Death Perception

Chapter Four: French Dog's & Wine

“In short; if you ever find yourself lost in France, look for someone with a dog and compliment them on it. The French love their dogs. But!” My Humanities professor exclaimed. “Don’t touch their dog without asking, that’s a big no-no!” half the class giggled softly, all eyes returning to the slideshow up front when it switched to the next photo.   

It was a sketch of a fancy restaurant, with various people eating while dogs sat at their feet. “The French actually love their dogs so much, that they will take them almost anywhere. In fact, they’re more likely to take their dog to a five star restaurant that they are their children. More often than not, the rest of the people dining prefer a dog next to the table than a child seated at one.” A ding resounded throughout the room, echoing down the halls, cutting her lecture short. The one minute warning for the broadcast began ticking down.

Almost instantly students began fleeing the room.

“I want all of you to write a paper on how the French treat children verses dogs, and why that is. Have it done by Monday! We’ll be starting on the Navajo Tuesday!” She shouted after us. “And don’t forget next week’s exam!”

Jess, who I had been friends with since our first class together freshmen year, approached me with a notebook under one arm and an extra-large order of McDonald’s French-fries she was munching on. It was a classic ‘Jess Sign’ that she was hung over. “Uh,” was her weak greeting.

“You should really cut back on trying to one-up the football team.” I chided softly, taking my place at her side as we exited the room.

She gave me an ironic look, “Says the girl who never competes because that would require some form of conflict.” Her flat remark didn’t bother me in the least.

“Looking at you, I’d say that’s not a bad thing.” I shrugged, smiling when she rolled her eyes and popped another fry in her mouth. “You ready for the exam?”

She groaned, hanging her head. “There’s an exam coming up?”

“Professor Kholer was just talking about it. It’s next week.” I couldn’t help shaking my head at her. It was a wonder she’d passed all of her classes last year, based off of her lack of concentration. College was one big party to Jess, which was a viewpoint I could never understand. I refused to miss a class, I took notes methodically, and I studied during ninety percent of my free time, yet still I only managed a meager 2.5 GPA. So slacking off had never been an option in my case, but I guess Jess was different.

“She’s too happy all the time. My ears tune her out automatically.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste, as if she’d eaten something sour. “Can I borrow your notes?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll just copy them when I head over to the library later.” Jess rarely took notes, after all. Usually, if we had the same class, it was expected that she would use mine. On some level that irritated me, but being that she was a friend I normally didn’t mind.

“Sweet,” she threw her head back with dramatic relief, sparing me a weak smile. “I’ll stop by your place later, when do you get off work?”

“I don’t work today, so come over whenever.” Shrugging I gave her a small wave, heading towards the library while she continued on to her next class, brunet locks swishing behind her.

Jess poured herself a glass of the wine she’d brought over into a coffee mug shaped like a fat cat. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t chide her for using Sam’s favorite cup. The moment she heard ‘Sam’s favorite’ the cup would be doomed, and some time afterward she would ‘accidently’ break it.

The two hadn’t gotten along since the first time they met, when Jess mouthed off some gay joke and Sam responded by stating that her eyes were crooked. Over the next year it was one retaliation after another. Eyebrows were lost, purses were mysteriously filled with tomato sauce, and verbal attacks were thrown back and forth as if constant jibes were going out of style. By now, it too was something I had adapted to. For example, I only invited Jess over when I knew Sam wouldn’t be home.

“Roughly how much of a French citizen’s wages will go towards taxes?” I questioned, shaking my head when she offered me a sip of her wine, focusing my eyes on my notes. Shrugging at my decline, Jess sat down and took on a thoughtful expression.

“Twenty~” she drew out the word when I started shaking my head, “Ten percent?” she finally settled.

“Not even close,” I said flatly, not at all surprised that she’d gotten it wrong. It had been covered in one of the many lectures she’d missed. “Fifty-five percent.”

“What?” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Why?”

“Government paid benefits and services. Like the guys who pick up the dog poop on the streets, or the generous maternity leave they give out to entice citizens to procreate.” I explained the gist of it, which was all Jess cared about.

“They pay people to pick up dog shit for them?” she looked impressed.

I held back a sigh; she wasn’t focusing on the bigger picture, as in; the answer to the question, which would likely be on the exam. I opened my mouth to point this out, but my phone chimed in first.

“Who is it?” she wondered absentmindedly, leaning forward to look at my notes, Sam’s mug still pressed to her half-full glossed up lips.

Retrieving it from my pocket to check, I grimaced. “Dylan,”

She perked up hearing his name, her eyes brightening. Dylan and I had broken it off two months back, so this new development was somewhat unexpected. “Text?” she confirmed, and I nodded. “What’s it say?” for a split-second her assumption that I would tell her annoyed me, but I quickly pushed it away.

Jess was just doing what she thought a friend should do. Besides, she’d always been interested in my love life (though it had never even come close to involving love). She called it ‘entertaining’.

I scrolled down to read it aloud. “Hey –and then he stuck in a standard smiley face.”

She snapped her fingers, motioning for me to hand over the phone. “Ass,” she muttered, reading the text for herself.

“Not like I care.” And I didn’t. Dylan had been fun for all of about two days, and after that it had been obvious we weren’t going to work out. Yet for three months I kept telling myself there was more to him than his fan-girl-inducing smile and charming ways; which turned out to be false, of course. It was the story of my life that had played out with numerous guys before him, and one I would most likely repeat. However, I had never once returned to an old relationship and wasn’t going to start now.

My phone chimed again, directing my attention back to Jess. Her eyes scanned over the screen before her features stretched into an appalled look. “What are you wearing, babe?” she raised an eyebrow at me accusingly.

I felt my chest sizzle with anger. “Give it here.” My hands urged her to return my phone, which she willingly did. Sure enough, he’d said just that. The only thing she left out had been the winking smiley.

“Babe? As in, ‘that’ll do pig’?” she gave me a droll stare, her smile slightly hesitant.

I glared in response. “What is with men; do they all sit around thinking of ways to piss us off, or is it just natural instinct?” I demanded, my teeth clenching as I tossed my phone onto the counter. I couldn’t even stand to look at it knowing what he’d sent. What an ass!

Jess was giggling softly to herself as she offered me her wine, which I jerked from her grasp angrily, gulping down what remained and snatching up the bottle to retrieve more. “Better than TV, every time.” She half snickered, clapping lightly as I finished off what I’d just poured into the glass.

The wine left the mere hint of an alcoholic burn in my chest, and created a pressure there while the edges of my mind blurred pleasantly. Normally I didn’t drink at all, let alone because I was angry. However Dylan had always been able to get under my skin in a way that others could not. If I replied at all it would only egg him on, so wine was the best way to work out my frustrations at the moment. Plus, for a cheap bottle, it wasn’t half bad.