"A Boy and His Dog"

“Your room still looks like shit!” he screamed. (The rage burning in his eyes like bonfires in summertime always made my youthful blood run colder than constant winter.) “I thought I told you to clean it, boy?!” he spat. His bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils indicated he'd already had his liquid breakfast (as he humorously termed it). “I'm...I'm sorry, Uncle Dick,” I responded meekly. “I did my best. I was at it for hours.” Chad always trashes my room when he's here and never helps clean up the mess! My voice had a whiny, panicked tone that sounded weak and pathetic to my own ears and filled me with an even greater amount of shame than what I often felt each time I displeased the hard and hate-filled man who was (in many ways) like a second father to me. “Oh, don't give me that shit, Chad's ass! You were up there with him the whole time, and it's your responsibility to keep shit locked down, you hear? It's up to you. Ain't nobody else gonna hold your hand, wipe your ass, or be your fuckin' maid, kid. Do you hear me?” “Yes,” I whispered softly, defeated. (His odd ability to blend fundamental truths and insights with his own bizarre and illogical self-logic never failed to keep me confused and questioning my own perceptions of reality and truth.) “Yes, what?” he asked/rasped expectantly. “Yes, sir!” I yelled as loudly as I could, the shame further intensified by my fool's compliance with this madman's expectations. “This is the third time,” he whispered, voice deceptively soft. “I'm sorry,” I tried again more earnestly this time. “Sorry's ass!” he barked, cuffing me upside the head hard enough that I saw bright starbursts of pain flicker briefly behind my tear-filled eyes. Then, as he drew back his hand for a better swing, Shadow (my black dog I'd found abandoned a few months back and made a pet) came out of nowhere and sank her teeth into his arm. Because of his drunken state, it had little real effect on him, but already I could see blood oozing out of his arm where Shadow was still latched onto him, growling savagely and jerking her head back and forth in swift, jerking motions. “Fuckin' mutt!!” he screamed in a high-pitched, near-squeal, slinging Shadow across the yard and into the big oak tree. (The sound her body made crashing into that tree is a sound that replays in my head even to this day.) I could tell immediately that her back was broken by the way she writhed painfully, whimpering, trying to get up but unable to make her legs work enough to stand. Her deep, intelligent brown eyes peered into mine, seeming to say, “Are you okay?” Even in her painful state, she was my protector, my best friend, and constant companion, who cared for me and showed me love when few others ever did (either because they had none left in them to give or simply didn't know how). The guilt I felt was immediate, clenching my guts tight and filling me with such self-hatred that I could have died in that moment and found my only joy in death. “I told Sandi that bitch was dangerous. She's snapped at me before, twice now!” my Uncle said. The self-indignation in his voice added a new layer to my hatred. He was a monster, I thought then (and still believe to this day), far worse than any I had read about in the fairytale books I often read when chores were done. And the worst kind of monster...because he was human and real. After spacing out, lost in my own reverie for a moment, his voice broke through the mental barriers my mind had momentarily put in place to process the events that had just transpired. “She's your responsibility,” he said, reaching his arm out to me. In my semi-conscious dream state, I hadn't even noticed he'd unholstered the .45 Colt Revolver that he always carried on him. He was holding it out now, patiently, expectantly, waiting for me to take it. As if by my own accord, I saw my hand reaching out and taking the gun. And in my head, I imagined several horrible, unthinkable scenarios playing out (most of which involved shooting him in the head and then turning the gun on myself). But at that timeless moment in time, at that moment, I simply took the gun and walked with him over to where Shadow was laying, squirming painfully on the ground.

“Maybe I could keep her chained up from now on?” I begged/pleaded, my voice so thick with tears I was surprised he understood me enough to answer: “She ain't comin' back from that one, Buddha-Boy.” (My family called me Buddha-Boy back then because I was a bit over 200 lbs. and had the build of those popular fat versions of Buddha that you always saw everywhere in novelty shops.) “And she's dangerous.” He continued. “Needs put down. For her sake and others.” “Once a dog gets a taste of blood, they're ruined, boy. Can't ever trust 'em again, y'hear?” “I CAN'T,” I screamed. My voice taking on a strength and loudness I had never known or expressed before. “She's YOUR fuckin' responsibility. YOU BROUGHT THE GODDAMN THING HERE!!” He screamed. His slurred, drunken voice filling with a rage I'd long since come to know and dread. (And sadly, for a long time after, reflect.) “Now, you take care of your business RIGHT GODDAMN NOW, or I'll stomp the bitch to bits right here in front of you, you goddamn pussy little FUCK!!” I knew it was hopeless then. No chance for compromise. No magical fairies or strong heroes like the ones from my stories would come, wave their wands, and restore my friend to health or bravely defeat the monster towering over me now. Without another word, I walked over to Shadow, my best friend and constant companion, aimed the gun at her head (avoiding eye contact as best I could), looked away, and pulled the trigger. The roar was deafening, and the gun bucked in my hand enough that I felt a slight pain in my wrist. Looking down at Shadow's still, dead frame did something to me. Something in me faded. That light of hope Pastor Bacon always talked about in church. My blood ran cold, tears dried up. Everything went numb. Numb to the point I didn't feel anything good, bad, or painful. And in that horrible moment, I was extremely grateful for that cold numbness. 

(Because I had just killed my best friend.)

J.Stephen.H.