Dog Park

Chapter 3

School is hot, crowded, and loud. It's always been that way, but the middle of September in LA is an especially brutal time to exist.
I force my way through the front gate, ID held out. The security guard doesn't care, too busy talking to a delivery woman to pay any attention to us.
Even so, I see two kids hop the fence on my way to first period.
*
I go to the dog park again. It's not weird, I tell myself. I go almost every night and have done so for three months. Cujo needs more exercise than a simple walk can give her, and she's inside almost all day. Hannah walks her in the morning and after school as part of her physical therapy, but it's still barely enough.
Even so, my palms are sweating as I twist the gate handle. Cujo is sitting by my feet, whining and huffing impatiently. As soon as the interior door is open, she's off like a shot. A quick look around the park returns no curly blonde heads, so I park myself on a bench while Cujo runs full force back and forth. Most dogs lie panting in the shade, which is entirely reasonable considering it's easily 95 degrees at five o'clock.
Not Cujo. She zooms back and forth, whining and letting out tiny almost-barks.
    I mess around on my phone for a little while, not looking up until I hear the barking. It's loud and not Cujo-like at all. At the entrance is Gaius, prancing and bowing at Cujo, who reciprocates. My heart soars when I see that, at the other end of the leash, is the boy.
He looks tired and more than a little beat up, but my breath still catches in my chest. He looks around as Gaius drags him and smiles when he sees me. I stand up and give Gaius a firm scratch behind the leg.
"Good to see you again too, buddy. Cujo's been lonely." I direct my statements towards the dog, but the boy answers for him.
"He's missed her too. Go run, Gaius." He unclips the leash and Gaius bounds off, following Cujo's trail of dust. He hangs up the leash and comes to sit beside me. The dogs need no ball today, occupied as they are with rolling around and around on the sand-dirt, biting each other's faces and yipping happily.
"It's hard getting back to school, huh?" It's not really a question, but he answers anyway.
    "Absurdly hard. You'd think we'd be used to it."
"You'd think. How's Gaius fitting into life with school and all?" I hope I'm not prying; I want to ask so much more. I want to know everything about this boy.
"Surprisingly well, actually. I walk him before school and my dad takes him during the day. Mostly he naps on my bed or chases squirrels in the backyard. It's been too hot to do much, though, so who knows what'll happen in winter."
"Same here. Cujo spends all day wrestling with a toy or napping." We watch our dogs run, seemingly endlessly, back and forth along the fence separating the parks. On the 20-49 pound side, an Australian Shepard is running with them.
As the sun goes down, exhaustion seems to settle over the park. The blazing sun has left everyone feeling drowsy, anchy, and sunburnt. The only things moving are a few birds across the street at the school and our idiot dogs. Even the shepherd has tapped out and is greedily slurping from the water fountain. I sneak a look at the boy next to me. His fingers are restively tapping at his legs and his head is turned the opposite way, but his torso is angled towards me. His ID badge, swinging from the front of his black denim jacket far too warm for this time of year, reads Oliver Hirsch.
FInally, a name. It's not creepy, I tell myself again. As he turns back to me, I look back at Cujo. I hope he puts the flush of my face down to the heat and permanent sunburn that comes with existing March-November.
*
When I get home, there's a note at the kitchen table.
Out getting boba w/ Dee and Coo.
Be back eventually. Don't be gross
-Hannah, 4:15
I look at my phone. It's almost seven. Not enough reason to worry, though. I trust Dee, even if I don't know who 'and Co." entails.

'Don't be gross' refers to an incident from about a year ago. Mom was out on the midnight shift and Hannah was supposed to be at a sleepover for the night. I'd taken home my (now ex) boyfriend for the first time, giddy and full of adrenaline. Hannah snuck through the third-story kitchen window, as normal humans do, to pick up something from her room. Instead of an empty house, she saw her brother and a heretofore unknown young man shirtless and very, very close together.
I eat the rest of the rice from a few days ago. It is, in fact, yuck, but hasn't actively gone bad yet.
In bed, I take out my phone. I scroll aimlessly through social media, switching back and forth between apps like a bored tiger pacing its cage. Finally, I give up. I pull up Torrent and put a movie on in the background. Yarn in my lap and crotchet needle in my hand, I can relax. My hands are occupied, my eyes and ears are busy, and, most importantly, my brain is almost quiet. Even so, I don't take a full breath until I hear Hannah come into the kitchen.