The Night Is Young

Stray Dogs and Painful Truths

There’s Always….this dog that follows me whenever I take out the trash. She’s a little pretty thing, tiny and black with shades of brown running throughout her fur. She’s a Shitzu, or as my sister calls them ‘shit zoos’. I know she belongs to someone, but I haven’t taken the time to find out who. She’s been doing that for a couple of weeks now.

“Shoo-shoo!” I wave her away but my shooing excites her even more. She jumps up and presses her tiny palms to my calf muscles. I shake my leg and hold out my hand to swat her away from me. It takes perseverance and stern yet severe scolding to get her to leave. When she does leave she turns her head back several times, her little tail wagging as she runs down the street past a flying car.

“Stupid dog.” I say it with all the hate I can muster, but I don’t mean it. I actually like her presence when its not disturbing my work. I like her, better than my sister even.

I obviously need better friends.

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I’m Doomed…to a life of mundane activities. They say the truth shall set you free right? Then why do I feel so burdened and shackled.

My sister, Ashley, she’s better with this life thing than I am. She doesn’t whine or complain, she makes the best of a situation. She can turn bad to good and she’s optimistic. That’s why so many people like her, that’s why she has so many friends.

Me on the other hand, I cry over spilled milk, I reside in the past and I destroy my future a little at a time.

All of this I think about as I’m bagging groceries and dry goods at the local Target. The morning has been long and slowly until recently, just before twelve the customers poured in by the tens. All I’ve checked out are party supplies for the most part, lighter fluid and camping equipment I didn’t even know we had.

I hold up a pack of cigarettes, Marlboros and squint at the guy in question. He’s tall, but I can see his youth seeping through his skin. He’s young, but I don’t how young, “Sir can I see your ID?”

The air at the frontline is hot, every time someone walks through the doors it gets hotter. Sweat begins to pool under my arms and I pray that the red shirt remains the same and does not deepen in color where the sweat is. It’s obvious he’s black, and then there’s something else about him, another race, “Oh its not for me. Its my sisters, she’s on her way.”

I nod slightly and tap my tired feet against the black mat I’m standing on, my head turns to the right and I stare blankly around. The lines are still fairly moderate, there’s not a lot of business , but there’s enough to send out a couple more cashiers.

“Right here.”

My face softens at the familiar features of the person, its Claire, a girl from high school I graduated with, “Aren’t you a little young to be smoking?” I joke.

She shrugs and pulls her long ponytail to the side, “Nah, you know that. I haven’t seen you in a while what’s up?”

We saw each other last week, at graduation.

But I don’t say that, instead I smile and give her a generic answer, “I’ve been fine, how about you?”

“Working like crazyyyyy, I’m still filling out papers for my dorm at UT-Austin. Everything is just about ready to go, but then I had to come here and start shopping for my dorm room.”

I nod in agreement. Before she arrived I had already bagged up comforter sets, rugs and desk supplies, “Right, that’s cool.”

For one painful second we stare at each other, she smiles and I give her a thin lipped variation of that smile, “Kai, your ID?” her brother prods.