A Close Companion

As always, on the first day of one of these new events, I'm anxious. I'm not good around people but I've been trying to get out more. To put myself out there and make an effort.

My therapist says I'm doing well. Even

that

was a difficult first step - seeing a therapist - but she's kind and patient, even when it took a few sessions before I opened up. I could go through the laundry list of issues that I think led to my problems but, ultimately, my mother kept me away from people. That's it. Mostly.

She had a hard life, on the constant run from my abusive father. I could never go out. I could never have friends over or take pictures for the yearbook or anything. She was all I had. For most of my life.

I think I would've been a lot worse if it wasn't for little Gumdrop. And Sunshine after her when Gumdrop got too old. They were both mutts that my mother got from, well, I'm not sure where. She just came home with Gumdrop one day. She was a scrawny dog with scars but still big enough to scare me. And yet she was persistent in wanting to love me and I eventually gave in.

We were inseparable, Gumdrop and me. When she died, I locked myself away. To this day it still hurts to remember. In my dark little corner of whatever place we were living at the time. Reading and ignoring life. Until Sunshine showed up. I was mean to her at first because she wasn't Gumdrop. She wasn't. She was smaller with longer fur and an overbite that wasn't cute. And she didn't even

try

to be my friend like Gumdrop.

I think loneliness won out for both of us and we slowly bonded over it. She passed two years ago and it hurt just as bad this time, even though I was on my own and finally in a stable place. I'd moved out.

Well, no. My mother moved out. And away. I don't know where she is. I graduated high school years before and got an easy job in a warehouse where I don't have to talk to people. One day, I came home and she just wasn't there. No note but she'd taken all of her personal belongings. It hurt less than when Gumdrop and Sunshine passed.

My therapist says I'm making good progress. Slow but good. I'm not so sure but she says that it's important that I

want

to go to these things. These events. And I do. It's good for me, I know that.

But I still sit in the back row of the old community college. The teacher nods in my general direction but I stare down at the ancient desk, scratched and scarred and inked by thousands and thousands of students.

Others file in slowly and I sneak glances at them as I open my notebook. And click my pen. And watch. And click my pen. And click my pen. And click my pen.

It's a small group, mostly girls and nearly all young but there's a few older people as well.

I can see the teacher doing a silent count before he nods again.

"Welcome to creative writing!" he says. His voice is chipper and he smiles before I look back down at my desk. And click my pen. He seems nice. Smaller. Thin. Going a little bald but a full, thick black beard. "Let's start by introducing ourselves, shall we?"

Oh no.

I can already feel my mouth run dry as I stare at the carved corner of my desk. I hate this part. I hate it. My pen clicks in my hand. And then again. And again.

They talk. I listen, sneaking glances and trying to pay attention but I've already forgotten their names.

And then it's my turn. The teacher nods in encouragement and they're all looking at me. My cheeks burn. And I click my pen.

"I- I- I'm T- Todd," I stutter, clicking my pen. "I- I like to r- read and I w-want to wr-write, too."

The teacher smiles and I grip my pen hard in my hand.

"And what's going on in Todd's life right now?" he asks me.

"I- I'm tr-trying- h-hoping to a-a-a-adopt a d-dog soon," I say. It's painful to talk in front of them. I hate it so much.

"Wonderful," the teacher says and I almost believe him. "Now, everyone, let's talk about goals."

The class passes quickly and I surprise myself by enjoying it. I've written before, for myself as part of therapy and for fun but I thought taking a class would be good. A small step in rejoining society, as my therapist would say.

When the class ends, I gather my notebook and pens and then freeze as a shadow falls across my desk. My hand shakes as I squeeze the pen in my hand. The release pulls the nub back but I click it again.

"Hi," comes a sweet voice in front of me. I look up to see a young girl, maybe a year or two older than me. She's slim with long, brown hair but I look down before I can see much more. A pink - no, I need to practice being more descriptive - a magenta sweater over a white shirt.

There's a pause and I realize she's waiting for me to say something.

"H-hi," I tell her. Her shoes

almost

match her sweater. Almost. They're darker with white highlights. It's frustrating that they don't match. It can't be

that

hard to find a color that matches. If you're going to try to color coordinate, why wouldn't you find something that matches it exactly? It's so frustrating.

"I don't mean to be a busy-body," she says. At the corner of my eyes I can see her gripping the straps of her backpack. "I heard you talk about adopting and I think that's great! I volunteer at the shelter sometimes. If you ever need any help or advice, just let me know. I grew up with dogs and plan to adopt a couple once I have a bigger place."

"Oh. M-me too," I tell her, looking up briefly to see her dimples and her wide, bright eyes. They're green but dark and shot with shards of brown. She's very pretty and my heart skips a beat or two before I look back down. "I-I-I had d-dogs, too."

"They're awesome," she sighs. "I miss mine but I still get to go home and see them sometimes so it helps until I can get my own."

I don't have anything to say to that so I just nod.

"Anyway," she says, pulling at her backpack. "I'll see you next week? Oh. My name is Bailey."

"T-Todd," I reply.

"I know," she says. "I remember. See you next week, Todd!"

I watch her go, finally looking up as the classroom empties. Her bluejeans are very tight and I wonder how she can be comfortable with them. Still, I can't help but stare at the way it accentuates her body.

She waves at another classmate and then exits. She seems very sweet. Sometimes people talk to me and it's obvious that they're pitying me. I'm not slow. I'm not. I just- I just don't know what to say sometimes. And sometimes it all gets backed up. I'm not-

I click my pen. And then click it again.

I'm not good with people. I'm not.

---

The second creative writing class is more interesting. The teacher is talking about story structure - actually details now rather than introductions and brief overviews. I can already see where it will help with my own writing. To streamline it.

It's just hard to focus because I'm more excited about something else.

When the class is finished, I take a few deep breaths and quickly grab my bag while carrying my notebook. I wait a moment for people to leave and then walk down the rows to the very front.

"H-hey, B-B-Bailey," I stutter, blushing and staring at the ornate metal legs of the old desks.

"Oh!" she says, with obvious surprise. Is she surprised I talked to her? Was her offer fake? More of the fake politeness I've come to expect from people? When they see someone they pity and decide to talk to them to assuage old guilt? "Todd! How's it going?"

"G-G-Good," I tell her. Shuffling my feet, I decide I don't care. As my therapist would say, baby steps. "I-I-I was h-hoping you'd h-h-help me. I've f-f-found a d-dog to adopt."

"Oh my gosh!" she beams. Perfect teeth on a perfect face. How can some people just project confidence and happiness all the time? "What is he?"

"She," I tell her. "D-d-don't laugh. Her n-name is also B-Bailey."

"Oh no," she groans but she smiles at the same time. "Where are you getting her from?"

"A f-friend," I say. "I w-wa-was h-hoping you c-c-could h-help. I n-need some s-supplies. Th-there's a sh-sh-shop off Fourth and C-C-Commerce. D-d-do you have t-t-time?"

A slight frown flickers across her face. I watch the transition from the corner of my eyes. The flow of uncertainty. She has a small freckle in front of her left ear and one of the bridge of her nose. I think she won't do it and I prepare myself for disappointment but then she smiles again.

"Sure!" she says, confident once more. Her sweater is plum colored this time. But she's still wearing those pink shoes. "I can meet you there in an hour, if that's okay?"

"Y-Y-Yeah!" I say, smiling at her.

---

An hour passes and I begin to worry she won't show up. I've been standing directly on the corner of Fourth and Commerce for thirty minutes, watching and waiting anxiously.

"Hey Todd!" comes a voice behind me.

I jump and turn and she's there. No backpack or purse but still smiling. Someone has braided her hair in a complicated pattern since class finished. Unless she can do it herself? I don't know how that works. My mother always just wore her hair loose. A mess. So frustrating. I always wanted to fix it.

"H-h-hey," I say, trying to smile back at her.

It's Saturday afternoon but we're not in the busy part of town and the foot traffic is light.

"So, where are we going?" she asks, looking around. Despite her smile, I can see how tense she is. In a strange place with a guy she hardly knows. I can understand. "I know most of the big name brand places but I don't know any around here."

"It's n-n-not a big place," I tell her. "I kn-know the guy who r-r-runs it. I'll sh-sh-show you."

I walk first so she can follow and see where I'm going. Less worry for her. The store is further along fourth. It's narrow and dappled with red bricks and a simple sign above the door: "Pets".

"H-h-here," I tell her, pushing the door open.

She follows, hesitant until she sees the inside of the store. She relaxes as she sees various leashes and collars and dog beds. It's bare compared to most pet stores but nearly everything is handmade. I don't want cheap Chinese junk.

"Welcome!" says the large man behind the counter. He's got half-rim glasses low on his nose and his black hair is slick and pulled back into a ponytail. His Hawaiian shirt barely contains his bulk but he doesn't seem to care. "Todd! Hey, good to see you again, as usual."

"You know each other?" Bailey asks as she steps through the few shelves in the store. She picks up a studded leather collar and then lays it back down again before standing next to me at the counter.

"Oh, yeah," the man tells her. "We're part of a roleplaying group that meets every so often. Took him a while before he joined in but I'm glad he did."

He turns to me and raises his eyebrows.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," he says. "What can I do for you?"

"I n-n-need a na-na-name tag, W-W-William" I tell him.

He pauses, purses his lips and then nods.

"Be right back," he says, his voice no longer quite so jovial. More serious. Business-like.

"Not a lot of products," Bailey says, crouching to look at a large metal food dish. "And everything's

really

expensive. I'm all about getting the best for your dog but, seriously, this is like five times what you'd pay at a normal place. At least five times"

"I-I-It's f-fine," I tell her as my friend comes back with a small case.

William sets the little wooden case gently on the counter. He opens it to reveal a sharp metal tool and then reaches beneath the counter for a larger case.

"What color do you want for the name tag?" William asks.

I hadn't thought of that yet.

"Wh-wh-what do y-you th-think?" I ask Bailey.

"Me?" she asks, turning to the both of us. "It's your dog."

"B-But," I stutter. "The c-c-color d-doesn't m-matter to m-me. C-can you h-help me p-pick?"

"Well," she says, walking over to the counter with a thoughtful expression. She taps a metal bone-shaped name tag nestled within the velvet of the case. "I like purple."

"Okay, then," William says, lifting the name tag.

He pauses again.

"What's her name?"

I blush, embarrassed again and my heart beats faster. So I take a deep breath.

"Bailey," I tell him. "Bee, ayy-"

"I know how to spell it," William says.

He adjusts his little glasses and then leans forward with the metal tool. While he works, I walk around to look at other items. Nervous. My hands are sweating and I catch myself wiping them on my pants a couple times as we look around. I clench my hands against my sides. And then again. And then I grab at the sides of my pants and hold them tight.

"Done," William says.

My heart races as I walk to the counter. He's attached the purple name tag to a dark leather collar. The tag itself seems to glisten in the light like a small dollop of an oil spill, shimmering between purple and blue.

"Oh, it's pretty," Bailey says from my side.

I lift it to look at it and turn to her. It's attached via a tiny swivel.

I bring it up higher.

And then I flick the name tag, causing it to spin rapidly.

Bailey's pupils widen, nearly consuming her irises. Her mouth falls open slightly and her shoulders drop. I flick the name tag again and she doesn't even blink.

"It

is

pretty, isn't it?" I ask her.

She nods slowly, her eyes locked to the rotating tag.

"It's yours," I tell her.

"Mine?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, of c-course it is," I assure her. "It b-belongs to you."

"Yes," she whispers and her eyes grow even larger as the name tag begins to slow down.

When the tag stops, the name faces Bailey. Suddenly, she blinks and shudders, taking a sharp breath. She shakes herself and wipes her mouth.

"Y-Y-you kn-know," I say, looking at the name tag. "I d-d-don't th-think pur-purple s-suits me."

Bailey reaches for the tag but stops herself as an almost inaudible whine escapes her lips.

"I th-th-think y-you sh-sh-should have it," I tell her, dangling it from my fingers.

"Me?" Bailey asks, staring at it. "But, I don't-"

"Y-Y-You c-could wear it as a bracelet," I tell her. "It d-d-does have your name."

"Yeah, it does," she says, licking her lips. "And it

is

pretty.

She takes it from me hesitantly but then lays it against her slim wrist, pulling back the sleeve of her sweater to expose her pale skin.

"The leather is really nice," she says. "It's a little wider than I'd like but it feels good."

She slips it on and buckles it before twisting her wrist to see it from different angles. The little prong goes all the way to the last hole but it fits snugly on her hand.

I reach out and touch her shoulder gently. She looks up at me, surprised and I take my hand away.

"It f-f-fits you," I tell her.

And she nods.

---

At the third class, I stop paying so much attention to the teacher.

Bailey is in the front and she's still wearing the collar on her wrist. The name tag catches the light occasionally. She starts the class focused but slowly grows distracted.

I catch her glancing at people. And sniffing. I can see her nostrils lift and her chest move as she inhales quickly.

She looks up at me and smiles but then her eyebrows knit and she looks away with a frown.

And then she scratches at her neck. At first it's a quick nail against her neck but then she digs in, pushing fingers beneath the collar of the shirt under her sweater as she raises her chin and scratches herself deeply.

The rest of the class passes with her fidgeting. Throughout the period, she occasionally glances at me before turning to stare at her notebook.

From where I sit at the corner of the room, I watch as her tongue slips past her lips. Her mouth is open as she doodles on her paper and her tongue hangs from her mouth. She wears dark red lipstick that easily contrasts against her pink tongue. And so I watch as her tongue widens, the edges stretching. She licks her lips and the tip of her tongue brushes the bottom of her nose.

Once more, she glances at me. She looks confused. Now I see her reddened cheeks on her pale face. She looks away when she sees me watching and she grips the edge of her desk while shaking her head.

The faint tone of the bell chimes and everyone stands. Everyone except for me and Bailey.

I take my time to gather my things and then stand, making my way down. I see her lift her head and breathe in before turning to see me. She smiles wide and then looks confused before scratching her side.

"H-h-hey B-Bailey," say, standing close.

"Todd," she says with a toothy smile. "Did you enjoy class?"

I move a little closer and she leans slightly in my direction. Reaching up, she brushes her hair back and over her ear.

There are a few strands of hair on the corner of her jaw. They're light brown, almost blonde and easy to miss but I can see them as she slides towards me.

"Y-Yeah," I tell her. "You?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'm just out of it, I think. I got distracted."

I watch the teacher leave and then point at her wrist.

"Y-Y-you k-kept the tag?" I ask her.

She lifts it and stares at it. I touch it, causing it to slowly rotate and she watches it.

"Yeah," she says, her voice distant.

"Th-that's good," I tell her, flicking the name tag again.

"Good," she repeats, her eyes focusing on the spinning tag.

"Yeah," I say. "You're a good girl."

She shivers, closing her eyes and sliding further until her leg brushes me. I pat her back and she presses against my hand with a heavy sigh. I can see her left ear moving. Reshaping. The rounded folds along the top come undone, leaving her ears flatter than before. Sharper, with a slight point.

When her eyes open, she shakes herself and I step back. Tiny dark lines appear in the tip of her cute nose. The color spreads but stops as she rubs her nose with the back of her hand.

"I'm

really

out of it," she says with a yawn. Her jaw cracks as she opens her mouth wide. She rubs her chin and then scratches herself lightly as a few blonde hairs emerge from the flawless skin of her cheeks.

With her mouth closed, she grinds her teeth together. They don't fit as perfectly before. The tips of her canines press together and, when she closes her mouth completely, her lips bulge over them.

"I should get going," she tells me as she finally gathers her belongings. She moves quickly now but I see her eyes shift in my direction and she drops her pen in her haste.

"O-O-Okay," I tell her, watching as she straightens and steps away.

Bailey stops in the middle of the classroom, near the whiteboard. She grips the leather collar on her left wrist, turning it against her skin.

"Do you-" she says and then stops. "Would-"

I wait but she doesn't finish and, instead, hurries from the room.

---

As usual, at the next class, I sit before everyone arrives. The usual people filter in, talking in their small groups. The teacher comes in and I worry she won't be here. But she finally shows up.

She's not wearing a sweater this time. She has the undershirt she wears - the white long sleeve shirt with the wide collars and her bluejeans. Stopping at the entrance to the room, she looks around, barely concealing the way she's scenting the air.

When she spots me, she grins widely and I can see her canines easily now, even from this distance. She walks up to the seats and pauses at her normal spot up front. Glancing in my direction, she licks her lips and then stares at her seat. I watch as she slips a hand beneath her hair to scratch at her neck and then glance my way again.

Finally, she makes a decision and walks towards me.