Strays (13 page)

I followed the direction of her pointing finger. Stillness. Nothingness. And then a dark shape swam under us and circled back. I had seen enough nature shows to know that sharks circle their prey before attacking. All we had to do was make it back to the waves and ride them in.

I tried to sound calm. “Maybe we
should
head back.”

“Oh my God. It
is
a shark!” Talbot grabbed on to me, making it difficult to stay above water.

“Talbot! Chill out! Just follow me.”

Again I looked down at the figure, getting larger, swimming closer to us. And before I could get either of us to move, it broke the surface of the water. Talbot screamed at the sight of the large seal's head bobbing along beside us. It stared at us and seemingly smiled, as though it had just pulled a practical joke on us.

“That's not a shark,” Talbot said, relieved.

“Definitely not,” I said. “It's just a seal.”

“Do they bite?”

“Nah…not unless you're a fish.”

A few scattered seal heads popped up, joining their friend to see what curious creatures had entered their space.

“Oh my God!” said Talbot. She had a look of wonder on her face, like a little kid.

“Do you still want to go back?” I asked.

“No way! This is amazing!”

Later, we rested on the beach until we were dried and sun-kissed, then headed back to our bikes.

“Thank you,” Talbot said.

“For what?”

“For that,” she said, gesturing toward the Pacific. “I can't wait to see what kind of reaction my dad has when I tell him I went so far out in the ocean.”

“Maybe you shouldn't tell him?” I suggested.

“But it's such an incredibly rich opportunity to piss him off!”

As we rode our separate ways, I thought about how she was working so hard to cause friction with her dad while I was doing my best to mend the tension that was always present between my dad and me. Maybe Dad and I just needed to be more like those seals out there, more curious about each other, more willing to get to know that other strange creature living inside the house—more willing to play.

Maybe I didn't always have to feel as though I were sinking. Maybe it was okay to rely on others to keep me afloat.

T
he one good thing about the cable being out at our house was that I had no excuse to blow off my schoolwork. For the next week, I spent my afternoons reading Angela Carter at various coffee houses throughout the city. In her stories, women weren't helpless victims; they were fierce warriors in charge of their own destinies.

The first story, “The Bloody Chamber,” ended with the main character's mother saving her from the wicked prince. I loved the departure from the stereotypical fairy tale endings, but I wondered who would rescue me now that my mother was gone.

I continued to leave Dad notes and texts about fixing the cable, and he responded with, “I'll get right on it.” But he never did, which forced me to keep reading.

Carter's stories were fierce, feminist, and, at times, gory. It was the very last story in the collection, “Wolf-Alice,” that really grabbed my attention. “Wolf-Alice” was based on the tale of Little Red Riding Hood, but in this version, nuns attempt to tame a feral girl. No one can understand what the girl is saying. She communicates by howling, which made me immediately think of Roman's mournful voice when Kevin last took him away. Thinking about the number of times I had been misunderstood over the past year, I further understood that Roman and I weren't so different.

After the incident at the Central Branch Library, I'd decided that the University of Santa Cruz library was where I wanted to brainstorm ideas for my paper. The university handed out honorary library cards to SC High School students, so I was able to hitch my bike to the front of the 1 University bus that took me up the hill, past Talbot's house, toward campus.

The more time I spent up on the campus, the more I liked it—especially the science library. Unlike the regular library that everyone used, this one was filled with science buffs like me. In one corner, a couple nestled on a couch perusing a book on molecular science; at a round table, students discussed the effects of vanishing coral reefs and admonished the government's lack of interception on the matter. The library was alive with ideas, and I desperately wanted to be a part of it all.

But instead of a science book in my hand, I sat with the Carter book, hiding the cover of a girl shrieking from her tower. When I'd first seen the cover, I'd assumed the girl was calling out to be rescued. But now that I was on my second reading, I imagined the girl on the cover sounding a war cry, letting everyone within earshot know that it was time for her voice to be heard.

I liked everything in the Carter book, but I didn't know exactly what I was going to write about for my final paper. Perry had made it clear that we needed to have a specific argument, and I had to come up with it quickly because Perry wanted to see rough drafts before we turned in our final papers.

I decided a trip to my bench would do me some good. I could clear my head and figure out what in the world I was going to write for my final paper.

But once I got to my bench overlooking the ocean, I defaulted to list-making. One page was titled
Things to Do before I Die
, another was
Types of Juice I'd Include in My Hypothetical Juice Store
, and, finally,
Top Ten All-Time Best Movie Kisses
, which involved imagining me kissing Oak in each cinematic scenario.

I was just writing down my number-one all-time kiss movie,
Casablanca
, when I heard someone say, “Iris? You're on my bench!”

It was Kevin, wearing nothing but swim trunks. In his right arm he held a surfboard and in his left a wetsuit.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“This is the place I come…to think.”

“Really?” But this was
my
bench.

“It's kind of been my place since back in high school. Maybe even earlier.”

“I'm surprised we haven't run into each other here before,” I said.

“Guess we think at different times.”

I laughed.

“Mind if I have a seat?” he asked.

“Sure, it's your bench, too.”

I moved over and made room for him. I got it now, what Talbot was going on and on about: Kevin cared. And I think that's what Talbot was confusing with attraction.

“You know, I was really disappointed with how everything went down at dog rehab,” he said.

“Yeah—me, too.” It was the truth.

Kevin slid his surfboard under the bench. “We were all in it together, and you kind of abandoned your dog.”

“I didn't mean to. I mean, sometimes I feel like I don't even have a choice.”

“Everyone always has a choice, Iris. You think you're the only one who gets angry? You know why I get to work in this program? Estelle, the woman who runs it, wanted someone who understood where these kinds of kids were coming from.”

“You mean kids like me,” I said.

“Yeah, kids like you. Angry kids. Kids who break the rules and pretend to not care what others think about them. So she picked me to be in charge because I can completely understand what it is you're going through.”

“I seriously doubt that,” I said.

“Look, my parents split when I was eleven years old. I hated both of them for it. Their fights were vicious. Dad used violence to solve his problems—I hated him for it, but I hated myself even more for doing the same thing to others. I stopped listening to my mom, stopped respecting any adult because I believed they were all full of it. I thought they only spoke in lies. I started getting into all sorts of trouble. Stealing, graffiti, drugs. You name it, I did it. But I crossed paths with a judge—a very sympathetic judge who had heard about this program called Ruff Rehabilitation.”

“You went through the program?” I couldn't believe it.

“I didn't just go through it. I passed with flying colors. I had something to focus on other than my own misery. I turned things around. I liked the dogs, and the dogs liked me, and they listened. Since you guys have come to the program, have I ever once turned my back on you or told you that you couldn't do it?”

“No. Of course not,” I said. Kevin had always been nothing but supportive.

“Then why did you turn your back on us? On Roman? He needs you, Iris, more than you'll ever understand.”

The thought that a three-legged mutt needed me was almost laughable.

“I heard possible whispers that maybe you'd like Roman back?” said Kevin. Oak must have told him how I had been feeling.

“I think so,” I said, sheepishly.

“You
think
so? Or you
know
so? Because you have to know so if you're gonna get him back.” Kevin meant serious business.

“I think I know so,” I said, still not completely sure that this was what I should be doing.

“Okay, then!” said Kevin. “I talked to Estelle last night. She made it very clear that I only get one free pass with her, but she says she'll break protocol and let you work with Roman. But you have to really be with the program, Iris. You have to trust the program.”

There wasn't one person on earth that I did trust, and now Kevin was trying to convince me to trust an entire program.

“So, for the last time, are you in? I wouldn't be so insistent if I didn't believe in you so much, Iris. And Roman believes in you, too,” said Kevin, picking up his surfboard.

“Can he talk now?” I asked.

“You'd be surprised at how much a dog can say without ever talking.”

Here was this amazingly compassionate guy begging me to work with Roman again because he thought I could do it. How could I say no?

“I'll do it. But I can't promise I'll like it,” I said.

“There's still hope, Iris. There's still hope.” He put his hand out to mine, and I shook it. “See you on Monday? Don't be late.” He picked up his wetsuit and started walking down the trail.

*

Excitement replaced fear when Roman bounded toward me. His tail was wagging so enthusiastically against my bare legs that it felt like I was being whipped. He then proceeded to lick my entire face, and for the first time, I let him, with pleasure. For every lick, I reciprocated with a vigorous scratch behind his ears.

“Aw! He missed you!” said Talbot, watching us.

I knew I had made the right choice.

Oak pretty much avoided me during dog training. Would we ever talk again? I was playing a weird game of chicken with him. I didn't want to be the first to relent and speak. So I waited and waited, hoping to distract myself by chatting with Talbot.

“Girls, less talking, more walking!” Kevin shouted at us as we walked with our dogs in a circle, keeping the animals in a heel position to the left of our bodies. The tips of their noses had to stay behind our bodies at all times in order to ensure that the dogs knew who was boss.

“Sit and stay!” shouted Kevin. We were getting accustomed to these commands, so much so that it felt like we had all learned a different language. We each had our dogs sit in a row, leaving at least five feet between dogs and ten for Tinkerbelle, who was usually completely unfocused.

“Sit,” I said. Roman went straight down.

“Good boy,” I praised.

The others also gave the “sit” command, and down their dogs went. It was a sight to see these misfit dogs obeying our commands perfectly.

“They're all totally gonna find new homes!” said Talbot.

“I hope so,” said Kevin.

“Stay,” we said to our dogs, putting our hands out like we were making a stop sign. Then we slowly stepped backwards. When I felt like he was concentrating completely, I let go of Roman's leash. Roman didn't take his eyes off me. In my periphery I could see bicyclists going for an afternoon cycle along the beach. Birds were pecking at the ground, but Roman continued to zero in on me. Then a boy and his dad emerged with a bright red kite in tow. Roman started to lose his concentration.

“Stay!” I repeated sternly. He looked back at me, then toward the boy. I could see his internal struggle: listen or rebel.

Roman eyed the kite as the boy prepared it for takeoff.

“Stay!” I repeated sternly. Again Roman looked back at me, then back at the boy.

The dad ran with the kite and launched it into the air, where it floated on the wind currents like a seagull. But the duo was coming too close to us. Roman looked back at the kite. This was a total distraction for a dog like him. I knew that what he saw was an unidentified, jerkily moving object, the perfect thing to spook a sensitive dog like Roman, just like when my hand came down behind him that first week of dog training and I thought he was going to bite it off. I decided it was best to go back to where Roman was sitting and grab the leash so I could regain control.

Kevin nodded as though he were reading my mind as I made my way toward Roman, readying myself to grab the leash.

But then the kite erratically swooped over our heads. Every dog's head turned, following the kite, but Roman took off after it, ready to protect us all from the hovering beast. He barked and gnarled his way over to the kite, which finally landed at the base of a blooming purple jacaranda tree, right next to where the boy was standing.

“Sebastian!” yelled his dad, running full throttle over to the boy. I raced toward Roman. We were both running after our babies.

Sebastian's dad got there first, scooped up his son, and then began kicking Roman away.

“Don't do that!” I yelled. “He'll snap!” I knew that a foot flying toward Roman would be the one thing to trigger his aggressive past. Roman began growling and getting into an attack stance. Kevin was suddenly at my side, grabbing hold of the trailing leash.

“I'm so sorry about that, sir,” said Kevin to the dad.

“It wasn't his fault!” I defended Roman. “He was protecting me from the kite.”

“That dog tried to attack us,” Sebastian's dad said.

“Why would you bring your kid out to play in the exact same spot where a group of dogs are being trained?” I asked, furious that Roman was even put in this situation. “You have the whole park!”

Kevin placed his hand on my shoulder. “Iris, I'm gonna ask that you go back and join the group now.”

I had no choice but to listen. As I walked away, I heard the dad say, “Just so you know, I'm a lawyer. If something isn't done about that dog, get ready to see a lawsuit.”

I couldn't believe this was happening. It all seemed so unfair.
The waters tossed and churned inside
. My anger swelled, and I could feel myself trying to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. I thought about what my therapist had said:
Acknowledge it
. I started pacing around the trees. Weaving in and out of the dogs and their trainers. I must have looked like a nutcase. But in my head, I had to walk it off or else I would do something terrible.

Oak approached me. “Are you okay?”

Was he trying to save me again?

“I'm just checking in,” he said, as though he knew exactly what I had been thinking.

At least he was talking to me. It meant he still cared.

Normally I would have said, “I'm fine.” I would have sucked it all in. But now, I tried a new approach. “No, I'm not. I'm super pissed off. I need some space.”

He didn't look hurt. He didn't look at me like I was crazy. Instead, he listened to my words and nodded as he went back to the group.

And then, as quickly as the anger had shot through me, the physical reaction started draining, like a water balloon with a leak, until I was left standing there, the same as before—still upset, but not out of control.

Kevin and the boy's father were done talking now, and Kevin was leading Roman back to his van.

“Where are you taking him?” I asked. I had a right to know where my dog was going.

“That boy's dad felt really threatened, and I don't blame him,” said Kevin.

“But Roman wasn't going after him,” I said.