Together at Last
Our suburb houses as many dogs as it does people. At least it did until I skipped the curb and killed five pets. They were all tied to their owners’ mailboxes one Thursday afternoon, waiting for the Fast Foam Pet Cleaner. In, my dad’s truck on my way to school I got a text message from a certain girl and looked down to read. One terrier, one golden retriever, two beloved mutts and one prize winning Rhodesian Ridgeback all yipped as I ran them down. The mailboxes were crushed too. The neighbors ran out to a colorful display of splintered wood, fluff, gore and me with my hands in my hair.
My name is Adam, but when I met Eve I introduced myself as Peter, which is Spiderman's real name.
Eve works at the only Internet café in town. I saw her a few times a week and always appreciated the way she crossed her legs behind the counter. We talked and she watched me play games online.
The neighborhood came together in their grief and in their rage against me. My mom looked at me with disdain as she poured milk over my cereal. She burned my toast and forgot to make coffee.
There was a memorial service for the dead pets. I wasn't invited. My dad thought the whole thing was stupid but my mom wore black. I sat on the roof of our house and watched the weird little procession. A cluster of neighbors walked from backyard to backyard, paying their respects to each tiny grave.
Every Thursday for several weeks those who lost a pet gathered at the fateful curb and watched me drive by. The gore had been pressure washed. They hid rocks in their hands. They moved their lips and kicked at the grass.
One Saturday afternoon Eve called. She had had a fight with her manager. Her voice was wet and shallow. Her car was in the shop, apparently, for the rest of the day and she wanted to get home. I sped a little, getting to her. She stood outside the café waiting. I pulled up and she climbed in and slapped my knee. I drove on with a feeling of absolute Christmas morning happiness in my stomach. I told her about it. She knew exactly what I meant. The truck bounced gently on its suspension. The windows were down and the sun was behind a cloud. No hot tub or king size bed compared to Eve in the passenger seat of my dad's truck. Suddenly I ran over a gray cat.
"Oh no," I said, and pulled over. We could tell from there it was dead, or so we told each other. Eve was shaken. As we drove she put her head on my shoulder.
"There, there," I said.
"There there what?"
I clipped a buck in the antlers as it sped out of the trees.
"Peter?" she said.
A hedgehog stumbled into the path of my right front wheel.
"Should we slow down?"
I hit the brakes. We caught our breath.
"I'm sorry, this has never happened before," I said.
Even as we sat still on the side of the road two blue jays slammed into my windshield and fell down dead.
"Except a couple weeks ago," she noted.
"Yes. Do you want to walk?"
"I like it in here. Did this happen on your way to get me?"
"No. Also I hit those dogs right after you sent me that text message."
"Sounds magical. I'm staying in the car," she said. "It's worth it, riding with you, Peter."
"My name's Adam, actually, to tell you truth," and I sped back onto the road. Another dog, another cat, a snake, a few more birds, bug after flying bug, all these slammed into my mighty truck. Eve and I looked on, together at last.
Brian Beise was born in Jackson, Mississippi and attended EABJM, a Bilingual school in Paris. He is currently working toward a bachelor's degree in creative writing at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, where he lives with his wife and kitten.