by S. Bennett
“Want a beer?” he asks, letting his backpack start to slide from his shoulder.
“Sure,” I reply and toss my cigarette while I wait for him to pull a can out for me. It’s Pabst Blue Ribbon and it’s warm as piss, but I enjoy it anyway as we meander along the highway.
“What you been up to?” he asks. Bernard hasn’t been inside Tipsy’s in several days, but that’s not unusual. He only springs for draft beer when he has a good haul panhandling. Otherwise, it’s PBR from the grocery store.
“Same ol’,” I reply but then I realize… that’s just not true. “I got a second job.”
“No kidding,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“At the vet clinic where I first took Atticus,” I tell him, and then I proceed to fill him in on everything. I even tell him how Dr. Peele taught me how to express anal glands today, and how it was the grossest thing I’d ever done.
Bernard lets out a bark of laughter that dies off into chuckles. “Good for you, Hazel. And how is Mr. Finch?”
That startles me. “You know about Atticus Finch?”
“’Course I do,” he says with another chuckle. “Was an inspiring hero to a lot of black people. One of the best books I’ve ever read.”
“What’s it about?” I ask, because I hadn’t bothered to find out anything more about Atticus’ namesake.
“How can you name your dog Atticus and not know anything about the man and what he did?”
I shrug, take a drink of my beer, and swallow. “I don’t know. I dropped out of high school. Wasn’t much of a reader after that.”
“Well, take the time and read the book. You won’t regret it.”
We make it to where the service road starts. “Well, I’m this way,” I tell him as I point to the apartment building.
“And I’m that way.” He points in the direction we’d been walking.
“Those storage units by the dry cleaners?” I ask.
“Number 127 if you ever want to stop by and borrow a cup of sugar,” he says with a grin, white teeth flashing from the glare of headlights as cars speed past us.
I laugh, raising my beer to him. “Just might do that. Thanks for the beer, Bernard.”
“See you ’round, Hazel,” he says before ambling off.
I finish my beer, then toss it in the dumpster beside our complex. Despite that being my fifth beer, I feel pretty clearheaded. I’m guessing it’s from the cool spring air I’d been walking in. I consider smoking another cigarette before I go in, but my lungs say it’s a bad idea.
CHAPTER 15
Atticus
I come out of a dead sleep, my ears perking when I hear the key in the lock. That can only mean one thing.
Hazel is home. Hazel is home. Hazel is home.
My head pops up from Charmin’s lap where I’d fallen asleep while she watched TV, and I see Hazel walk in. I shoot off the couch, and barrel right into her legs. My paws go to her thighs and I hop up and down in excitement for her to acknowledge me.
She doesn’t pick me up as often as she used to. When she does, she groans a lot from the effort. Instead, she’s been coming down to my level like she does right now, so my paws can reach her chest. She wraps her arms around me for a hug, and then runs her fingers through the fur up and down my spine.
It. Feels. Amazing!
Hazel stands, cocking her head at Charmin. “What’s wrong?” she whispers, and I swing back to Charmin. She doesn’t look happy.
I follow Hazel over to the couch and then jump on her lap, collapsing there with delight so she may pet me. I don’t like that her body feels tight, and I know she’s worried about something from Charmin.
“Um… Chuck’s a little pissed at your dog.” She whispers this, and I bet it’s because she doesn’t want Chuck to hear. But he’s snoring in his bed, so I know it doesn’t matter.
“Why?” Hazel whispers back.
“Well, honestly… he kind of turned into a little shit after you left tonight. Clawing at the front door and whining for you. He wouldn’t settle down. Chuck was getting frustrated. He yelled at Atticus, and it scared him, so he peed on the floor. That really set Chuck off. He told me the dog had to go.”
Yeah… I did pee on the floor. I didn’t mean to, but Chuck scared me when he yelled. He’s a jerk, and I know Hazel doesn’t like him. She once said she’d like to “nut punch” him. I’m not sure what that means but I knew it would give her immense satisfaction. If my mom is happy, then I’m happy.
“Charmin,” Hazel murmurs while her fingers work my fur. “This is your apartment. Not his. Do you want Atticus to go?”
While her voice sounds calm to my ears, I can feel the fear vibrating within her.
“Of course I don’t want him to go,” Charmin says, cutting eyes down the hallway to where Chuck is sound asleep. “But… well, he lives here too now, and I have to take into consideration his—”
“It won’t happen again,” Hazel cuts her off, whispering the words with desperate urgency. “I won’t leave him again. He’s been good since I brought him here. And he’s just a puppy. If Chuck scared him, it wasn’t his fault.”
Charmin doesn’t say anything, and I can feel Hazel practically vibrating with anxiety. I’ve never felt that from her before, and it makes me feel like I have to pee. But I’m a good boy… so I hold it.
“Charmin, please,” Hazel begs.
“I’ll talk to him,” Charmin replies with a soft smile, and I can feel Hazel relax just a little. “I’m sure he’ll cool down.”
“Thank you,” she says on a harsh exhale of breath that smells like beer and nasty cigarette smoke. I don’t smell it often on her, but it’s strong tonight. It makes me want to sneeze, so I just rub my nose on my paws to make it go away.
“I’m going to head to bed,” Charmin says as she stands up.
Hazel doesn’t reply, just pulls me up so she can bury her face in my neck. I can feel her breath through my fur, warm and smelling of cigarettes. That’s okay. She’s loving on me, so nothing else matters.
CHAPTER 16
Hazel
It’s been a lot, juggling the multiple balls of my current life.
Balancing two jobs. Raising a puppy. Hiding a puppy from my boss at night. Keeping peace between my puppy and Chuck, the asshole.
That’s been the real problem. Ever since “The Incident”—as Chuck likes to dramatically refer to it—three days ago, he does nothing but yell and glare at Atticus whenever he can. If we’re playing and Atticus dares to bark at me in giddy delight, Chuck yells at him, “Shut the fuck up.”
Even if Atticus is quiet, Chuck will point a finger and snarl, “You better not pee in this apartment again, dog.”
Atticus reacts like any being that’s being bullied would react. He scrambles up on my lap, tail between his legs, and ducks his head so he can push it under my armpit to hide from Chuck. It pisses me off every time, but I don’t say anything so as not to provoke things.
I should have known the balls would come tumbling down at some point.
“You should take the dog out,” Chuck says from the kitchen table where he’d just finished eating some Sloppy Joes Charmin had made for them for dinner. She and I are working the Friday night shift at Tipsy’s, and I’m making due with a Snickers.
He’s looking pointedly at Atticus as he drinks from a water bowl I’d put near the back door of the apartment. It leads out onto a tiny enclosed concrete patio I’ll sit out on if it’s nice outside. There’s an old wicker love seat that someone had set out by the dumpster. Charmin and I lugged it back to the apartment. She bought new cushions at Kmart and voila… outdoor seating.
Atticus freezes when he hears Chuck’s voice, turning his head with wide eyes and eyebrows spread far apart with apprehension.
“He doesn’t need to go out every time he drinks water,” I snap from the couch where I’d been watching the news. I’m already ready for my shift as I only have a limited amount of shits to give about my appearance. C
lean clothes, brushed hair, and a thin application of mascara. Charmin’s in the bathroom primping, the sound of her hair dryer muffled by the closed door. It takes her almost an hour just to get prettied up to work behind a bar.
Of course, she often gets better tips than I do, which goes to show that beauty over customer service is what matters in this business.
“He just better not piss inside again,” Chuck snarls. “Fucking stupid dog.”
“What the hell is your problem?” I explode, launching up from the couch. “He’s just a little puppy. He made one damn mistake and suddenly you’ve become a supreme asshole about it.”
I hear the bathroom door open and Charmin calls, “What’s going on out there?”
I hadn’t realized how loud I’d just yelled at Chuck, but if Charmin heard that above her hair dryer, it must have been at max decibels.
“Nothing,” I call back, but that doesn’t stop her from stepping into the hallway and looking between Chuck and me with worry.
“Son of a fucking bitch, I’m going to kill that dog,” Chuck booms in a voice so ferocious it causes my heart to skip a beat.
It’s like everything goes into slow motion. My head turns slowly to look at Chuck. His gaze is pinned near the front door of the apartment. His fists are clenched, face mottled red. He takes a step toward where he’s staring.
I spin—all slow-mo like—and see what Chuck does.
His tennis shoes sitting by the door where he always takes them off when he gets home… with Atticus squatting right over the left one.
Taking a dump inside it.
For a moment, I have a surge of enormous pride course through me. Even as scared as he is of Chuck, I believe my dog is shitting in his shoe because he yelled at me. It’s Atticus’ way of standing up for me.
Things go back to fast motion as Chuck storms across the small living room to reach my dog. I have horrific visions of him kicking Atticus like a football, a move that would most likely kill him.
Chuck passes right by me. Without thought or hesitation, I leap on his back and wrap an arm around his throat as tightly as I can while shrieking at the top of my lungs, “You stay the hell away from my dog.”
Atticus takes off running down the hallway, disappearing from my sight. Chuck becomes focused on trying to reach a hand over his shoulder to grab me. I clamp my legs hard around him, then put my other hand to his hair where I start pulling viciously.
“Jesus Christ,” Charmin screams. “Stop it right now.”
“Not until he promises not to hurt my dog,” I snarl, giving his hair a mighty yank.
“Damn it, you crazy bitch,” Chuck cries before spinning around and slamming me into the wall. It seems like the entire apartment shakes, and my head flies backward, connecting with the drywall.
Doesn’t even loosen me in the slightest. I’ve got rage and mama-bear type hormones coursing through me to protect Atticus.
“Hazel… get off him,” Charmin yells.
Chuck somehow manages to get a hand lodged in my hair. He starts pulling hard, which hurts like a son of a bitch and wrenches my neck sideways.
“Chuck… let her go,” Charmin yells.
And then Atticus is there again… standing at the edge of the hallway leading into the living room. Front legs spread wide, a mohawk of hair raised right along his spine, and his teeth bared at Chuck. The snarl he emits is adorably ferocious, yet so very pitiful at the same time. It reminds me of when Simba in The Lion King tries to roar at the hyenas, and it just comes out as a kitteny purr at best.
But there’s no time to laugh, because right now my still-underweight twenty-five-pound pup who is at best three months old is facing off against a man who stands at least five-ten and weighs at least a hundred and eighty pounds.
He doesn’t stand a chance.
I’m not a brawler. I’ve never been in a physical fight in my life, unless very rowdy pillow fights with my sister when we were little counts. My mind scrambles, trying to figure a way to take Chuck down before he can think to advance on Atticus.
Charmin reacts before any of us do.
She bends down and scoops Atticus up, bending her head to give him a quick kiss—perhaps in hopes of calming him down—then she runs him over to the enclosed patio and puts him out there. He immediately starts scratching at the door to get back in, howling in frustration that he’s been separated from the fight.
Charmin spins and strides toward us with a really scary look on her face. In a deadly calm voice, she says, “You two break apart right now.”
I loosen my hold around Chuck’s neck, releasing my grip on his hair. When I unclamp my legs, Chuck unfists his hand from my hair and I slide off until my feet hit the floor.
He’s the first to talk, turning to glare at Charmin. “That dog is gone. Either it goes, or I go.”
Thumbing at me, he adds, “And that bitch owes me a new pair of shoes.”
“Not fucking likely,” I say, using my inside voice. I might just get Atticus to poop in all his shoes.
Chuck storms off down the hall. The bedroom door squeaks and then slams shut.
I turn to face Charmin, who is rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingers. She finally opens her eyes, weariness apparent. “I’ll go talk to him, Hazel. Maybe you can try to clean his shoe?”
I nod at her mutely, and then she disappears into the bedroom. Ignoring the shoe, I go to the patio door, opening it and letting Atticus inside. I scoop him up and hold him close, edging toward the hallway so I can try to hear what’s going on.
My fingers scratch at the back of Atti’s head—which has gotten really fuzzy as he gets older. His whole body is still sort of fuzzy, hair slightly frizzed and all one length. He looks like a giant black, brown, and white cotton ball or something.
“You were such a brave boy,” I murmur while Charmin talks in a normal voice and Chuck yells obscenities.
The bedroom door squeaks open, and Atticus tenses in my arms as we both look that way. A tiny snarl rumbles in his chest, but when he sees Charmin step out, he goes still. He doesn’t wiggle with excitement to see her as he normally does, and I think that means his loyalty to her is stretched right now because she was yelling at me, too.
I can read Charmin’s face before she even opens her mouth. Still, it hurts when she says, “I’m really sorry, Hazel, but he won’t budge. He wants Atticus out.”
“Do you want Atticus out?” I ask, my throat suddenly parched with fear.
“Of course not,” she assures me, but then her eyes harden slightly with resolve. “But he’s my boyfriend. I really think this is going to go the distance, and I have to make him a priority. Otherwise… well, it could cause trouble for us.”
“You’re serious?” I ask in disbelief. I know Charmin really likes Chuck, but I never thought she’d side with him on this. She’s really come to love Atticus over the last few weeks of him living here.
She doesn’t answer me directly, but instead replies, “Tomorrow morning. You can take him to a shelter. Or see if Dr. Peele can do something with him. Bring him to work tonight and I’ll cover more breaks for you, so you can spend time with him. He can stay tonight at the apartment, but tomorrow morning, he has to go.”
“Charmin,” I beg. Just a single word… her name. Because I don’t know what else to say to convince her.
“I’m sorry,” she says and pivots on her heel, hurrying back to the bathroom.
I only stare at the closed door a moment before I look down at Atticus. His eyes meet mine, and he gives me a little head butt against my jaw, which has become his way of demanding my affection. I give him a hearty scratch along his back before bending over to put him on the floor.
“You’re not going to a shelter, little man,” I tell him distractedly as my mind whirs, seeking a potential solution. I’ll try to talk to Charmin more tonight while we work. Maybe I can reason with her after everything has calmed down a bit.
Atticus walks over to Chuck’s shoes, sniffing his handiwork
. His head turns in my direction, waiting to see if I have any harsh words for him.
I don’t. “Poop in the other one for all I care,” I say.
He seems to consider it, turning back for another sniff. Then he lifts his head, tips his nose in the air as if saying Chuck’s not worth the effort, and trots back to me.
I bend down to scratch him, promising, “I’ll figure something out. It will be okay.”
CHAPTER 17
Atticus
I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I regret nothing.
Chuck had it coming.
That’s all I have to say on that issue.
CHAPTER 18
Hazel
Charmin refuses to talk to me about it. I’ve tried time and again tonight, but she cuts me off. She has generously given me more breaks, which of course I spend with my dog in the storeroom, going over various scenarios in my head.
I’ve got options.
I could move into a storage unit and live a life of freedom like Bernard, although that doesn’t appeal to me at all. Running water and a toilet are priorities.
I could go home to my mother with my tail between my legs. Beg her to take us in. I’m not sure what her answer would be.
I could call Liz and ask for some money, but that would be extremely awkward. The last time we saw each other was not pleasant, and I’ve avoided her since, mainly because I’m extremely embarrassed by my behavior.
There are lots of options, and none of them are good.
As the night wears on, my anxiety increases. I’m short-tempered with customers, which has a horrible impact on my tips. But I can’t stop worrying about what’s going to happen to us. I’ve been homeless before. Granted, it was just for a few days, but it was terrifying. At least then, I had a car to sleep in.
Now I have nothing but one little puppy that is now my sole responsibility to care for.
