One Shot: Yasashisa Sayonara
Hunter was dreaming of flying. He soared with his arms outstretched, wind all around him, never
cold, never uncomfortable, the feeling of freedom was total, and beyond
anything he had ever felt in the waking world.
Up he soared, into the grey, cloudy sky faster than the speed of dark,
above the city skyscrapers, then down like a hawk, straight at the ground, and
just when it looked as though he would plough straight into the pavement at
terminal velocity, he pulled up at the last yoctosecond, landing feather light
on his feet. Two steps later and he was
on skates and full hockey gear, but without a stick. He skated back to the bench and stepped though into the basement
of his old girlfriend, Catelyn. He was
sitting on the small Ikea sofa looking into her eyes. She looks the same as she did in high school, shocking blonde
hair short and wavy on top blending down into a buzz-cut on the bottom, dyed a
dark burgundy. He couldn’t hear what
she was saying as someone is banging on the door. They jumped up off the sofa.
The banging continued.
“Hunter! Phone!”
The dream faded to the recesses of Hunter’s fuzzy mind. He looked over at the ancient clock radio,
the dim red digital LED numbers read 12:06.
He rolled over and looked up at the tin-foil covered window, tiny shards
of light speared through randomly, illuminating particles of dust as the
floated weightlessly through the air.
Hunter rubbed his eyes, annoyed.
Bill knew he was on the night shift this week, and he had only managed
to get to bed three hours ago, and he felt odd almost as if his limbs were no
longer attached to his body, yet at the same time unbearably heavy.
The bedroom door opened a crack, “You decent?” Bill wanted to know.
“Almost never,” Hunter muttered.
Bill poked his head into the room, “Yer dads on the phone,
and before you get all pissy with me, I’m only waking you up because he said it
was important.”
There was an unwritten rule between the boys of Lond Ho that
stated neither one of them was to be disturbed if their bedroom doors were
closed, short of fire, earthquake, or alien invasion. This was none of those things, but if Hunter’s auld man said it
was important, then Bill wasn’t going to be the one to tell him to call back
later.
Hunter threw the covers off and slipped into his black and
red hooded school robe and stepped into the hall. He stubbed his toe on a beer bottle lying on the floor and nearly
stumbled, catching himself on the Big Leather Chair. The bright red, plastic
handset for the phone was on the arm of the chair and Hunter picked it up as he
flopped into the chair’s fat, plush seat cushion.
Bill was back in the kitchenette doing the washing up. He enjoyed doing the dishes, well maybe
“enjoyed” was too strong a word. More
accurately he tolerated doing the dishes if for no other reason than he knew if
he took care of them, they would be done right. The first (and last) time Hunter had done the washing he had
mixed together glasses, dishes, pots and utensils together in some insane,
random miasmic nonsense that Bill could not abide. Didn’t Hunter realise there was a right way and a wrong way to do
things? Glasses get washed first when
the water was cleanest, then dishes and bowls, then came utensils. The water is drained and changed, then the
pots and pans go last. It made perfect
sense to Bill, a shame Hunter couldn’t get his head around it. From that first random dishwashing moment,
Hunter had been relegated to drying, which was fine with him. He never liked doing the washing up anyway.
Upon hearing the plastic click of the phone being hung up,
Bill stepped back into the main room with a dish-towel over his shoulder. “You ready to dry?”
Hunter was sitting in silence, a strange look on his
face. His skin had lost all colour and
he looked totally out of it.
“What’s up?”
“Hm?” Hunter looked
up as if just realizing Bill was in the room.
“You all right?”
Bill ventured, taking a step forward.
Hunter was looking around the flat as if he didn’t recognize
the place, “Oh yeah, sure. Fine. I gotta go to my parent’s place. They’re putting the dog down.” His voice was flat, dry, and bereft of
emotion.
“Oh, hey sorry to hear that man,” Bill said, taking a few
more steps closer to where Hunter sat, looking so small in the Big Leather
Chair. Bill clenched and unclenched his
fingers, wondering if he should put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder to try and
comfort him or something, but ultimately decided against it. Hunter didn’t like to be touched, and Bill
didn’t want the situation to get any more awkward than it was.
“Right then, I’m going to finish the washing up…” Bill said,
stepping back into the kitchenette.
Without even realizing what he was doing, Hunter was on the
phone again, this time talking to his friend Kelli.
“I really hate to ask, but could you maybe do me a favour
and gimmie a lift to my parents?”
Kelli detected something in his voice, something sad and
desperate, “I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks kid.”
* * *
Hunter sat in silence, his hands flat on the top of his
thighs, staring straight ahead at the traffic on the freeway. He barely remembered getting into the car,
or the trip out of the downtown core to the freeway. Kelli asked him what was wrong at one point and he was pretty
sure he answered, but if asked he couldn’t have recalled his exact answer.
Kelli took one hand off the steering wheel and reached over
to give Hunter’s hand a tender squeeze of support. Hunter jerked his hand away as if stung. He disliked physical contact at the best of
times, but this was different. His mood
was dark, dour, and he wondered briefly if losing his “puppy,” his childhood
“best friend” would spell a “farewell to tenderness” for his very soul.
Kelli sighed, she was just trying to show him a little
support, and he wouldn’t have it. Why
was it Hunter just couldn’t accept the tiniest of touches from her? She was only trying to help, to show some
kindness. He must not have understood
that he needed Human contact when he was like this. She was beginning to wonder if this was going to be the way it
always was with him. She exited the
freeway on Bow Bottom Trail as the stone walls and gabled rooftops of the
suburbs hove into view.
Hunter closed his eyes.
In this moment, memories of the dog he affectionately called “Dal-chan”
flooded his mind. He remembered picking
her up at the farm, scratching the proud mother and father dogs behind their
ears. The doggie daddy, a big, fluffy,
grey, black and white Siberian Husky, was HUGE, easily the biggest dog Hunter
had ever seen. And friendly to boot! He
plodded over to ten year old Hunter and sat down at his feet, licking his face
when he got in close. Hunter giggled
and almost fell over. The doggie mommy
was an Alaskan Malamute, grey, brown and white. She seemed a little more nervous than the daddy, she seemed to
know that people were there to take her babies away. Hunter flashed forward a year, he was sitting in the pool in back
yard of their house in Phoenix the day Dal-chan came out of quarantine. He sloshed out of the pool as his puppy
padded around the corner, a pink ribbon around her neck. She licked his face as he hugged her and
scratched her neck, promising he would never let her go again. Another year another house, this one on a
hill, Dal-chan sat out on the back deck, proudly puffing her white chest out as
she looked out over the fence, across the rooftops at her domain. Hunter watched her from the back door, not
wanting to spoil the moment. More
memories, running in open fields, giving a big “woof” at strangers who strayed
too close, but then running over and allowing them to give her head a scratch,
walking, just walking. There were a lot
of walks. A lot of scratching behind
the ears, a lot of doggie licks to the face, hands, legs too many good memories,
Hunter couldn’t quite believe that after today there would be no more new
memories, only the old, fading as time marched on until one day only a fuzzy,
indistinct recollection would remain.
It seemed to Hunter that his whole life was a blur of late, one day
fading into the next, becoming as indistinguishable as grains of sand blowing
across the dunes
The car rolled to a stop.
“We’re here,” Kelli announced, “You need me to come in with
you?”
Hunter shook his head, “No thanks kid, I have to do this alone.”
* * *
Hunter stood out on the back deck, his parents stood on the
other side of the storm door to give him some time to say goodbye. Dallas the thirteen year old Malamute/Husky
was curled up on the cool cobbles in front of the garage. She looked up as Hunter walked down the
stairs towards her. She struggled to
stand, to run over to greet him like she always did, but her hips would not
allow it and she collapsed to the ground.
Hunter stood beside her for a moment, then dropped down beside her,
stroking her fuzzy head. Tears began
forming in his eyes, but Hunter quickly wiped them away, determined not to cry.
She turned to him, gently licking his hands.
He got closer, and she gave him some face licks before suddenly
stopping. She looked up into Hunter’s
eyes, and as if sensing his distress gave him a look that seemed to say: “It’s
okay.” Hunter looked back into
Dal-chan’s big, brown eyes and hugged her like he had a thousand times before,
knowing it was the last time.
It was close to thirty minutes later when the auld man knelt
down beside Hunter.
“It’s time son,” he said simply, putting a hand on his boy’s
shoulder.
“Okay,” Hunter swallowed, gritting his teeth, holding back
tears through sheer force of will. He
was determined not to show his emotions in front of the auld man.
He gave Dal-chan a final kiss on her fuzzy dome, and she
gave his face one final, tender doggie kiss.
Hunter had to leave, another second and he would break down completely,
and he could not allow that to happen.
He got to his feet and said goodbye to his parents, heading in the
direction of the side gate.
He didn’t remember
getting into the car, or what he said as they pulled away from the curb. After merging back on to the freeway, Kelli
reached over and squeezed Hunter’s hand.
This time he didn’t pull away.
They drove in silence until the downtown skyscrapers loomed
into view on the horizon. Hunter’s eyes
suddenly began to well up with tears, but by now his discipline had all but
abandoned him, his foolish attempt to control himself was finished and he knew
he had to let go. Tears filled his eyes
and ran hotly down his face, but this time he allowed them to flow for as long
as they had to.
The End
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