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I’d feel a lot better about the good I was doing if I knew the son of a bitch responsible had to pay for their actions, but I nod. “You got it. I’ll get her cleaned up and dried off. Should I take Binx for a walk after that? He was pacing again.”
“You’re a doll,” she says, smiling at me. “He’d love that. I don’t know what we’d do without you, Tyson. Other volunteers, they come by for a day or two and then, once they realize there’s more to it than cuddling an abandoned litter of cute puppies, they disappear. You’re my old reliable.”
What she doesn’t know is that the time I spend volunteering at the shelter is like free therapy, a place where I can let go of my own troubles and focus on doing good for others who truly have nobody else. I could volunteer at a soup kitchen or with kids, but I find it easier to connect with the dogs and cats that come through here. They don’t want to talk, they’re content to just be loved. If more people were like dogs, maybe I’d have more friends.
“The only way I’m not coming around anymore is if you kick me out.” I give the dog a final rinse until the water in the tub is running clear and I no longer feel the pieces of grit in her coat. She smells like lavender and oatmeal, which is a hell of a lot better than what she smelled like before I got her in the tub.
“When are you going to take one of these home?” Cindy asks, gesturing to Girl as she hands me a towel. “You can’t tell me you’re not an animal lover, I won’t believe it.”
Girl shakes, sending water droplets all over the wall, and I step in front of Cindy to block her from the deluge. I’m already soaked, no point in someone else getting wet.
“Oh, thank you for the free bath. Just returning the favor?” I wipe my face dry with my arm and scruff up the dog’s fur with the towel before she can shake again. “I’d love to have a dog, and a cat actually, but I’m just not home enough. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”
Cindy clucks her tongue. “There’s a solution for that, you know. Don’t be such a workaholic!”
If only it were that simple. Cindy doesn’t know that work was what saved me when I was at my lowest after leaving home. It gave me purpose. It enabled me see that I’m not a fuck-up, not doomed to live in my brother’s shadow forever.
“A leopard can’t change its spots,” I counter, unclipping Girl from her leash hooked to the bathtub.
I wrap her in the towel and pick her up, making sure the bottoms of her paws are dry before setting her loose on the floor. She trots around the grooming room, rubbing up against everything she can reach, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. A little love and affection are all it takes to bring out the innocent happiness in an animal.
Cindy pats my shoulder as she heads out of the room. She’s got more tasks to do than there are hours in the day. “Then maybe you’re not a leopard,” she says, closing the door behind her.
I grab one of the colorful slip leads hanging beside the door and call Girl over to me, bending down to pet her neck before I slide the loop of the leash over her head. “Shows what she knows, right, Girl? Come on, let’s get you settled into your new bed.”
Tyson
It’s dusk by the time I get out of there. A full day at the shelter wears me out as much as any workout in the gym, but different. Better. I’m exhausted, but I have places to go tonight so I don’t let myself sit down when I get home, for fear I won’t want to get back up. I jump right into the shower, washing the smell of dog from my skin and hair and making sure there’s no dirt left under my nails. I wash myself a second time, digging the soap bar with my nails to be safe. Once I’m confident I no longer smell like an animal shelter, I get out and towel off, taking an extra few minutes to trim my beard. Mom much prefers me clean-shaven, but a trimmed beard is as much a compromise as I’m willing to make.
The restaurant we’re meeting at is nice, but not fancy, as per Mom’s request, so I change into well-worn jeans and a charcoal-colored Henley. It’s rare that Mom lets me take her out — she never wants me to spend money on her, even if it’s nothing more than covering the cost of a meal, and now she never wants to leave Dad behind at the hospital, so I want to make sure it’s worth her while.
When I arrive at the hospital, she’s waiting for me at the entrance, dressed in a knit dress and flats, her hair pulled up in a twist.
“Such a gentleman,” she laughs when I jump out of the car and rush around to her side to open the door before she can do it herself. “Your mother must have taught you well.”
“She’s a special lady,” I say, as I help her into her seat and close the door behind her.
It’s a short drive to the restaurant. Mom makes a face as my punk music blasts through the speaker. “Really? You still listen to that stuff?” She tuts. “Some boys never change.”
“I hope that’s not true,” I mutter, thinking about what Jordan said regarding Cole.
“What’s that, honey?” She’s fiddling with my phone, trying to find a playlist more to her liking. Pop music from an era long ago passed starts to play and I’m taken back to my childhood, and the memory of riding in the seat she is sitting in now when she would have been driving me to school. “Oh, this is much better,” she sighs.
“Whatever you say, Mom.” I can’t fight a smile when she begins bobbing to the music, singing along toCats in the Cradle, by Harry Chapin.
??… Little Boy Blue and the man on the moon…??she sings.
We pull up to the restaurant and I hurry around the side of the car to get her door, eliciting another laugh. “Do you treat your dates so nicely?” she asks, taking my arm as we walk inside.
“What dates? I don’t date.” I give the reservation name to the hostess and we take our seats at a table in the back. It’s quiet, away from the bustle of the main dining room.
We order a bottle of wine, Mom’s favorite chardonnay, and it’s not long before she takes up her favorite Mom activity — prying.
“Why not, honey? Any girl would be lucky to have you,” Mom says, laying her napkin across her lap.
My fingers tighten around the wineglass at the memory of Cole’s words to the contrary, but I keep it to myself. I don’t want to add to Mom’s burden. “I’m a mess, Mom. I couldn’t even make it work with my own family.”
Mom sighs. “You’ve always been a sweetheart to me. When you said you had to put distance between yourself and the family, I understood. I didn’t like it, not one bit, but I wasn’t going to stop you from doing what you had to do.”
