The Littlest Razzle-Dazzle

The Littlest Razzle-Dazzle by Tray Ellis

Roscoe Robinson was a big man with sure hands. In high school, he'd played center on the football team.  He'd snapped the football between his legs to the receiving arms of his quarterback and then, like a brick wall, he'd blocked opponents from gaining territory into the area of protection.  During his career, he'd protected his quarterback with determined ferocity, foresight based on reading the defensive positioning, and gut instincts. He'd been so sure of it all.

Now he wasn't sure of anything, and all he had left was the determined ferocity.

Being three months into recovery from the worst heartbreak he'd ever experienced, he woke every day to the repeated mantra that it would get better.  Someday his heart would heal. He told himself this every day, sometimes every hour, even though it felt like a lie.  Then, he got himself up and kept himself going.

After four years of what he'd thought of as domestic bliss, Roscoe had come home to find his boyfriend waiting in the kitchen.  Shawn had a small satchel next to his feet, which was all that remained of the things he'd brought with him into the relationship.  Behind him, the counter was already bare of various appliances.  A hurried, bewildered scan of the living room showed Shawn's coffee table to be missing, as well as his DVD collection, and his favorite recliner. He'd even spirited away Flash, the little brown and white gerbil they'd raised together. With lowered eyes, Shawn admitted he wasn't happy, he had bigger dreams he wanted to follow, and that he was embarking on that newest adventure now.  Roscoe wasn't a part of that future.

It had been a devastating surprise.  Roscoe's vaunted foresight had failed, his knowledge of Shawn had obviously been deficient, and his gut instincts were stunned and useless. 

The next day and for many days afterward, Roscoe dragged himself to work. He treated his patients professionally and their bodies healed under his practiced touch, but the camaraderie he'd shared before seemed distant to him now.  Healing the body felt like a perfunctory task and he lent his steady hands to the application of it, but all the friendly chit-chat had fled his tongue. 

When grandmothers shuffled in with knee and hip problems, he strengthened their muscles but could only listen with envious shards in his heart as they spoke of their lovely families. When young athletes hobbled in, one limb in need of repair, and related how someone supported them through thick and thin, Roscoe wrapped his own heart as well as their joints with bandages. 

Now, he was facing down his older sister, and even though he weighed a hundred pounds more and stood five inches taller, she stared him down. 

"What you need is a new best friend."  She shook a finger at him.  "And I found you the perfect one."

Roscoe tried to imagine who Andrea could possible mean.  "But I have a best friend.  That's not what I lost."

"Hush," she ordered.  "Come with me."  She marched Roscoe out to her car and drove him across town to the rescue shelter.  "My friend Kyra works here.  She called me and told me about a dog here that's perfect for you.  Already house trained and everything.  Sweet as can be."

Roscoe followed her into the building.  It smelled like many animals lived there, but with the additional scent of antiseptic and mint, as if the staff cleaned and cleaned until they might someday eradicate the telltale scent.  He didn't want a dog.  The last thing he wanted was to fuss with a new pet.  He missed Flash a little, but that wasn't the hole in his life.  Replacing a pet wouldn't fix his broken heart. But moving a mountain would be easier than going against Andrea, so he humored her.