Both Can Be True

by Jules Machias

  “I’ve seen you cry before and I’m still your friend,” I tell him. “Besides, I’m probably gonna cry too.”

  “Hell, I might even cry,” Mom says. “There’s no shame in loving a dog, kid.” She gets out and Daniel and I follow.

  A sign on the door says DO NOT KNOCK! DOGS WILL WAKE AND S**T WILL GET REAL. TEXT INSTEAD. We stand there awkwardly for a minute. “I’ll message Tina and see if she can give me Iris’s number.” Daniel tries to take his phone out, but Chewbarka thrashes in his arms.

  I catch her as she’s starting to fall. A dog barks inside the house and the door opens. A tall white lady with a long silver braid waves her arm at us. “Come on, get inside before they all wake up.” She’s dressed in a brown UPS uniform with dog hair all over the shirt. Another dog barks and suddenly it sounds like fifty of them are going at once in every room of the house. The air smells of pee and dog and disinfectant.

  Chewbarka struggles in my arms as we step inside. Daniel takes her and holds on to her like she’s a life raft.

  “Come on in here,” the woman says, ushering us into a living room lined with dog crates instead of furniture. “I’m Iris.” She holds out her hand to Mom.

  “Kate,” Mom says, and shakes it. “This is Daniel and Ash. And Chewbarka.”

  “Cutie. Can I?” Iris holds out her hands.

  Daniel reluctantly hands Chewbarka over. I look down at a fuzzy brown dog barking its head off in a crate near my foot. I squat and hold my hand by the bars so the dog can sniff me. “Hey, little one,” I say. “You’re okay. I don’t bite.”

  The dog stops barking and its tail wags so hard it whacks the side of the crate. I look in the front corner at a big round bed with a German shepherd laying on it. The dog looks kind of like Zoey’s dog Rex, except this one’s all deflated. It lifts its head and wags half-heartedly before dropping its head and watching us. Next to it, in a crate with the door open, is a dog with only one front leg and one eye, wagging calmly. Stacked on top of that crate is a smaller one with a chubby Chihuahua barking and coughing.

  A small white dog barrels into the room carrying an orange plastic food dish. There’s something wrong with its back legs; they stick straight out behind it and it bounce-drags them across the carpet. It’s wearing a striped black-and-yellow band around its belly and I can’t help laughing. It looks like a fuzzy wingless bumblebee.

  “Cool it, Sully,” Iris says. “They ain’t here to feed you, ya hyperactive little turd.” She gives his ears an affectionate scratch as he drops his food dish. “You already had your dinner. Yes, you did. Look here, huh? New friend.” She tries to let Chewbarka sniff Sully, but Chewbarka goes bananas, trying to climb up Iris’s neck.

  “She’s scared of dogs.” Daniel looks like he wants to take her back.

  Iris stands and holds Chewbarka at arm’s length to get a good look at her. Chewbarka whips around like a worm when you poke it. A stream of pee comes out of her and runs down Iris’s arm.

  Iris just laughs. “Oh, you’re a leaker! That’s all right. We got a solution for that.” She hugs Chewbarka close and rubs her ears, then hands her over to Daniel. “Be right back.” She leaves the room.

  Daniel stands there holding Chewbarka, glancing at the dogs and crates like he’s afraid to look at them. His eyes land on the corner where I didn’t even notice Mom scratching the nose of a big greyhound in a pen. It’s the most ripped dog I’ve ever seen. Its muscles bulge out all over the place, especially its butt muscles. That dog could run cross-country for days. Its face is all scarred up, dark lines cutting through its graying fur. It watches us with big liquid eyes, one of which is cloudy.

  Daniel holds his breath. He stands in the exact center of the room, like if he gets close to any of the crates he’s going to cry. Sully hop-scoots over and sniffs his leg.

  I squat and pet Sully’s incredibly soft ears. “Hi, there,” I tell him. “Hello! What happened to you, little guy?”

  “Found stuck in a ditch in Kentucky,” Iris says as she comes back with a pack of disposable diapers. “Most likely hit by a car while chasing a squirrel. He’s a smart little son of a gun, but he ain’t got the sense God gave a rock.” She takes Chewbarka from Daniel. “C’mere, you fuzzy little cutie.” She executes a spectacular dog diapering while standing up with the package tucked under one arm.

  I laugh. “You make that look so easy. It took me and Daniel ten minutes to figure out how to put a diaper on her, and we were sitting down.”

  “That was impressive,” Mom says.

  “Lots of experience.” Iris holds Chewbarka up again and turns her back and forth. “Well-fed, that’s good. Tongue doesn’t stay in. You missing some teeth?”

  “Yeah,” Daniel says. “They got pulled a few years ago.”

  “And cataracts. Gray muzzle. What is she, about twelve? Thirteen?”

  “Somewhere around there.” Daniel is clenching his fists, looking at the dog missing its front leg and an eye.

  “Tiny dogs can live a long time. She might have a good six or seven years left in her.”

  Daniel’s face brightens. “Really?”

  “What happened to that one?” I ask Iris, nodding at the dog missing a leg.

  “That’s Tripod. Found in pieces by some train tracks. Probably got the crazy knocked out of her, ’cause she’s the chillest dog you’ll ever meet.”

  “And this one?” I point at the lazy-looking greyhound Mom’s still petting.

  “Big Dave. Retired racer. Forty-mile-per-hour couch potato.” She takes Chewbarka to the German shepherd and squats. Chewbarka is wiggling like a fish out of water again, trying to get away. “All right, come on, you’re okay.” Iris keeps up a steady, calm patter, petting Chewbarka’s ears while she slowly inches closer to the shepherd, who lies watching. “See? Pearl’s a quiet girl. No threat here.” She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes and looks at Daniel. “Tina says you did a lot to keep this one safe.”

  “Oh,” Daniel says. “Um. I guess.” He’s looking down at Sully, who’s leaning on his leg and panting with a doggy smile. “He was—hit by a car?” He coughs like he’s covering a sob.

  “Think so. Rescue org down there couldn’t afford all the surgery he needed, so they shipped him up here to us. We specialize in medical cases.” She reaches a long arm out and rubs Sully’s ears. “He had three surgeries and now he’s ready for his forever home. Just gotta find somebody willing to squeeze out his pee five times a day and get him a custom wheelchair. And put up with the needy little goober.”

  Daniel squats and rubs Sully’s ears, his eyes moving over the rest of the dogs before stopping on the shepherd.

  “What about Pearl?” I ask.

  Daniel shoots me a worried look.

  “Bred most of the way to death by a backyard breeder, then starved when she stopped producing. Here you go, little one. You’re okay.” Iris carefully inches closer to Pearl with Chewbarka. Chewy is calmer, as if Iris’s voice is soothing. She cautiously sticks out her head and sniffs at Pearl’s nose. Pearl wags once, then lies there looking tired.

  “I know, baby girl,” Tina says, rubbing Pearl’s head. “I know. Okay. Here we go. Daniel, hang on to that dingbat’s collar, will you?” She nods at Sully.

  Daniel holds Sully’s collar and Iris eases Chewbarka to the floor next to Pearl. Chewbarka glances at Pearl and then sits, looking up at Iris like she trusts her completely after knowing her for three whole minutes.

  “Attagirls,” Iris says, petting both dogs at once. “There we go. Polly, cool your jets.” She directs this at the Chihuahua, who’s coughing her head off.

  “Is she sick?” Mom asks.

  “Owner couldn’t afford her meds, so they dumped her at the vet. Her enlarged heart presses her trachea and it makes her cough. I know,” she says to Polly. “There’s so much going on, you just gotta yell about it!” She touches Polly’s chin through the crate. “Take a drink, dingie. You’ll last longer.”

  I doubt Polly speaks English, but she do
es what Iris says, coughs a few more times and calms. The dogs in the rest of the house are calmer now too, the barking trailed off. Sully hop-drags over to me and noses my hands so I’ll pet his ears.

  I oblige, glancing at Daniel. He’s looking at Pearl and wiping his face. When Chewbarka climbs into his lap, he turns into a faucet, big hiccuping sobs choking out of him. “God, this is embarrassing,” he laugh-cries as he hugs Chewbarka with one hand and pets Pearl with the other.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Iris says. “I’ve cried like that plenty times over these mutts. Their stories will break your heart, every time.”

  “I could never be as strong as you,” he chokes. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “You are strong,” Mom tells him. “You’re here, doing this for Chewbarka.”

  “Tears don’t mean you’re weak,” Iris says. “They mean you care real hard about what’s right and good. That takes balls.”

  “Guts,” I say. “It takes guts. My mom has no balls and she’s a world champ at caring about right and good.”

  Iris and Mom both laugh. “I stand corrected,” Iris says.

  “Daniel, you’re one of the strongest people I know,” I tell him. “Everything you did for Chewbarka proves it. It’s been the opposite of easy, but you did it anyway.”

  “You gotta use that passion, though,” Iris says. “Find an outlet for it. Channel it. Otherwise it’ll just tear you all up.”

  “Tina said that too,” Daniel says. “You’re both right. I need to—” He hiccups again, and I love the cute little shape of it. “I need to do something with this.”

  “Dogs like these need people like you,” Iris says. “You’re an old soul. Saw it soon as you came in. Old soul with a bright flame.” She smiles at him. “You’re gonna be all right, kid.”

  “I hope so,” Daniel says.

  “I know so,” I tell him.

  30

  Human Too

  Daniel

  I give Chewbarka a last hug. “I’ll miss you so much,” I whisper in her fuzzy ear. I can’t believe how much she’s changed my life in a week. How she’s helped me see what’s important. What matters.

  “You know,” Iris says as she takes Chewbarka, “we got our Fall in Love Adoptathon coming up next weekend. We can use help getting the animals ready. Bathing ’em, cutting their nails, getting them gussied up so they can find forever homes.”

  “You won’t—I mean, Chewbarka won’t be put up for adoption, will she? She has sort of a complicated backstory—”

  “Nope. Tina’s gonna wait a few weeks till things cool down with that vet guy and then take her home,” Iris says. “She told me what she did with the euthanasia. She’s a fool, that woman, but I’d likely have done the same.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I scratch Chewbarka’s ears. “Um . . . Iris, would you mind if I just . . . if I snip some fur off her to keep?” It’s a weird request and I’m sure she’ll laugh or say no—

  “Sure.” She pulls a bag of stuff from between two cages, roots around, and hands me a scissors. “How about some of this booty floof? She’ll never miss it.”

  Ash quirks an eyebrow at me.

  “For the rule-of-thirds assignment,” I tell Ash. “A lock of booty floof, and the lock from Vlad the Rapid. Two personally significant locks.”

  Understanding comes over her face and she smiles. She leans down and snaps a quick photo of Chewbarka with her phone.

  Iris snips fur from Chewbarka’s tail, then binds it with a rubber band and hands it to me. “Sounds like I’ll only have her for a couple weeks before Tina gets her, but come see her sometime.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. This goob always likes company.” She gives Sully an affectionate nudge with her foot and he picks up his food dish again. “Still not dinnertime, dude.”

  I smile at Iris. “Thanks again. It was great meeting you.”

  “You too.” She walks us to the door. “Be safe getting home.”

  Once we’re in Ash’s mom’s car, Ash in the back seat with me this time, I can’t stop crying. It’s not an ugly cry. It’s a release of all the tension from the past week. The past two years. The past whole freaking life. Tears of gratitude that Chewbarka will be okay, that I think I’ve finally found people who understand and support me.

  I curl up and drop my head into Ash’s lap. It’s forward of me, but I need human contact, and I hope Ash will be cool with it.

  Ash runs their fingers through my hair as I drip tears on their jeans. Their hand feels so nice. As nice as it feels to cry without guilt. Without feeling weak or stupid for it.

  After a long time driving in silence, the tears slow. “Why did you decide to tell Bella without asking me?” I say thickly.

  Ash’s hand stops moving. “I didn’t. She was behind me in the hall and saw a photo of Chewy you texted me.”

  “Oh. So you—” Oops, I feel like a jerk. “You didn’t find her and tell her?”

  “No. She recognized Chewy right away. She asked if she was hurt and I said no. So then Bella realized Chewy was alive, and that I knew where she was. I didn’t tell her you had her.”

  “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I assumed you told her on purpose.”

  “It’s okay. Everything worked out.”

  I wrap my arm around Ash’s legs. “You’re the nicest person I know.”

  Ash laughs softly. “You’re the nicest person I know.”

  “I saw your Instagram.”

  Ash’s hand starts moving through my hair again.

  “It’s amazing. You’re an artist with clothes.” Oops. “I mean clothes are your medium. Your palette. Not like you’re an artist who wears clothes. Even though you do.” Ugh.

  Ash makes a pssht sound and giggles.

  “Should I call you ‘they’?” I ask. “Or he, or she? Whatever you want, I’ll use.”

  “They,” Ash says like they’re trying it out. “They/them. Yeah, I guess I’m they/them. For now. I’ll keep you posted.” I can hear the smile in their voice. “It’ll change, for sure.”

  “I hope you wear some of those outfits to school. They were great. Especially that skirt with the fall colors.”

  Ash is quiet, and I think maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it sounded like I preferred when they were a girl.

  Which might be true. I don’t know.

  Not that it matters, because Ash is Ash no matter what I prefer, but still—

  “I’ll think about it,” they say, and I’m glad for the interruption to my thoughts. Ash moves their hand to rest on my arm.

  It’s comforting.

  Ash asks their mom if she’d be willing to take us to see Chewbarka soon.

  “Of course,” she says. “Maybe we can help Iris out with that adoptathon. She seemed to have her hands full.”

  “That’d be amazing,” I croak. My nose is clogged from crying.

  We sink into another comfortable silence. I close my eyes and try to work out what to tell Mom and Dr. Snyder. It takes a while of thinking and sniffling my stuffy nose, but I cobble a plan together: I can tell Dr. Snyder I was keeping her in a tent, which isn’t a lie. And I can tell him she got out, and I tried to find her but she’s gone.

  It’ll be hard to lie to his face without crying. But maybe, for once, tears could be useful. Because it’ll look like I feel guilty about losing her.

  As for Mom . . . well. I’ll try a wild new tactic and tell Mom the truth. And hope she’ll support me once she gets done being mad.

  I really want her support. Need it.

  Ash nudges my shoulder and points to Google Maps on her mom’s phone stuck in the vent clip. “We’re almost to your neighborhood.”

  I sit up and wipe my face with the back of my arm. “Can you drop me off at the end of the street?” I ask Ash’s mom.

  “I’d like to see you get safely inside,” she says.

  “My mom’s going to be mad. She might yell.”

  “She’ll be relieved first. Then mad.”


  That’s probably true. “So maybe . . . a couple houses down?” I’m not in a hurry for Ash to see me get yelled at in my front yard.

  “I’ll park with the lights off and make sure you get in. Then we’ll leave.”

  “Thanks. And thank you so much for doing this. It’s great of you.”

  “Glad to help. But try to keep things tamer, will ya? All these midnight drives are turning my green hair gray.” She pats her head.

  I laugh. “Of course. Um, here is good.” We’re three houses away.

  She parks, turns off the lights, and cuts the engine.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to Ash. “For everything.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you in a few hours at school.”

  Oof, that’s soon. “Okay. Bye.” I want to do something else, a hug maybe, I don’t know, but Ash’s mom is right there. So I get out and close the car door as quietly as I can.

  Our living room light is on. I take my key out of my pocket and slide it in the lock. I twist the doorknob, but it’s already opening.

  Mom slams into me. “Oh my god, Danny! I was so worried!” She hugs me hard.

  I’m smothered, but I hug her back. Her arms feel good even though she’s about to rip my head off. She finally lets go and grips my shoulders, her hands like iron claws. “Don’t you ever! Do this! Again!” She hugs me again, spins me, and pushes me into the living room. “Sit.”

  Mitch is on the couch, his hands pressed together and his mouth grim. “Well, you’re not dead. Good job freaking everybody out. Truly A-plus work. Extra-credit points.”

  “Don’t tell me you were actually concerned.”

  “Of course not.” He has the wherewithal to look mad, even through the worry. “Just don’t do this crap ever again. Mom’s been driving me nuts.”

  Mom makes a hmph noise. “You were upset too.”

  “Sorry to keep you awake so late,” I say to Mitch, half sarcastically but half not, because I’m sort of touched that he stayed up. That he was worried.

  “You didn’t keep me awake. She did. And Dad texted me like six thousand times asking if you were home yet.” He shows me his screen.