyone did this with him. Some people think that just because a dog’s glory days are over, that the thrill of being alive is gone. As Rufus finds enough energy to run across the park so he can play Frisbee with a couple of kids, he proves the naysayers wrong.

The time drifts away like a whispered prayer. Tears form as I put Rufus on his leash. Why must we die? Death frightens me, yet not a drop of depression is anywhere near Rufus. Being abandoned was his concern before, not what lies next. “You are so beautiful, Rufus. No matter where you go or what you do, always know that.”

His paw goes to my knee, as if saying, “Don’t cry. My last dream just came true.”

We head back, and he walks tall and proud while I bawl my eyes out. As soon as my hand hits the door, Griffin dashes up and takes the leash. “Doc came back early. She wants to see you in her office,
immediately
.”

My insides should be cringing, but if Rufus does not know fear, than neither will I. That hour with him will stay with me a lifetime.

I carefully shut the door to Dr. Leopold’s office behind me. She barely peers over her shoulder while pulling a file from her cabinet. “It is a huge violation of company policy to remove an animal from the premises without my permission.”

Company policy? Her priorities are wrong. Does business really matter over life? Pets are selfless creatures, and it is our duty as humans, to be selfless in return and support all creatures that need us. How can I make her see what she already should?

She turns, and the glow of a proud mama lights her tear-streaked face. “What you did was so selfless. When I first heard, I was angry. Then I realized what you did was exactly the reason why I became a vet. You gave Rufus dignity. If there is anything we all deserve, it’s dignity, especially in our final moments.” Her arms wrap around me, and I’m in tears all over again. “You want to be there when he leaves us?”

“Of course I do.”

As the doctor puts him to sleep, I cradle Rufus in my arms and sing lullabies. He drifts off, and I give him two kisses—one from me, the other from his owner—because Rufus is worthy, even if she isn’t. Everyone deserves dignity, and everyone deserves a second chance at life.