Gone, Gone, Gone(21)

I walk down to the grocery store like I can fix something, and there on a lamppost is a poster saying that someone a few neighborhoods over found a three-legged dog. And suddenly nothing else in the whole world is important in any way.

Casablanca.

I memorize the phone number on the poster and recite it to myself again and again while I’m running home. I run faster than anyone in that entire parking lot.

Only eight to go.

One dog.

Three cats.

Three rabbits.

A guinea pig.

The news replays the police chief telling us we’re safe at school while we eat dinner. Casablanca has his head on my knee.

My mom takes my hand. “If you want to talk,” she says, “know that your father and I are available, okay? For anything you need to get off your chest.”

“That’s really nice, really, but I don’t want to talk. This doesn’t have anything to do with me. See, I’m just worried about Michelangelo and Beaumont and Hail and Marigold and Shamrock and Peggy and Zebra and Carolina.” I still want to believe that Mom’s been out helping the families of the victims, but that’s not really the type of social work she does.

Mom gives me a gentle smile. “I talked to the woman at the shelter today and gave her your descriptions.” She has to specify mine because last time she gave her own descriptions and I told her but how are they going to know that Shamrock’s tail leans to the left when he’s happy, or that Zebra will only eat if all his food is level, or that Beaumont has a meow like a fire alarm, and what if those are the keys to identifying them?

“Good,” I say.

Dad has his own problems, like the stack of papers he brought to the dinner table, and he rubs his face to show us how very busy he is. He’s flipping through the papers between mouthfuls of baked salmon. Parents are harassing him like he’s a suspect in the shootings: “Why can’t my child go outside for recess? This is ridiculous.” “What took you so long to cancel outdoor recess? Do you know how many children you put at risk?”

I need to get away from all of this. I put Casablanca and Kremlin on their leashes, and I nudge lazy Jupiter with the toe of my shoe. “Time for a walk,” I tell them.

“Not tonight,” Dad says. “Just tie them up out back, all right?”

“They hate that.”

“Craig,” he says, in that tone that’s like, I’m one step away from middle-naming you.

I breathe in and then out, really slowly. “Okay.” I tie them up out back while my parents watch to make sure I’m not outside for too long. I sit by the door and press my hand against the glass so the dogs can see me, so maybe they’ll feel like I’m with them. They bark and spin in circles on their rope, and if anyone shoots them, I have this feeling I’ll kill my dad.

Cody—

I still haven’t heard from you and I’m worried, wondering if you’re okay and everything. Is school getting busy? Is this when you take the SATs or something?

I forgot to tell you, when I saw your mom she showed me some of the paintings you mailed her. They were beautiful. I loved the one of me, I really did, but she wouldn’t let me keep it. Maybe let her know if she can send it to me?

Miss you,

Love, C

It’s seven o’clock. In the evening. I need to sleep, I need to stop thinking. I need to sleep.

The real question isn’t who broke into the house, at least not for me, because I don’t care, because it happened and it’s over and I’m getting the animals back and everything’s going to be fine.

But why did the animals leave? Just because the doors were open? Just because they had an excuse to?

My parents always thought I was so stupid and I thought I was so lucky keeping my guinea pig and my cats and my dogs and my bird together and no one ever had to be in a cage and no one was ever locked up and no one ever hurt anybody. It was like a little miracle, and then someone broke through our doors and left everything open and they all ran away together, and that’s why I don’t have any animals. The breaking-in, the breaking the windows, the breaking apart, the violence, none of that had anything to do with it. They only left because the door was open. Just freedom had to do with it, or maybe fear, and that’s all that mattered in the end, and I fall asleep sitting up and wake up a minute later, and these are the times when I don’t believe that all the animals are ever going to be not gone.

“Weren’t you happy here?” I whisper.

I tried. I tried so hard.

I’m still trying. I’m grasping grasping grasping at no reward.

The woman they shot today, when I was on the way home from school? She didn’t die. It’s another reason not to be scared. There’s always the chance you won’t get shot, and there’s always the chance you’ll get shot and you won’t die. There are so many ways to survive. Why does everyone act like we’re hopeless?





LIO

I’M MAKING ANOTHER PLAY-DOH SNOWMAN.

I wish I could go for a jog instead.

Adelle says, “Would you like to talk about what’s going on this week?”

I shrug.

“Lio.”

I say, “If you mean what’s going on in my life.”

“You don’t want to talk about the sniper?”