84 - Dogs

     "I figured we could be friends," she said.

     "Maybe later," I answered looking over to my car.

     "You know now that..."

     "I've had two dogs," I started, cutting off her thought process.  "One died and is buried in our yard.  The other one just up and ran away."

     She looked puzzled.

     "Any day I want," I continued, "I can step out, see where that dog is buried,  remember the good times, and feel sad."

     "I don't understand how this..."

     "To this day I don't know what happened to that other dog.  Was he hit by a car?  Did he starve somewhere?  Did somebody take him in?  Did they take him to a kill shelter?"

     I stared at the pavement then over to my car again.  The knot in my stomach had slowly worked its way out.  I finally managed pull my keys out of my pocket.

     "It's in my best interest to disappear for a while.  I don't want to be that dead dog in your backyard. I don't want you look out to your favorite tree and feel sad.  I don't want to be that puppy-eyed son of a bitch you feel sorry for because you've moved on and he can't.  We'll be friends later, when we can."

That Beautiful Black Man