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“Oh right, “people don’t change,” right?” she mimics my tone, very badly if you ask me. “So you’re saying you can’t change? None of us can change for the better? All doom and gloom. If you’re right, then what are we living for? For a dead-end future? The end of days? What?”
God. What does she want me to say? It all comes back to the thoughts that have been crowding my head more and more lately.
“So stop giving me that look when I flirt with him, or talk about him,” she continues, oblivious to the war inside me. “Like you’re so much better than me and him, than all of us. Go off to your big city dreams, then, and stop pretending you belong here.”
“Dena, stop. It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
She’s right. If I don’t think anyone can change, then how am I so convinced that I myself can change? Because let’s be honest: he was a bully, and I was a coward. Sure, I was teased and I was hurt, but I have to believe that now I have grown stronger, tougher.
What if Ross has grown kinder? What if he’s grown a heart to match his good looks? What if he had a heart all along but kept it hidden?
But why? How does this make any sense? Saving my ass once and telling me it was only because I had been “in his way” doesn’t mean any of that, does it? Being friends with a stray dog doesn’t turn a man’s black heart to gold.
Does it?
I guess I’ll have to check for a heartbeat in Ross Jones after all...
***
It’s a small town, and the next day, on my way back from work, I see buddy again. The stray dog Ross has befriended.
As the street lamps come on—I had an early shift today—I make out his stiff ears and pointy nose. He’s kind of cute—it’s a he, apparently—but when I get near him, he snarls at me, barks and runs away.
Feral.
Kind of like Ross, I think randomly, bemused. Yeah, it doesn’t matter how often I admonish myself to stop. Dena is right. I do worry about him. I think about him all the time. Everything reminds me of him.
It makes absolutely no sense.
College is what I should be thinking about. What to study, maybe a degree in history. My grades were good. I could take out a student loan, stay with friends at first until I got a job in town, then maybe... I could make it work.
Running away, Josh said.
Hating Destiny, Dena accused.
Easy for them to say. I just want to live. To live happy. To start anew. Getting away from the traumatic event helps heal, right? I’m sure I read something like that. Staying in a place where everything and everyone reminds you of what caused you pain won’t help.
But I already walked away once. Reinvented myself once. How often can I do that without losing myself and all that’s important to me? How about dad, and Josh? How about facing my fears? Facing Ross?
Speaking of whom, his dog appears again. He comes running up the street, tongue lolling out, until he’s right in front of me.
Like he wants to tell me something.
“What is it, Buddy?” It’s as good a name as any. He trots a few feet away, turns and looks at me. Barks again, then whines. His brown eyes are intelligent and seem to be trying to tell me something. “Want me to go with you?”
Laughing, I follow him. It’s on my way to the diner anyway, not like I’m taking a detour or anything. Might as well. I’m curious to see where he’s taking me.
“Are we friends now, too?” I ask him and he barks. He seems to be laughing, too. “Where are we going?” He sets off, and I jog after him. “Hey, wait. Doggy, wait!”
He doesn’t, though, and I jog faster after him. “This had better be good!” I mutter, focusing on not losing his small form as he goes, inhumanly fast for a creature with legs that short.
I’m panting by the time he stops outside Jasper’s Garage. The place’s padlocked. My dad informed me it was closed down when Jasper went to prison. There was never talk of letting Ross manage it or anything, apparently. It’s a huge thing, the height easily two stories tall, towering over most buildings in town.
“What is here that you wanted to show me?” I glare at the doggy. “Well? There’s nobody here, you know that, right?”
Buddy looks up at me and whines, then scampers around the back of the garage, down a side street, stopping once in a while to make sure I follow.
