I have no idea what’s going on between them.
Ella rolls her eyes, more frustrated with Kenji than I’ve ever seen her. She practically stomps toward him, hugging herself against the cold. I hear her mutter, “You’re going to pay for that,” before they’re off, the two of them disappearing into the distance without a backward glance.
Without me.
I stand there for so long after they’re gone that the sun finally moves toward the horizon, taking with it any lingering warmth. I shiver slightly as the temperatures plummet, but I can ignore the cold. I cannot, however, seem to ignore the dull ache in my chest.
When I woke up this morning I’d thought this would be the happiest day of my life. Instead, as the day approaches dusk—
I feel hollow.
The dog barks suddenly, a series of sharp yaps in a row. When I turn to face the creature it makes an altogether different sound, something like a growl, and jumps up enthusiastically, lifting its paws to my pant leg. I give the animal a firm look, indicating with my index finger that it should disengage immediately. It sinks, slowly, back onto its feet, tail wagging.
Another bark.
I sigh at the sight of its eager, upturned face. “I suppose I shouldn’t be ungrateful. You seem to be the only one interested in my company today.”
A bark.
“Very well. You may come with me.”
The dog rises up onto all four legs, panting, tail wagging harder.
“But if you defecate on any interior surface—or chew up my boots, or urinate on my clothes—I will put you right back outside. You will hold your bowel movements until you are a considerable distance away from me. Is that clear?”
Another responding bark.
“Good,” I say, and walk away.
The dog chases after me so quickly its snout bumps my heels. I listen to the sound of its paws hitting the ground; I can hear it breathing, sniffing the earth.
“First,” I tell it, “someone needs to give you a bath. Not me, obviously. But someone.”
The dog gives an aggressive, eager yap at that, and I realize with a start that I’m able to get a bead on its emotions. The reading, however, is imprecise; the creature doesn’t always understand what I’m saying, so its emotional responses are inconsistent. But I see now that the dog understands essential truths.
For some inexplicable reason, this animal trusts me. More perplexing: my earlier declaration made it happy.
I don’t know much about dogs, but I’ve never heard of one that enjoyed being bathed. Though it occurs to me then that if the animal understood the word bath, it must once have had an owner.
I come to a sudden stop, turning to study the creature: its matted brown fur, its half-eaten ear. It pauses when I do, lifting a leg to scratch behind its head in an undignified manner.
I see now that it’s a boy.
Otherwise, I have no idea what kind of dog this is; I wouldn’t even know how to begin classifying his species. He’s obviously some kind of mutt, and he’s either young, or naturally small. He has no collar. He’s clearly underfed. And yet, a single glance at its nether regions confirmed that the animal had been neutered. He must’ve once had a proper home. A family. Though he likely lost his owner some time ago to have been reduced to this half-feral state.
I’m compelled to wonder, then, what happened.
I meet the dog’s deep, dark eyes. We’re both quiet, assessing each other. “You mean to tell me that you like the idea of taking a bath?”
Another happy bark.
“How strange,” I say, turning once more down the path. “So do I.”
SIX
By the time I step foot in the dining tent, it’s already nine o’clock. Ella has been gone several hours now, and I have succeeded only a little in distracting myself from this fact. I know, intellectually, that she is not in danger; but then, my mind has always been my fiercest adversary. All the day’s compounding uncertainties have led to a mounting apprehension in my body, the experience of which recalls the sensation of sandpaper against my skin.
The worst uncertainties are the ones I cannot kill or control.
In the absence of action I am forced instead to marinate in these thoughts, the anxiety abrading me more in every minute, corroding my nerves. So thorough is this excoriation that my entire body is rendered an open wound in the aftermath, so raw that even a metaphorical breeze feels like an attack. The mental exertion necessary to withstand these simple blows leaves me worse than irritable, and quick to anger. More than anything, these exhausting efforts make me want to be alone.