Dog Medicine (16 page)

O
CTOBER
1996

One weekend a few months into our lives as housemates, Greg, Chris, and I took my truck out to the Gorge Amphitheater, a postcard-worthy concert venue on the Columbia River, a few hours east of Seattle. Melissa stayed back in Seattle for work and to spend some time with her now ex-boyfriend, to try to make sense of their parting, to somehow manage the end of their relationship gracefully.

At the Gorge, we saw Phish in concert and tailgated in the grass. I didn't know much about Phish, but I liked hanging out with the guys, and my attraction to Greg was intensifying. He was easy to hang out with, funny as hell, and smart. The three of us danced in the grass, drank beer, and took a picture with the Gorge behind us, a deep rock canyon, a backdrop so beautiful it practically seemed fake.

We drove home from the concert across the dark, steep mountains. Chris slept in the backseat and I asked Greg about his astrological sign. “Honestly? I don't know,” he said. “I think I'm a Sagittarius.” This, the sign most compatible with mine, Libra, seemed to me the official signal that my crush was entering a new and possibly fruitful phase.

“Oh, man,” I said, smiling. He smiled too, as if he knew exactly what I meant. But I felt conflicted about disrupting our house's vibe if we were to hook up. We were four young friends living together. So much would change if two of us paired off into a
couple, especially as Melissa endured a difficult breakup. A relationship between Greg and me was probably a bad idea. But still, I remember feeling oddly overcome that night, traveling back to our house nestled high on the hill. The road was dark, Chris snored, and I began to fall for Greg. But this felt different than past romances where I was swept away, unable to contain my emotion. This wasn't a lightning bolt. I didn't swoon. I just thought, calmly, “I could really love this man.”

 • • • 

In October, my mom and dad arrived for a three-day visit around my birthday. I'd been in the new house only about six weeks and the visit seemed too soon, but it also seemed belated. Their encouragement and enthusiasm were a salve. I was already doing well, but their delight at how things had turned made me think I'd managed a miraculous recovery. The question was whether it would last.

At dinner in the city, they asked about the depression and whether it was threatening any kind of return. I didn't have an answer for them. How was I supposed to know? I didn't know it was coming the first time I collapsed. I felt okay so far. Wasn't that enough? These kinds of conversations left me feeling as if I were walking a tightrope. One glance in the wrong direction, one wrong thought, and I'd slip, entangle myself in the line, and fall into the abyss.

The first night my parents were in town, Greg was out with his lab-mates having a few beers. My parents were asleep in my bed, so I was relegated to the futon in the living room. I was half-awake in the pitch dark when the front door opened and Greg walked in. The streetlamp's light flooded the entryway and Bunker rose to greet him, tail wagging, breathing heavily. Greg leaned down to pet him. “Hi, buddy,” he said. “Sorry. Didn't mean to
wake you, bud.” He closed the door and tiptoed by the futon. I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “Did I wake you up?” he asked.

“No, I was just daydreaming,” I said.

“Pre-dreaming,” he whispered. “Planning what you'll dream about after you fall asleep.” He sat down on the edge of the futon and pulled off his backpack. “Never too early to prepare,” he said, smiling.

“Have a fun night?” I asked stretching my arms above my head. He said that they'd gone to Big Time, his favorite bar near campus, and then he stopped talking. He just looked at me. I wondered if he felt the connection too, then he leaned down, held my face in his hands, and kissed me. For a moment I thought about my parents lying in the next room, but that reality slipped away with the kiss, with the weight of his body soon on top of mine. I remember thinking that he was more
man
than I'd ever felt, his broad shoulders and sure arms. I arched my back into his kiss. We made out for a while, until he finally pulled himself away. “Don't want to be caught here in the morning by your parents,” he whispered, laughing.

“Yeah,” I said. “No doubt.”

“See you in the morning,” he said. He kissed me again, stood up, and started toward the stairs. “Man, I've been waiting a long time to do that.” He laughed, did a little fist pump, and headed up to his bedroom.

I did a giddy little twist on the futon and held my hands to my mouth.
He'd been waiting a long time to do that
. That was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me.

My parents, Aunt Aurora and I spent the next day at my new favorite dog park, a place east of Seattle called Marymoor. My aunt and cousins had taken me there with Bunker and their dog Brandy. I watched as Bunker flung himself into the Sammamish
River after sticks and balls, then dripped through the woods following a scent. Bunker absolutely loved the water. Swimming was his bliss. When Bunker was happy, I was happy. My dad and I walked behind him on a quiet trail. We were a few paces ahead of everyone else. “Man,” my dad said, “Bunker just
loves
this place.”

“I know,” I said. “I try to come here at least once a week. It's his favorite place for sure.”

“And you?” my dad asked. “You're still happy?”

I walked a few more paces, smiled, kicked a few leaves, and said, “Yep.” I thought of Greg's kiss the night before, of my easy job that paid the bills just fine, my daily, curative walks with Bunker. I thought about writing more, about how I would look for an editing job, but felt no pressure just yet. I thought about Melissa and Chris and Greg and our house, how we would get a keg and call our friends and invite everyone over for pizza and beer. How when a friend fell asleep on the pool table, we laughed and took pictures after sticking Goldfish crackers up his nose.

“I'm really, really good, Dad. Seattle really fits me well.”

My dad put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me tight. He kissed the top of my head and said, “I'm so happy, Julie.” His voice cracked. “I'm so happy for you.”

Bunker ran ahead of us, then tripped and his back legs gave out behind him like they'd suffered instant paralysis. He whimpered and yelped, then fell down screaming a nearly human cry of pain. I ran to him. My dad started running too, and soon we were kneeling over Bunker, our hands hovering over him, not sure whether we should touch him. He was lying on his side wagging his tail, panting.

“What the hell happened?” my dad said.

“I have no idea. He just kind of fell.” I gently touched his back, his hips, his hind legs, and Bunker just lay there panting and
smiling at us. My mom and Aunt Aurora caught up with us. Aurora said, “Was that scream from
Bunker
?”

She knelt down and whispered calmly to him, “Shhh. Shhh. It's okay, buddy. Something hurts, huh?” She looked at me with alarm. I could see that she wanted to say something but thought better of it. I imagined the worst. Bone cancer. Doggie leukemia.

“What?” I asked. “What do you think is wrong?”

“I don't know,” Aurora said, sounding too chipper for the face she'd just made. “Must've stepped in a hole or something. Twisted his leg. Let's see if we can get him up.” She instructed me to stand next to him, then she walked ahead a bit and called him to her. He wouldn't get up. “You switch with me. I'll catch him if he falls. You call him to you.”

My hands were shaking. “Bunker,” I said, backing away from him slowly. “Come here, buddy. Can you get up? Come on, let's get you back to the car.” Brandy swooped by me and Bunker watched him sprint along to the creek's edge. “Come on, buddy.” Bunker panted and then stood up and walked toward me shakily.

“See?” Aurora said unconvincingly. “He looks okay.”

Bunker limped right next to me the rest of the hike. He didn't romp. He didn't play. He did not walk like a seven-month-old puppy but rather like a geriatric dog that couldn't manage exertion. I saw Aurora whisper to my mom. I imagined the worst, and Bunker stayed right by my side.

My parents left the next morning. I promised I would take Bunker to the veterinarian, but the idea left me paralyzed with dread.

As I prepared to drive my parents to the airport the next morning, Bunker seemed fine again. He hopped into the car without any hesitation. The worry wouldn't leave me, though. My mom sat in the backseat with him and mentioned that I might want to take him to the vet just to be sure, but not to worry because he probably just slipped.

I nodded, not wanting to think about it. The whole idea of something being wrong with Bunker was too terrifying. So I told them that I was thinking about dating Greg. I watched as my dad tried to hide his delight. “He seems cool,” he said, before he not-so-covertly winked at my mom. They approved.

N
OVEMBER
1996

Greg and I were proceeding slowly in our secret relationship. For much of those fall months, soon after everyone in the house went to bed, Greg would drift down the stairs to my room, or I'd go to his. I remember tiptoeing up the stairs, cursing the loose floorboards and squeaking door hinges. We didn't want Melissa or Chris to know that we were fooling around. Our pairing off would forever change our house's wonderful energy.

Bunker hadn't fallen again, or shown any sign of distress, so I put off taking him to the veterinarian. He climbed gingerly up the steps with me at night as if he knew he had to be quiet. When we reached Greg's room, often Greg would be in bed reading and once he saw me, he would put the papers down and take me in his arms. Bunker would lie on the floor and fall asleep quietly. Greg and I talked in whispers as we grew to know one another. Greg's wit was quick, and it was difficult not to laugh out loud. Soon we'd begin kissing, petting, and slowly pulling off each other's clothes. Sometimes we would hear Chris or Melissa heading to the bathroom and we would freeze, desire building in us because all of this was a secret, and a little bit forbidden.

I couldn't deny that when I felt the weight of Greg's body at the edge of my bed, from a deep sleep, my arms would instinctively reach out for him like they realized they desperately needed him the exact moment he appeared. My eyes would stay closed, and we would move together, our mouths on each other's necks, our breathing deep, calm. We'd kiss slowly, exploring, quietly, even
innocently. Nothing below the waist; I'd asked for that. He respected my request, and I wondered if he wanted me only because he couldn't entirely have me. But then I'd feel his hands, his soft and silken, callous-free hands, the hands of an intellectual, a thinker. Something about the softness of them made me trust that this man was different. I remember thinking:
I can love a kind man
. This thought came as a revelation.

We didn't talk about what we did at night. Then Greg would brush his finger on my hip as he passed me in the kitchen. That touch would send a firecracker through me. But part of me held back. It seemed too soon to have a new boyfriend. Since I was eighteen, I'd been in relationships all but a few months. It was comfortable to have a boyfriend, but for the first time, I craved independence. The few months of single life in Seattle had suited me surprisingly well. Greg commented that my autonomy was something he admired. We had fun together, laughed, made out, and talked for hours. This was not an all-encompassing kind of love. It was easy and fun, not desperate like the love I'd known with Will and Brian. That kind of love meant crazy longing and inevitable emotional distress. It meant crippling fear of losing something that sustained me. Now I felt fine if Greg and I didn't connect for a while. I didn't long for his call or get frustrated if he didn't come to see me in the dark of night for a few days. I wondered if this meant that I wasn't really that interested in him. I felt great with him, but I also felt great without him. Maintaining my autonomy didn't feel like the kind of love I'd always known, so I second-guessed our connection. It was easy. He was easy. He was calm and fun and didn't act like he owned me. He was interested in me, and liked me, clearly, but he didn't expect me to want to be with him every second. He didn't mind if another guy called the house asking to talk to me, even Will. He encouraged Melissa and me to go out on our own. “Have fun,” he'd say, and he'd mean it. “Have a great time.”

Melissa and I had a blast out on the town in Seattle. We would go see our favorite band, The Super Sonic Soul Pimps, and we'd dance in the mosh pit and try to figure out how we could approach the adorable bass player. One night she stayed out late, but I was tired so I took the bus back up the hill and returned to an empty house. Greg was still working and Chris was out with friends.

I snuggled with Bunker alone, then picked up the phone and called Will. We still talked. Truth was, when it came to Will, the man who didn't show up when I needed him, I couldn't get enough. He told me that leaving me was the worst mistake of his life. I wanted to hear him say this a thousand times. I inhaled his sorrow and regret. I wanted to believe that none of the men in my life had ever meant to hurt me. I wanted my father to tell me that he wished he'd been home more, not working so much and missing everything. I wanted to believe that Clay would come to me someday and say that he didn't know what he was thinking when he chased me, hit me, insulted me. I wanted him to explain, over and over and over, that it had absolutely nothing to do with me, that I was okay, that he actually liked me.

D
ECEMBER
1996

Melissa was still suffering through her breakup and had gone home for an extended Christmas break. She'd asked me to pick her up at the airport on the 30th of December, and I put it on my calendar. I was working that Monday. I'd been hired full time as a receptionist at a small downtown law firm. Soon after I started at the job, a very handsome bike messenger started appearing at my desk almost daily. He was everything I'd fallen for in the past: rugged, handsome, tall, rough around the edges, and nothing but trouble. His name was Jason, and he asked me out on a date. I accepted. No one ever had to know. I could just see how it went. Greg and I hadn't had sex yet, hadn't discussed our relationship status. I could go on one measly date.

That day, forecasters were calling for an enormous snowstorm. Routes across the Cascades were closed, weathermen warned of several feet of snow falling, then a warming that would turn the snow into slushy rivers pouring down city streets. At work, everyone was talking about the storm, how offices would most likely be closed on Tuesday. But I wasn't really paying attention because I was looking forward to my secret date with a brand-new bad boy.

We went to a bar in Belltown, had a few beers, and talked to the bartenders about the coming weather. Jason was fit and attractive with dark hair and a wry, mischievous smile. But he only wanted to talk about his motorcycle and a new tattoo he planned to ink the next weekend. I deduced, based on the complete lack of information he offered about his personal life, that he probably
had a girlfriend or maybe even a wife. We watched the snow come down outside the bar window, marveling at the beauty of it, chain-smoking cigarettes like morons. Soon Jason said, “I live pretty far outside the city. Maybe I should crash at your place tonight since you're right in Queen Anne.”

I knew exactly what he was suggesting. I grinned, a bit giddy from the nicotine. “Oh, yes. Definitely a much safer option.” I blew smoke out of the corner of my mouth, all kinds of emotion rushing inside of me. Part of me did not want him to come to my house, but I had no idea how to tell a man “No.” I didn't want to hurt his feelings or make him sad, because I didn't want him to hurt
my
feelings or make
me
sad.

“Can we get the tab?” Jason asked, his eyes still fixed on mine.

We took the bus back to the Magnolia house, locked my bedroom door, and dove into bed. I didn't even know if I wanted to do it, but I did. I'd never had a one-night stand. The momentary ecstasy with Jason was followed, of course, by terrible guilt and instant regret. Lying naked next to Jason late that night, I heard Greg climb the outside stairs to the house, enter, go to the kitchen, then to my door. Clear as day, I realized: I had sabotaged this good thing with Greg. It was too healthy, too easy. It was midnight and he'd been working since nine that morning. He knocked lightly, so as not to wake Chris upstairs. Melissa wasn't home; she was flying back to Seattle from Ohio and I was supposed to pick her up at the airport, but I assumed her flight was cancelled due to the storm.

Instead I lay naked next to a man I didn't care about, who didn't care about me. Jason slept soundly while I had visions of tossing him out the window, pushing him out onto the sidewalk. Greg knocked again and Bunker stirred. He looked at me as if to say,
Now you've really blown it.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, ignored Greg's third knock, and planned my lie: that I slept through his knocks, that I was sick,
that I fell asleep with headphones on. It came as a sickly realization that Greg must've known I wasn't alone because Jason's souped-up bike leaned against the mantle in the living room.

Soon I heard slow footsteps ascend the stairs and I put my face in my hands. Greg's mattress creaked above as he climbed into bed alone, and I longed to leave Jason, tiptoe up the steps, and slip into bed next to the kind, beautiful man who I knew would treat me well. What had I done? I imagined leaving a note for Jason asking him to please leave upon waking, to just disappear. But I was locked under Jason's muscled arm, unable to move—not because I physically couldn't, but because I was afraid. Part of me wanted this: wild sex with Jason, a man I knew would hurt me, leave me, and treat me terribly. This was what I knew. This was comfortable, familiar. I was helpless to the pull of a man who might not love me. I lay in bed thinking:
Idiot. You deserve assholes because you're an asshole.

The phone rang at midnight and I heard Melissa's voice on the answering machine through the wall. She'd made it to Seattle but was stranded at the airport in the snowstorm. I lay there frozen, sinking even further.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I pulled open the blinds and the snow was coming down hard now, at least six inches on the ground. A bus skidded down Magnolia Street, braking erratically to try to slow itself down, nearly sideswiping my truck. Melissa's voice was pleading on the answering machine, “Are you coming to get me? There are, like, no cabs or anything. We're completely snowed in and you're the only one I know with four-wheel drive. Can you please come and get me? Hello? What's going on?”

It's indefensible, all of this, but I did it. I screwed around and ruined a sweet, budding romance. I stranded my best friend at the airport. I didn't even get up to answer her call. I stayed in bed under a strange man's strong arm and, at the time, I didn't know why. I was comfortable being trapped under him, content to suffer in the familiar territory of a man who didn't care about me. I
couldn't accept kindness from a man; it honestly repulsed me. I didn't trust that I could be the kind of friend Melissa deserved, the good friend she thought I was. I only knew that I'd just completely betrayed the two most important people in my life. I was a statue that had once come alive, then turned back into stone.

When I woke in the morning, Bunker was sitting up, looking at me as if to say,
Who's this guy? Where's the nice-smelling guy?
He jumped on the bed and stepped on both of us. It's worth noting that Bunker
never
jumped on the bed and stepped on me. Jason laughed, “Whoa!” he said, too loud, protecting his naked penis from Bunker's sharp claws. “Hey, buddy! Nice to see you too!”

I slipped out from under Jason's arm and put my underwear on. Jason's sexy ruggedness from the night before appeared pockmarked and scarred in the morning. He asked if he could smoke in my room and I mumbled that the landlord didn't allow it.

How would I get Jason out without Greg seeing? I couldn't tell Jason that I was sort of dating someone else, and I couldn't let Greg see Jason. They would both hate me. I stopped dead, said nothing, and Jason dressed as I sat on the edge of my bed in dirty jeans, a T-shirt, and no bra.

“That was awesome, baby,” he said, holding the back of my neck and kissing me again. I smiled awkwardly and we clanked teeth. “I gotta get back on the bike, get home, and clean up before another day of dodging dumbass Seattle drivers—in snow, no less. See you later?”

“Sounds good,” I said, tempted to ask him to leave through the window. He pulled his messenger bag across his chest and walked out of my room. I heard the click-click-click of his bike chain in the living room. “Hey, man,” he said, to someone. I held my hand to my mouth, praying that it was Chris who saw Jason. I sat on my bed and prayed that Melissa had made it home safely. I prayed that Greg might forgive me. I prayed that I hadn't fucked up my new life.

I watched out my window as Jason rolled his bike onto the sidewalk, hopped on, and slid carelessly down slushy Queen Anne Hill. Bunker whined to go outside. I had no choice but to face my newest mess; Bunker's bladder wouldn't let me hide in my room all day. I cracked open my bedroom door, pulled it with a slow creak, and Bunker trotted out and turned the corner into the living room. I heard Greg's voice whisper, heavy with sadness, “Hey, buddy.”

I wanted to scream. What would I say? How would I explain what I'd done? How could I say how stupid I was? That I knew I had just ruined this beautiful, sweet connection we were cultivating? That I didn't know what drove me to do it? That I was self-destructive and maybe it was best that he not date me?

I stepped into the room, struck with one glance by the heartbreak etched on Greg's face. He looked at me, searchingly, as if trying to understand who I was after all. I opened my mouth to speak but he shook his head, got up, and walked away. He went upstairs and slammed the door, and I stood in the living room with my hand on my stomach, sour juices flowing. If I had to choose between Greg and Jason, I would choose Greg a million times over—no question. But something about his kindness, his ease, made him less attractive to me. I understood men like Jason: men who left, men who didn't show up, men who knew that I was not worthy, men who had more important things to do with their time, who thought they could do better than dumb, ugly me.

After Bunker went outside to pee, I sat in the living room in my pajamas. When Greg came downstairs, I tried to speak, but he left without a word. He walked out the door, got into his blue Ford Taurus with nearly bald tires that slid like sleds in the snow, and swerved up over the hill toward campus. He left without even looking at me.

Bunker came to me and sat at my feet, leaning into me, bringing undeserved relief to my newest fuck-up. I kissed his soft head, petted his little skull bump, and whispered a quiet
Shhhhit.
Part
of me wanted to call Jason, ask for a nooner. Get drunk at 2 p.m. and run through the snowy streets acting idiotic. But Bunker lay down and groaned, and I stayed with him. I sat down on the floor next to him and took a few long, deep breaths, watching the clouds multiply over Lake Union. I didn't call Jason. I didn't do anything. I just sat in silence and soon began to contemplate that perhaps what I needed was to be alone. I didn't need Jason or Will or Greg. I just needed my dog.