Weekend Friend

03.

SYDNEY ATWOOD IS many things, but on time is rarely one of them.

On Monday morning, I stand waiting at our typical rendezvous spot on the 20th Avenue Bridge that spans a ravine in Ravenna Park—complete with tall pine trees and a narrow creek that runs directly below the century-old lattice-arched structure.

Sydney refers to the bridge as Dateline Bridge for the simple reason that it looks like the kind of suspicious destination where a dead body is found at the start of a painfully legendary reality crime show. But ironically, Ravenna Park sits on the edge of a quintessential Seattle neighbourhood with upscale craftsman-style homes and cosy cafes. The park essentially acts as an unofficial barrier between off-campus university housing and an affluent residential community of software developers and white collar hipsters.

I huff out a sigh as I lean back against the railing of the bridge.

The smoke from yesterday has lifted, but the skies remain overcast, and the air holds that crisp early autumn chill. As the breeze rattles through the pines, I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands, thanking past me for choosing to wear jeans rather than shorts.

But I still don't appreciate having to wait around—especially when I'd yet to have coffee. Feeling my patience evaporating, I yank out my phone and aggressively type out a text to Sydney.

JENSEN ST. CLAIR: um, literally where are you???

"Literally, over here!"

At the sound of the voice, I pivot to face the opposite side of Dateline Bridge to see Sydney waving an enthusiastic hand high in the air.

"Finally." I push myself off the railing. I'd be much more irritated if I didn't see a corgi strutting beside Sydney on a neon orange retractable leash.

Bear—who also responds to an assortment of nicknames including Mr. Man and Trouble—somehow possesses both grace and swagger. It's why I'm unfazed by the fact that the Instagram account Sydney had made for him has gained 25K followers in less than six months. Bear even has brand deals, for Christ's sake. 

As they approach me, Bear registers my existence. His pointy ears straighten, and his eyes bulge. Then he bolts towards me like a little torpedo, and the sound of the leash extending reminds me of a zipline.

I bend down in time for Bear to collide with my shins. Dog hair immediately clings to the denim.

"Hey, Bear," I coo, scratching the soft spaces behind the ears he's slowly growing into. His coat is more orange than brown, and the array of white markings on his back resemble fluffy snowflakes.

"Bear made so many friends on the ferry yesterday," Sydney proclaims in what I've come to recognise as his Proud Father voice.

"Because of course you did," I address Bear. It's only then that I register the miniature black Carharrt pouch attached to the rear clip of Bear's harness, which is also neon orange.

Sydney and I initially had a dispute over its colour. I thought the neon orange made Bear look like a construction worker, and Sydney thought it was badass and exuded an aura of safety. He won because I hadn't wanted to cough up money for a new harness when his was perfectly operational.

I flick the logo while Bear attempts to burrow into my legs. "Care to explain?"

"It's a tiny backpack." Sydney beams, his teeth a brilliant white against his dark skin.

"I gathered as much. But...what can you even fit in it?"

"Um...dog treats," Sydney answers indignantly as though this should've been wildly obvious.