Animals (Open Novella Contest)

In The Beginning

He was born on a Sunday, something in which his parents never forgave him for. He died on a Sunday as well; funny how the world as its way of spinning. The first day I met him, one of the things we got around to talking about were my disbeliefs in three things: God, miracles, and cheesecake. The man could get into heated discussions with me, arguing about some proven fact that God had waved his mighty hand and created some canyon or mountain along the earth's surface. In return, I would argue how gooey cheese did not belong on a pastry, and certainly not one shaped like a cake. Neither of us saw each other's point, but somehow, we were able to look past that.

But, I'm at a point right now where I don't know if I can look past things much longer.

I'm staring at two suitcases, one jet black like the sky outside, and one a faded burgundy, suffering from years of extensive travel. I trace my hands along the dark stain on the black one, smiling as I recall the memory associated with it.

"Do you love me?" Lyle asked me as he slipped his hand underneath my shirt, his masseuse thumbs starting their work on the knot between my shoulders. I sank into his body, my knees drawing up onto his lap and my head resting gently on his shoulder. The move of my knees was sudden, knocking my glass of red wine over onto Lyle's suitcase that sat below the coffee table. At the time, I was so embarrassed, but I laugh at it now; I've stopped trying to please Lyle. Only one thing will make him happy, and this is something I am not able to give him.

"Are you ready?" Lyle pops his head inside the front door of our home, his eyes red and irritated by the smoke outside. With a heavy heart and a heavy soul, I reach for the two suitcases and adjust the tattered Jansport backpack that weighs down on my shoulders; I'd kill for one of Lyle's massages, but I haven't received one of those in a long time. Lyle steps further inside the home, and I can't tell if it's to take one last look at the house we built together, or to see why I'm not moving as fast as he'd like me to. A soft meow escapes from behind the door, and upon moving out into the crisp night air I see Freddie, perched atop Lyle's shoulders, his electric blue harness cinched tightly around his body.

"Do you think he'll survive?" I ask all too bitterly. This earns me a disgusted glare from Lyle and Freddie's ears pin flat against his head as if he can understand my harsh question towards him. Lyle affectionally adjusts the small bundle of orange fur on his body and tickles the white patch underneath Freddie's chin. The tabby purrs all too loudly, proving a point; he'll come out of this alive no matter what.

"I will always take care of you." Lyle whispers this to Freddie as we depart down the driveway, the wheels on the suitcase sounding like a machine gun on the cobblestone. I had wanted just regular pavement, but Lyle insisted cobblestone blended in with all of the other Los Angeles mansion style homes. In between his loving whispers to Freddie, Lyle turns to me and asks:

"Did you get what I left for you on the kitchen counter?" It's not loving, it's condescending, like he's asking if I actually remembered to pay the electricity bill or if I got the right apples at the supermarket.

"I did," I reply in the same tone. "Thank you." This I say lovingly, because there's something in my stomach that churns at a mile at a minute, and I feel uneasy that I'm intrigued by the gift I found early this morning. The present resides in the backpack around my shoulders, and I can feel its weight shift at the bottom. I can't be angry with a journal, he knows that's the best present he could have possibly gotten me. It's beautiful and mysterious. All of the pages are blank to accommodate my ideas and sketches. Right now they're pristine, begging to be touched with the soft stroke of my favourite pencil. The cover has been torn for style, as if a bear had swiped its claws along the brown leather cover. This I know Lyle did with his carving knife, the one he built most of our furniture from. Just as soon as my heart was able to soar, it quickly sinks into a black hole and is absorbed by the crushing violent atmosphere around us.