Stupid Angry Dog, I Thought

A few weeks ago, before Charles’ mother had left, she had argued consistently that father was not much of a man to handle such responsibility, like taking care of two families. Before Charles’ mother, his father, Mr. Smith had a family and a wife, who are now divorced when marrying Charles’ mother. Suddenly, on one weekend, his mother, no longer Mrs. Smith, had packed her bags and left before 5 in the morning that day, she didn’t wake up Charles, and so, he found himself surprised when father was acting angrily towards the truck when leaving for work that very same morning; looking in his parents bedroom, looking for his mother, he found much of her clothes gone from her closet, and most of her makeup cleared from the bathroom. Leaving for school that very same day, he, as well, found it hard to control much of his conscious effort to distinguish such terrible things in his mind. A few weeks later, Charles, being 18 years old, was conflicted - Emily had called and broke the news she couldn’t be with him - unsure, after months of being together, if she understood what she wanted from Charles. Charles had gotten back from baseball practice, barely spoken to his mother; he learned she had left to live with her sister, up near the country; Charles was then hesitant to call back Emily, afraid Emily will suddenly take sides to herself; probably ending the relationship for good, he thought frighteningly. She had done this before - she can't really be at this point to do this - she can’t just leave without some explanation. 

In a fit of anger, Charles quickly went into his bedroom closet, and looked behind his running shoes on a top shelf, and took out his birthday card from his mother when he turned 15 and began shredding it to pieces; and his medals, meanwhile, from previous games, are lying lazily under the shelf. He thought about throwing the card away, but later, once the feeling of past remembrance slowed down in his breathing, he put the small pieces back up in a box that was light red, with pictures of family portraits and stickers from elementary. He texted back. Then, taking off his shoes finally and sitting on his bed to feel stable, he said, “to be frank, I've been thinking the same thing. I think it's a good idea to give us some space.” Emily was shown typing back, only to not say anything. Resting in his bed for the day Charles decided he wouldn't eat anything for dinner.

It gone off, in the routine: going into the closet and taking down the blue box and taking small pieces and ripping them further. Charles was complacent to act strongly towards the end of the day, then feel at ease to remain sterile, feeling free from anything too serious when going about the rest of his evening. His father would come home to find a well-known son, one, Charles wonders, if ever the best from the last Mr. Smith  had, maybe even, at least, more complacent to have as a son. Once the overall result was terrible to sit through dinner and not come out saying, or acting inhospitable, Charles quickly, after saying ‘thank you’ as gently as he can for dinner to his dad, he would run up to his room and began ripping pieces again until his mind and him got tired - even embarrassed to slide it back up on top of the shelf. Choosing now to sleep or play on his phone for the next hour or so.

On Friday, three days before Charles’ birthday (the age of 20 silently getting to him), Mr. Smith, when coming home to find Charles washing dishes and getting prepared to take down the trash, had asked suddenly if Charles can come with him to go and help his previous wife, to take down a piece of furniture to her house - on the contrary which is five miles away from their apartment. Mr. Smith didn't explain any further. Charles remembers he had practice at 7, now being 3:30, and was afraid to ask if he could stay to get ready. The moment the time came, Charles and Mr. Smith was already in the truck and getting ready to take the highway to head out - once Charles found himself already unwilling to fight himself about letting his father drive, thinking the feeling of fear would ease, he looked behind the backseat and found himself realizing a thought. And a smell.

It was half a thought that hadn't fully processed in his conscious, yet it was a feeling he remembers getting when certain situations, like his mother leaving, suddenly became clear to him again and again, yet watching his two adults, known as his parents, act strongly towards daily things - it didn't occur to Charles that what he was feeling was having No Control. I hadn't eaten anything at all today, Charles thought; I'm sure his lady will have something once we get there. Turning to his father, who seemed well established to the road, Charles then thought he would nap the rest of the way. Reaching on the side of the seat to push it down in a flat position, Mr. Smith, with the sound of Charles' movement as though he waited for Charles to make a noise, glanced at him and said, “the craziest thing happened when I was coming home.” Chuckling nervously as he did this.

With his hand already on the knob to push the seat down, Charles quickly set his arm down on his lap, and nodded.

“Hm?” Charles said.

Not hearing Charles say anything, Mr. Smith then continued. “I think where 12th street is, I ran over a dog by accident.” Turning on his signal to get into the right lane, Mr. Smith added, “I was driving towards 9th street to take a short cut, and all of sudden this dog came running towards me. Stupid dog, I thought. He was trying to attack the truck.”

“Really,” Charles said plainly. He respositions himself, feeling his back tense, and his legs slide forward.

“I was coming up the road,” Mr. Smith continued. “I saw him. He was barking at me a few feet away.” Mr. Smith then pointed at a car that, as well, was a few feet away. “Right where that car is, I then started to think to turn left. And I did.”

Charles glances towards the car, trying to imagine how well Mr. Smith is trying to relate the distance between him and the vehicle, replacing the car as a small, but thick sized dog. He turns back to Mr. Smith after nodding to seem consistent. “Right when I was turning, the damn dog then followed me in that direction. I was stunned, I thought it would just -.” Mr. Smith stopped, at first, thinking what sentence was correctly simple to describe his actions, Charles then wanted to finish his sentence by assuming he was trying to sound subtle and extravagant at the same time.

“You thought the dog would just slide by,” Charles said, glad he used the word ‘slide’.

Mr. Smith nodded, “yeah,” he said, using his hands to make a point, “I thought he would just slide by. But instead -,” Mr. Smith began strongly, “instead - this damn dog came in front of me, and, as I kept going, thinking I was going to miss it, I felt the truck bump up.” Charles glanced towards the window to the rearview mirror and looked back at Mr. Smith.

Then: “Oh no.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Smith said. “Next thing I heard was a whimper. ‘Stupid dog’, I said. Of course, I had to turn around and call - um.” Mr. Smith paused again, trying to regain his sentence. Though Charles has dwelt a feeling of worrying about his father’s health - any child who notices the time that’s passing on their parents memory power, or body energy - these pauses instead became a frequent signal to Charles, that, time is moving forward and isn’t slowing down or speeding up - the moment his father can’t finish a sentence only then Charles would take the time forward for then on. And this frightened him.

“The people - the animal doctors,” Mr. Smith continued. “They came and I told them what happened. The dog was lying down and half of its body was paralyzed.” Clicking the right signal again, making an exit off the highway, to a road that would take them west, “I waited until they carried him off,” Mr. Smith added plainly. 

“That's crazy,” Charles said.

“‘Stupid dog’, I thought,” Mr. Smith repeated. “That dog must've been mean, very angry if he wanted to attack.”

Charles turned to Mr. Smith, half noticing that they were probably close to his ex-wife's house; “I bet”,Mr. Smith began deeply, “I bet if I didn't run over that Dog, he would've bit someone.”

   “How come?” Charles asked cautiously. He lost a bit of focus and tried gaining back his present.

   “Well, if that dog didn't care to get killed and attack for its last meal, my truck, I bet he would tear someone to pieces. But poor thing, I didn't mean to run it over.”

Charles nodded, looked out the window, seeing there approaching a neighborhood, he felt a strong weight of anxiety approach his consciousness and glanced towards the road below from the window, seeing the lanes past, becoming long, white strips sliding by quickly. Suddenly, the thought hit him - that's what I've been smelling - it's angry dog blood, he thought.

“Gosh,” Mr. Smith said. “I really didn't mean to hit it.”