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“You think that, don’t you?”
“I know it. It’s what I have been taught. It is truth.”
“You do realize just because someone tells you something, doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“I am the prophecy.”
“You’ve been told that. How do you know it’s true?”
“I know because -- ” The rest of the words don’t come to me as they should. How do I know?
He laughs with a mocking tone that makes me shiver. “You’re a piece of work.”
“I am the culmination of centuries of work.”
“Piece of work,” he says as he parks the car in a spot marked Handicapped. We do not have permission to park here, but Rudy does it anyhow. “Like I said.”
Ignoring him, I climb out of the car and open the back door, letting Winnie loose from her carrier. Dog obedience training is new. After Winnie bit one of my bodyguards, Rudy tried to take her away, but I refused. Rarely do I ask my masters for help, but this was one such case.
This is why Rudy treats me so abrasively. He is mad I went over his head.
Obedience training was the compromise.
The three of us will come to these classes twice a week for the next four weeks. Rudy and I play husband and wife. The wedding ring on my left ring finger is cold and heavy, an irritant.
Like Rudy.
“Winnie,” I call out once she’s on the leash, my little baby coming right to my feet, sitting on her haunches and looking up, beige fur and bulging eyes full of nothing but loving worship.
“She’s a rat with ears that poke up,” Rudy declares in a flat voice.
I am so tired of the insults. My opinion about many aspects of my life does not matter, but my dog?
Don’t be mean about my baby.
“You are a rat without those ears,” I say to him as I square my shoulders, his eyes rolling. I pick Winnie up and pet her, hopefully neutralizing the sting of his words.
Defiance, as a rule, is not permitted from me. I’ve been taught how to do it because it may please my future husband in role play settings. Even so, I find it troubling, as if I’m going to be punished for breaking a rule I’ve been told to rebel against.
Conflicted, guilty, and afraid.
Rudy lets me get away with it only because he knows he’s disobeying, too.
The obedience class is being held at an animal rescue center, inside a large fenced-in area outdoors behind a Cape Cod home with barn-red shingles and pale cream trim. The sound of dogs barking, muted and inside kennels, makes Winnie begin to shake in my arms.
“It’s fine, sweet girl. You’re fine.”
“Rat with ears,” Rudy mutters as he opens the gate, smiles at people in twos with dogs in the distance, and ushers me in.
As we walk, I set Winnie on the ground, and smile. It is not fake, but not quite real. Everyone here is ignorant. They know nothing about who I am. That is fine. I’ve been taught to say nothing.
All will be revealed soon.
Six couples are present with dogs, and two single owners stand in the group as well, all of us assembled in a horseshoe pattern. As I look around, I note their emotional states.
Single woman with a rescue collie, both anxious.
Young couple with a three-legged Australian shepherd, looking excited.
