Starting From Here

by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

In the bathroom I noticed the dark blood crusted under my fingernails and in the creases of my knuckles. As I scrubbed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was a mess, my blond hair so straggly I looked like a scarecrow losing its stuffing.

  The waiting room was painted the cheery color of lemon pudding. A red-bowed evergreen wreath filled the air with its piney scent. While Van washed up, I sat on a wooden bench and picked up the clipboard holding the forms. My name, address, and phone number—easy. Pet’s name: Mo. Species: dog. Sex: male. Duh.

  Then it got harder. Breed? I wrote mutt. Age? No clue. Four seemed like a happy medium. When did he last get his shots? How often did a dog get shots, anyway?

  The bench creaked as Van sat beside me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know the answers to most of these questions.”

  “She said just do your best, right?”

  “No—I mean, yes, she did, but—don’t you get it? She’ll know.” I lowered my voice. “She’ll know Mo’s not really my dog.”

  “He’s yours now, right? You said so yourself. I have the sore foot to prove it.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Why should it matter whether you’ve had him half an hour or half a year?”

  “Forget it. Just help me make this shit up.”

  We were nearly finished when Dr. Voorhees returned. “Mo’s being a very good boy. Very calm.”

  “The X-rays?” I asked. “Did you do them?”

  She nodded. “Mo is basically a miracle. Aside from a couple of hairline fractures in the rib cage, he’s all right. Except that hind leg … It’s shattered beyond repair.” She rubbed her chin. “Breaks this bad don’t ever heal perfectly. It might take multiple surgeries to put it back together, and even then it won’t be right. Not to mention the risk of infection and other complications. He might drag the leg around for the rest of his life, and it would likely cause him a lot of pain.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “It doesn’t mean—Isn’t there anything—Are you just going to—”

  Dr. Voorhees touched my arm. “Dogs are strong creatures, Colby. They’re very good at overcoming obstacles. What I’m suggesting is amputation. After that, chances are Mo would be getting around like before in a matter of days.”

  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. I imagined Dr. Voorhees striding toward Mo with an ax, raising it high, and swinging it down on his leg. My stomach wrenched. Van squeezed my hand.

  “Before you decide,” Dr. Voorhees said, “let me tell you more about the procedure.”

  She rattled on about anesthetic and antibiotics and “taking” the leg below Mo’s hip. After a couple hours of surgery and a day’s rest at the clinic, Mo would be ready to go home. There was no mention of an ax. At last she stopped talking and looked at me expectantly.

  I swallowed. “Do you give him a replacement leg? Like a war vet?”

  “Or a pirate?” Van said. “You know, a doggy peg leg? Arrrrrf.”

  Dr. Voorhees smiled and shook her head. “No prosthetic. He won’t need one. Believe it or not, most dogs don’t even realize they’re missing a leg.”

  I looked at Van helplessly, but he said, “It’s your decision, Col.”

  I closed my eyes and saw Mo, this dog who’d just slammed into my life and whose future was now in my hands. Then I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Voorhees watching me quietly. I didn’t believe she’d suggest this if it weren’t Mo’s best option.

  “I guess three legs are better than nothing,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  Dr. Voorhees nodded. “It’s late in the day, and I’d like to look at Mo with a fresh pair of eyes in the morning. We can keep him here overnight, keep his pain under control, do the surgery first thing, and still have him home in time for Christmas.”

  She paused. Her gaze dropped to my ratty sneakers, then traveled up to my shabby coat before meeting my eyes once more. She knew.

  I waited.

  She said, “Seeing as you’re a minor, I really should talk to your father before going beyond immediate first aid.”

  “Mo’s my dog, not his! I told you, I make the decisions.”

  “And pay the bills? Amputation is an expensive surgery.”

  “Yeah.” I rose to my feet. “I have a job. Just tell me how much it is. I’ll pay for it.”

  “It runs about a thousand dollars.”

  I fell back on the bench with a thump. “I—well—I couldn’t pay you all at once, but when summer comes and I work more hours—”

  “Colby, be honest,” Dr. Voorhees said. “You found Mo on the road. He’s a stray.”

  “He’s not! He’s mine!”

  “You know how I can tell? Because if he’d had someone who cared about him half as much as you do, he wouldn’t be half starved and full of burrs and running along one of the most dangerous roads in Kalamazoo County.”

  I couldn’t help it. I broke down all over again, weeping into Van’s vest. It had all come to nothing. She wouldn’t help, I couldn’t afford it, and that car might as well have killed Mo, because now he was going to die by lethal injection or a gun to the head or however they killed animals nobody wanted.

  “We already scanned him for an ID chip, but he doesn’t have one. I can call the animal shelter and see if anyone’s reported a dog like Mo missing. We can put up signs, and I can place an ad online and in the paper. Maybe Mo’s owners will turn up. They could pay for the surgery.”

  I raised my head and glared at her. “You just said he doesn’t have an owner! No one who gives a rat’s ass about him. No one who’d pay a thousand bucks to save him. Just let me pay for him.” My voice cracked. “I don’t care whose he was. He’s mine now.”

  We were all silent. The only noises were the dogs barking out back, the horns and revving engines on Harrington Road, and the clock ticking, steady and oblivious, on the wall.

  Dr. Voorhees sighed. “I’ll tell you what, Colby,” she said. “I’ll operate on Mo, free of charge.”

  I stared at her. Van shouted, “That’s fantastic!”

  Dr. Voorhees held up a hand. “Listen. Colby, you’ll still need to pay the other expenses of keeping a dog. Mo will need a full physical exam. He’ll need to be tested for worms. He’ll need shots for rabies and distemper, repeated annually. You’ll need to feed him, of course, and play with him and walk him. You’ll need to bring him back to me if he gets sick. You should have him neutered. Keeping a dog is a big responsibility. And strays—well, trust me, they tend to come with baggage. Think about it.”

  I did. I thought about what Dad might say. I thought about paying for Mo on top of Scarlett. I thought about how I had no idea what to do with him when I was at school and work. Yet nothing seemed as important as getting Mo back on his feet—three of them, anyway.

  “Who doesn’t have baggage?” I said. “Just please take care of Mo.”

  “It’s settled then!” Dr. Voorhees sounded genuinely happy. “Cindy and I will go ahead and make Mo comfortable for the night.”

  Van glanced at the clock. “Uh-oh, I have to babysit at six thirty!”

  “You’d better get moving then,” she said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Colby. If all goes well, Mo should be ready to go home Christmas Eve.”

  “Can I see him before I go? Just … in case?”

  Van and I followed Dr. Voorhees back to the green room. Mo was strapped to the steel table. He lay calmly. Without raising his head, he turned his chocolate eyes toward me. I smiled when he flicked his wiry tail. In spite of everything, he didn’t hate me. Maybe he even forgave me.

  Cindy stepped back from the table. “He’s just about cleaned up.”

  I moved forward and stroked Mo’s neck. He kept his eyes on mine.

  I made him silent promises. I promised he’d get better. I promised he’d never miss a meal. More than anything, I promised he’d never be alone again.

  “I’ll see you in two days,” I told him, and rus
hed out before I started blubbering. I hadn’t cried so much since Mom died.

  “Thank you,” I heard Van tell Dr. Voorhees and Cindy.

  Outside, snowflakes swirled around us. The winter wasteland of Harrington Road looked almost beautiful. As we walked to Scarlett, Van asked, “You still want to come over?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’ve got the eggs.” I put my hands in my coat pockets. “Argh!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I pulled out my left hand, oozing raw, yellow yolk.

  Van smirked, and I wiped my hand on his sweatshirt sleeve. Then we laughed so hard my sides ached.

  VAN MADE US peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while I bounced Teddy in my arms. Danielle clicked across the linoleum in her high heels, adjusting one large, dangly earring. “Don’t keep him up late,” she told Van, sticking her head in the fridge. “And no grapes this time, or you’re changing his diapers tomorrow.” She stuffed a can of Slim-Fast and an issue of Cosmo into her purse, kissed Teddy on the top of his head, and slammed the door behind her.

  Van and I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, eating our sandwiches while Teddy made a mess of his. Precious stalked by, sniffing at us in a way that said she knew we’d been fraternizing with canines and didn’t approve one bit.

  “What a day, huh?” Van said.

  “Tell me about it. It’s like I just woke up from a really weird dream.”

  “Hey, what’s that on your jeans?”

  There was a dark-brown smear hardened into the denim. Blood—Mo’s blood. Seeing it made me feel strangely good. It was proof that the day hadn’t been a dream. I could have done without the failed chemistry test, the encounter with Rachel, the hit-and-run accident, and the almost-dead dog, but when all was said and done, I had Mo.

  Van brushed the sandwich crumbs from his shirt into his hand, then into the trash. “I’ll lend you some sweats. I need to do laundry, anyway. I’ll throw your pants and coat—”

  “Could you get me some socks, too?” My sockless foot was puckered and freezing.

  Van disappeared into his room and returned with a pair of black sweatpants and white tube socks rolled into a tidy ball. I loved borrowing Van’s clothes. With their smell of lemon fabric softener, it was like being wrapped up in sunshine and sugar. I changed in the bathroom, rolling up Van’s sweats at the ankles.

  Back in the living room, Van wiped Teddy’s mouth and hands with a dishrag, sniffed his butt, and plunked him back in a pile of blocks and toy cars. I built a little ramp from two triangular blocks and a square. I made a car vroom up one side and down the other, while Van told Teddy about our day.

  “Then we found a doggy! But the doggy was hurt! So we took him to the doggy doctor!” Teddy stared in googlyeyed wonder, then babbled something incomprehensible. Van nodded wisely. “You’re absolutely right. The doctor will make his boo-boos all better.”

  “Hey,” I said, “I just realized we left all those cans out on the road.”

  Van shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

  “Unless someone else gets them first.”

  “Then they probably need the cash as much as I do.”

  “Have you talked to your mom and Danielle about paying you to babysit?”

  “Nope,” he said, setting one colored block on top of another.

  Danielle worked nights as a cocktail waitress, and Mrs. McIneany worked as a secretary for a travel agency. Van was expected to pick up the slack—like now, while Mrs. McIneany finished Christmas shopping. Van was way better at taking care of Teddy than I was at bagging groceries or cleaning the toilets at Meijer, yet he didn’t get paid a thing.

  “They’re using you.”

  “Aww, how can you say that when I get to take care of this cute little guy?” Van leaned into Teddy’s neck and blew a raspberry. Teddy squealed and waved his arms in delight. “Some things you do for money. Some things you do for love. Speaking of which, you still haven’t come out to your dad, have you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I could tell him about me if you want,” Van said. “Grease the wheels, you know?”

  “No!”

  “Why not? It might give him peace of mind knowing I’m not going to impregnate you when he’s not around.”

  “First of all, gross! And second, just no. My dad’s a truck driver, Van. A beer-drinking, football-loving, poker-playing, Playboy-reading truck driver.”

  “So?”

  Van should have understood better than anyone. His stepmom had freaked when he came out, banning him from their home. He still met up with his dad for bowling or a meal sometimes, but he hadn’t seen his stepsisters in years. Fortunately, Van had his mom to fall back on. All I had was Dad—barely.

  “Why bother?” I said. “Rachel’s over.”

  “There’ll be someone else someday.”

  “Yeah, maybe when I’m a hundred and five.”

  Van rolled his eyes. “You’re plenty cute, Col. Girls—and I don’t just mean Liliana—would be all over you if it wasn’t for that cactus impression you do so well. I get itchy just looking at you.”

  I glowered and stuck out my tongue, which sent Teddy into a fit of giggles.

  “Hey, Teddy, want to learn a new word?” I said. “Avalanche!” I pushed my car into Van’s tower, twelve teetering blocks high, and the tower tumbled down as Teddy shrieked, “Abbawan! Abbawan!”

  My phone rang, and I picked up. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Bee, how’s it going?” I heard talking and clatter in the background—probably a diner.

  “I’m fine. I’m hanging out at Van’s, watching Teddy.”

  “Abbawan! Abbawan!”

  Dad chuckled. “I can hear that! Good news, Bee. I just stopped for the night outside Memphis. I’ll be home Christmas Eve, like we planned.”

  “Okay,” I said, refusing to get too excited. Anything could happen in the next twenty-four hours. “I’ve put the tree up and everything. And I placed our order for dinner.”

  “That’s great. Thanks for holding down the fort. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  I couldn’t think of what to say. I only knew I wanted to hear his voice a little longer. “Nothing. Just, if you see Elvis, say hey for me, okay?”

  “You, too,” he said. We both laughed, thinking of the old rumor that Elvis was actually alive and working at a Burger King in Kalamazoo. “And say hey to Van and Teddy. Love you, sweetheart.”

  “Love you, too, Dad. Drive safe.” I tucked my phone back in my pocket.

  “You didn’t tell him,” Van said.

  “Van, will you lay off? I’ll tell him when I’m good and ready. On my own!”

  “No, I meant about the dog—about Mo.”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip. “Shit. You’re right.”

  Maybe it was better this way. Why give Dad a chance to argue? No, I’d wait to explain when he was back and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  Van put Teddy to bed while I took advantage of the McIneanys’ not-as-horribly-slow-as-my Internet connection. I waited for Rachel’s name to pop up in my inbox. It didn’t. No surprise, but I still felt disappointed. Disappointed and stupid.

  Van stuck my pants and coat and a bunch of other clothes in the washer, turned on the TV, and popped in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, which we’d seen about fifty times. The bus hadn’t made it halfway across Australia before I was drifting off, warm and safe in the crook of Van’s arm.

  “Did I make the right choice?” I asked sleepily.

  “With Mo? How could it be the wrong choice?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’d be better off without me.” No maybe about it, in fact. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be running along Harrington Road, off to God-knows-where. All I’d wanted was to help him.

  “It was the right choice,” Van said. “And when you pick him up, you’ll take one look at him and know for sure.” />
  My phone woke me at nine the next morning. I rolled off Van’s bed to grab it. The number was unfamiliar, but it was local; it wasn’t a Tennessee state trooper calling to tell me about an accident. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Colby Bingham? This is Dr. Voorhees.”

  I waited for her to say Your dog took a turn for the worse last night, sorry. Would you like to scatter the ashes?

  But she didn’t. “Everything went fine. No complications. Mo’s sleeping off the anesthetic. You’ve got yourself a three-legged dog!”

  A smile crept across my face. “Okay, so—”

  “Do you want to pick him up tomorrow? That’ll give him some time to recover and you some time to get ready.”

  “I’m working till four. I can come by after.”

  “Perfect,” said Dr. Voorhees. “See you then.”

  Van sat up in bed and rubbed the grit from his eyes.

  “Good news?”

  I nodded.

  “I promised Danielle I’d take Teddy to see Santa tomorrow. Otherwise I’d go with you.”

  “It’s okay.” I took a deep breath. “After everything else, this part will be easy, right?”

  FROM THE RAINBOW Alliance Internet Lounge:

  van_the_man: Vacation, vacation, rockin’ the nation …

  stonebutterfly: You’re such a cheese ball.

  van_the_man: Easy there, tiger. I thought this was a “safe space” to express ourselves!

  z-dawg: What did y’all ask 4 this Chanuchristmakwanzaa?

  rachel_greenbean: Honestly? To get into Wellesley. I mailed my Early Evaluation app this morning.

  writergrrl: I was slightly less ambitious. I asked for a gift certificate to Powell’s.

  j0ck25: I already know what I’m getting: a ticket to the ROSE BOWL!!!!!! Beat that.

  van_the_man: I asked Santa for a stud muffin to call my own.

  z-dawg: You better not be macking on Santa. If so, you got some serious daddy issues.

  stonebutterfly: More like granddaddy issues.

  van_the_man: Of course not! I told him any of his virile male elves would do. Assuming he’s reasonably cute and has a good personality.

  stonebutterfly: Moving on …

  colb33: Anybody ask for a dog? Because I think it got delivered to the wrong address.