M I R A G E
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BJ Gary Lawrence
2016 Creative Writing Celebration: Short Story, 1st Place So I’ve been sleeping on the couch, pissing and washing up down at the Clark station on Auburn the last few days ‘cause the john’s in her part of the apartment. She’s been holed up there ever since I dropped the dog off in the country last Tuesday. Three days now. Hell, the way she yelled and swore that night when she saw how the dog’d torn up her new shoes, I thought, That’s it. Enough. I can do something about this. I’m fixing this problem, at least. That’s what I get for thinking, my old man would’ve said. It’s not like it was the worst thing in the world, dropping a dog off in the country. It’s not like nobody ever did that before. Some farmer’ll take care of him, surely. Probably some fat old farm wife in a red-and-white checkerboard apron with a plastic redand-white checkered table cloth over an old chrome-and-formica kitchen table will feed him table scraps and make him fat. Till he chews up her shoes. I could’ve taken BJ out somewhere and done worse. A lot worse. But I didn’t. So when I get home late that night after dropping him off, even though I have to get up early for work, what’s she say when I walk in? Thanks for doing that for me? Thanks for solving that problem for us? Shit no. Instead she says: Where’s the dog? Took me ten seconds. “Whatd’ya mean, where’s the dog?” I stood straighter, said matter-of-fact like: I took care of it. Then she looks at me like I strangled a goddamn chicken in front of her. Stomps off to the bedroom. Slams the door. The one between me and the bathroom. Finally she yells, “Don’t you come back here without my dog!” I worked that first day, drove by the spot I’d dumped him after I finished work — but it gets dark early here in December so I couldn’t see anything. Worked late pouring concrete, couldn’t get back the second day. Told my boss I had to go to the dentist today, the third day — just so’s I could look for the dumb dog in the 52
