Run
Abbie stared up into the clear blue sky and hated how calm and serene the world felt. As if the clouds had disappeared from the planet’s atmosphere simply to reappear in her mind. The autumn wind wasn’t even biting cold like it had been last year, instead replaced by a dry, slightly chilled breeze that served to narrow the bloods vessels just enough to warm the body, but not enough to make it uncomfortable.
She sighed, clasping the stopwatch in between her small slender fingers so tightly that she felt her hands begin to shake from the tension. Six months of couples counseling, physical intimacy workshops, and weekend getaways together, and nothing seemed to have changed. Abbie shook her head, no, that wasn’t true. Things had changed, Abbie and Warren understood each other more than they ever had on both a cerebral and emotional level, but their love for each other seemed only to have progressively diminished since they started. The more they learned about each other, the more clearly they understood how much their relationship didn’t work and the values they didn’t share.
They had been in love at one point, of that Abbie was sure, but now even speaking to each other felt tense, burdensome, and Warren seemed so agitated that anything could set him off these days. Just last night, Paul had asked Warren to take him to Target—needing art supplies for class—which sent Warren into such a rage that he punched a hole in the kitchen wall before storming out of the house.
He came back in the morning and apologized, tried to explain that—after a shitty week at work—he had set that night aside specifically to watch the game (an important game between his alma mater and their league rivals), and apologized again, but the damage was already done. Paul, their twelve-year-old son, who was always quite stoic and introverted, locked himself in his room that night and sobbed for the first time in years. When Warren returned and apologized, Paul said nothing. Their son knew something was wrong and that he was part of it, whether he liked it or not. Abbie had wanted to console him, tell Paul things were going to be okay eventually, that even if she and his father were to get a divorce, that they would both love Paul for the rest of their lives—but she didn’t know if these things were true or what effect such lies would have on his young mind.
It wasn’t that Abbie didn’t love her son. There were days that she thought he was the only thing worth living for, but Warren was a different story. They had gotten pregnant right after college and Paul’s unexpected conception became a large factor in every life decision them made from that moment forward. Warren had mentioned that he didn’t feel ready for children, that he had wanted to explore adulthood a bit longer, but he didn’t press the issue beyond that and seemed to fall into fatherhood quite well. It was only after Abbie’s relationship with Warren began to devolve, did he seem to distance himself from Paul as well. He spent most of his time in the basement watching movies or building his model ships, and even when Paul tried to go down there to spend time with his father, Warren would tense up, only speaking when addressed and only using one-word answers.
It was a completely foreign concept to Abbie that a man would grow to hate his own son. Especially when Paul had done nothing wrong, he was simply a bystander in their growing disaffection. But the look on Warren’s face whenever he looked at his son seemed to say that he blamed Paul for his life just as much as he blamed Abbie.
A quick movement in her periphery pulled Abbie from her thoughts and she looked down just in time to see Paul wave at her as he passed by on the sand-covered running track—gravel crackling under his shoes. Abbie was sitting on an ancient set of bleachers made of wood and metal, and she smiled at her son before checking his time—just above seven minutes for the first mile. Paul had recently joined the track and field team at his middle school and—sensing that neither of them wanted to go home just yet—Abbie suggested that they stop at the park near their house and practice for Paul’s long-distance event, a two-mile run against four other students. It was one of the only things that he seemed to enjoy these days and he was determined to place first or second so that he might be chosen to compete in the district-wide track and field tournament later that school year.
Neither Warren nor herself had ever enjoyed physical activity, even though she had done taekwondo and some boxing as a teen—her uncle had managed a boxing gym and her father worked there in his spare time and after he retired—so Paul’s newfound interest in running surprised her. On one hand, she was happy for him, happy Paul had found something that he felt motivated to pursue. However, on the other hand, she worried that this newfound interest was a product of their difficult home environment and a desire to escape it.
Abbie sighed and found her eyes wandering back up into the deep blue above them and—even though thoughts of her husband and their deteriorating homelife still weighed on her—she lost herself in the wide expanse until the blue shifted to an orangish-yellow with hints of maroon and purple and clouds began to dot the sky.
The stopwatch counted twenty minutes and forty-seven seconds as the sky turned darker and Abbie looked around for any sign of Paul. He should have been back by now. She looked around the track, but Paul was nowhere to be seen and many of the other runners had disappeared—the parking lot was almost empty. “Paul?” she called out to every direction. Panic struck Abbie as she walked through the entire park and she couldn’t find Paul or even just another person she could ask about Paul—something Abbie noted as strange since it was a relatively popular park.
She was on the phone with the police, making her second circle through the park when she saw Paul crouching down in the middle of the track petting a large white dog. She apologized to the police officer, hung up her phone, and rushed over to her son.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, not a care in the world as he scratched the dog’s stomach.
“Where have you been?” Abbie’s voice transformed her panic into anger. “Do you know how long it’s been since you just disappeared?”
Paul looked confused. “What do you mean, it’s only been…” He checked his wristwatch and a new look of confusion spread across his face. “It’s been an hour?”
“Where were you?” Abbie asked. “I walked through this entire park twice and couldn’t find you.”
“I…I thought I was here,” Paul said. He looked up at his mother with a disturbed look.
Abbie’s worry ignored Paul’s confusion. “What are you talking about? Do you understand how worried I was? I thought someone had kidnapped you! I was literally on the phone with the police just now!”
The large white dog suddenly popped up onto his legs, made eye-contact with Abbie, and began to growl, causing her to take a step back.
“Whoa, no, no, it’s okay,” Paul said, hugging the dog around its neck and gently running his fingers through the animal’s fur. “That’s my mom, she was just worried about me.”
Abbie took a deep breath and shook her head. “You can’t just run off like that, Paul. I…it’s dangerous…”
“I’m sorry mom,” Paul said, he scratched the dog as he spoke. “I guess I just lost track of time. The last thing I remember, I was running my second mile when I saw this dog sitting in some bushes over there,” Paul pointed to the tall brick wall that separated the park from a nearby highway. “She was just staring at me, so I thought she might try to rush in and bite me or something, but when I got closer, she was friendly.”
“Where is her owner?” Abbie asked, looking around for anyone else in the park even though she hadn’t seen another person for a while. “Does she have any tags?”
Paul shook his head. “No collar.”
Abbie cautiously moved closer to the dog to get a better look at the animal, watching her in case she started to growl again. The dog stopped moving and stared at her cautiously, which caused Abbie to abort her approach. The animal looked clean, it’s white fur was pristine as if it had showered recently and it didn’t seem to smell. “It looks like it has an owner,” she said. “Maybe she belongs to one of the houses that border the park.”
Paul nodded in agreement. “Do you think we should go around and ask? Maybe she’s lost.”
Abbie thought for a moment, then checked the time. “We should head home. I need to make dinner…” She and Paul made eye contact and she knew he wanted to ensure the dog was returned home safely. The thought of them coming back tomorrow to find “Lost Dog” signs posted on every streetlamp bothered her and Abbie fold quickly, “Alright, we have maybe thirty minutes before—” Suddenly, the dog turned around and bared it fangs at the darkness behind Paul, emitting a threatening growl that sent a shiver down Abbie’s spine. She looked around and noticed that none of the lamps in the park were on besides one in the far distance that was flickering wildly. To Abbie it seemed as if the dog were growling in the direction of this single, unstable light, but it seemed unlikely that the dog would care about something so far off. She squinted her eyes, trying to peer through the darkness to see what the dog was snarling at, but it felt as if the more she tried to see, the more the darkness seemed to obscure her sight.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, “what is it?”
The hair on the dog’s back seemed to rise as it growled, then it shot forward, disappearing into the darkness of the park almost instantly. Paul ran after the dog, but Abbie was hesitant. “Paul! Paul, we have to go home!” She chased after him and found Paul just a few minutes later, standing amongst some pine trees on the edge of the park.
“She’s gone,” Paul said, his voice was downtrodden.
“I’m sure she just went home,” Abbie said, looking around. “Maybe she took whatever she was growling at to her owners as a trophy.” Paul was silent as he scanned for any signs of the animal. The park seemed brighter and Abbie noticed that the moon was large and bright, peeking out from behind a patch of clouds. “Let’s go home,” she said, “it’s almost dinnertime.”
Paul was silent. He waited a bit, staring off into the dark, but as Abbie started towards the car, he rushed to catch up to her.
It was too late to cook by the time they left the park, so Abbie grabbed some McDonald’s on the way home—something fast and easy. When they got to the house, light was already shining up from the basement—the only light on in the house—which meant that Warren didn’t want to be disturbed. It was a tactic that Sonya, the couples counselor, had presented to them. Warren had expressed feeling suffocated at home. Between work, transporting Paul to and from his extracurricular activities, and caring for the house (yardwork, bills, etc.), he felt as if he’d lost time to care for himself and explore his own personal interests, namely playing the guitar and painting model ships. So, in an attempt to give Warren space, Sonya suggested that they allowed him one or two hours of uninterrupted “me time” every few nights for Warren to decompress and relax alone in his own space. Abbie agreed to the proposition, however—as the therapy soon began to reveal more and more disparity between the two of them—Warren began to spend more and more time down in the basement and almost no time with Abbie. It was even common for him to sleep on the couch down there on the weekends, worsening the physical intimacy issues Abbie was feeling.
Paul and Abbie ate in silence, listening to the faint TV downstairs—an episode of The Office, the American adaptation, which had premiered that year. Before Abbie could think of something to talk about, Paul stood up from the table. “I’m done,” he said, crushing the crispy chicken sandwich wrapper into a ball with his hands.
“Do you want the fries,” Abbie asked. “I don’t think your father—”
“I don’t want his fries,” Paul said with a biting anger. He immediately stopped, realizing that he was raising his voice at the wrong person. He paused for a moment, just standing there in the middle of the kitchen, until he spoke again. “Why does he even live here if he hates us so much?”
“He doesn’t…” Abbie started, but when she saw the look on Paul’s face she couldn’t finish her sentence.
The next day—after picking Paul up from school—they went back to the park so that he could train. Apparently, there was a track meet with Ford Middle is in a couple weeks and Paul’s coach had said that it would be a big deciding point for who would make the team that year.
As Paul took his warm-up lap, Abbie sat on the wooden bleachers and found herself once again staring up into the sky. Today, mountainous clouds filled the darkening, overcast expanse. Abbie wondered if it would rain, but already knew it wouldn’t. Before she could fully take in the skyline or observe the cloud that seemed to take the form of a sitting bear, Paul ran up to her in tears.
“What’s wrong?” Abbie asked. She looked for any injuries, but there were none.
“The…the dog…” Paul said in between wheezing breaths. He led her to the other side of the park populated by pine trees and tall bushes, the height of a single-story building. Near the walking path, what remained of the large white dog they’d met the day before laid at the center of a circle of trees. The scene was horrifying. The dog’s body had been mutilated beyond recognition, seemingly torn to pieces by something larger than itself, with each piece covered in cuts and bite marks—the crusted fur was dyed a dark maroon from the large amount of dried blood that soaked into it. Abbie gagged when she noticed its internal organs laid out, flowing from the animal’s open stomach. Paul attempted to get closer, but Abbie held him back, keeping him at the edge of the footpath. “We should bury her,” he said, his voice weak and small.
“We need to call animal control,” Abbie said. She didn’t know the number, so she called the police instead and they sent out the animal control people. Paul couldn’t watch as they hoisted the pieces of the dog’s body up with a rusted, dirty shovel and dropped it into the back of their truck unceremoniously, explaining that they needed to do an autopsy to figure out what had attacked it.
They went home after the animal control truck had left. Paul didn’t say a word for the rest of the night and Abbie couldn’t find the words to try and console her son. They ate dinner in silence and both went to bed early.
Several days later, after a scheduled therapy session—both Abbie and Warren had individual therapy sessions once a week and a couple’s session once every two weeks—Abbie finished just in time to pick Paul up from school. There, she found Warren standing outside in the pick-up area with Paul. They weren’t looking at each other, but it seemed as if Warren was talking. “The office said they couldn’t get ahold of you,” Warren said coldly when Abbie walked up to them.
Abbie checked her phone—she had turned it off for the therapy session and forgotten to turn it back on. “Oh…” she said. “What happened?”
“They said he got into a fight. One of the other boys in P.E.”
It was a surreal statement. The gentle, quiet boy who needed a night light until he was eleven, who used to hug his mother’s legs whenever he was scared or nervous or shy. “What?” Abbie said, thinking maybe she’d heard wrong. “A fight? Who started it?”
“They say it was Paul,” Warren sighed. “Look, I need to get back to the office, so…”
Abbie felt frustration boiling up inside her, the desire to shout and scream and hit Warren until he understood that this was their family, their problem, their son, almost reached action until she realized it would only serve to widen the gap between the three members of their family—especially if her outburst in front of the school embarrassed Paul and gave his enemies fodder to harass him.
“Look,” Warren said, “kids fight. Their hormones are all out of whack and schools just breed competition while forcing people who don’t get along to see each other every day. These things happen, I used to get into fights too.” He didn’t wait for a response before walking away.
Abbie and Paul were in the car before either of them spoke. “Are you okay?” Abbie asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Hey,” they were at a stop light, so Abbie turned to her son. “You want to go watch a movie? Or maybe take a trip to the beach? We can go to the boardwalk and get those churros you like.”
“Mom,” Paul had a brooding look on his face, but he made sure to make eye contact, “I’m fine. All I want to do right now is go to the park and run.”
“The park? But—”
“It’s fine,” Paul stopped her. “I just…it’s fine.”
“So…you don’t want to talk about what happened?”
Paul sighed. “No. I want to run.”
Abbie could see the anger in Paul’s eyes but decided not to push the issue. She hated it, but her entire family seemed to struggle in the same way. In these moments where gravity felt so heavy and her thoughts so suffocating, Abbie withdrew, spending more time sleeping or staring into space—trying not to think at all—instead of dealing with her problems openly and directly. It seemed that Paul was of a similar kind.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Paul ran as Abbie sat, reading a book, and the world seemed to hold its breath—waiting to see what happened next. Paul finished his run thirty seconds slower than his average and Abbie knew this wasn’t the moment to speak again. They were walking towards the car when suddenly, Paul looked up and turned his head towards the far side of the park.
“Do you hear that?” He asked.
“Hear what?”
Without warning, he ran off in the direction of where they had found the large white dog’s remains and Abbie followed him in confusion. When she got to where Paul had stopped, Abbie found her son kneeling in the same exact spot where they’d found the dog’s mangled remains. He was holding a puppy, as snow-white as the other. It looked malnourished—she could see the animal’s skeleton through its skin—and it shivered all over while licking Paul’s face.
“Where…How did you hear that?” Abbie asked.
“I…I think she’s alone,” Paul said. “That other dog must have been her mother.”
“But…where was she that day…?” Abbie asked, getting close enough to see how disheveled the dog was. “Does she have a tag?”
“No,” Paul said. “Do you think someone just abandoned the two of them here?”
“We should ask the houses around the park,” Abbie said. “Maybe there’s a hole on one of the fences around here and the dogs are getting out.”
“She doesn’t look like she’s been fed in days,” Paul said, looking up at Abbie with pleading eyes. “Can we…maybe…take her?”
“What...Paul, I mean…” She knew he had wanted a pet for a while. They had talked about it before, but decided to wait until he was in high school. She looked at the dog and sighed. The animal really looked like she needed some help. Abbie frowned but a thought asked if perhaps this would be good for Paul. Maybe this dog could help Paul through whatever was going on at school as well as the obvious detrimental effects her strained relationship with Warren was having on him. Abbie sighed. “Okay.” Paul’s face lit up, a look of happiness that Abbie hadn’t seen in a while. It hurt her more than she expected. “Stop. This doesn’t mean we’re adopting the dog,” Abbie said, “Your father and I…our home is…this is a big responsibility and…” Abbie sighed. “We’ll take care of her for now…for now.” Paul nodded with a look of determination.
They found the nearest animal shelter where the workers bathed the dog, fed her a bit, and then gave her the proper shots and immunizations. The veterinarian looked surprised when he found out that the dog didn’t have an illness or any other physical issues from being out on the streets for at least a week—he surmised from some sort of examination that Abbie barely followed—but it sounded like a good thing.
They stopped by a pet store as well and bought some food, some pet-friendly bath supplies, a collar and leash, a dog bed, a brush, and a toy—a stuffed bone that squeaked whenever Snow—Paul had already named the dog by the time they got to the store—clamped down on it with her jaws. After the store, Abbie realized that it was once again too late to cook, so they also stopped by a Pizza Hut to grab dinner.
Warren was in the living room when they got home. A look of surprise appeared on his face when they walked in with the shivering dog. Abbie was just as surprised that he wasn’t in the basement building his scale models or watching the game. He looked as if he was going to object to the new housemate, but stopped himself, shook his head with a sigh, and then walked into the basement, slamming the door behind him. Abbie didn’t know how she had expected Warren to react, but it definitely wasn’t that. She thought forward to their couples counseling session tomorrow and assumed that would be a session wasted.
“What is his problem?” Paul’s voice was sharp.
Abbie wanted to know as well, but unfortunately it would only really mean something if Warren could say it himself. “Introduce Snow to the backyard,” she said, “we can eat while she sniffs around out there.”
That night, Snow slept in Paul’s room and Abbie waited for Warren until two. When she realized he didn’t intend to come upstairs that night, she retreated into their room and took a bath before bed.
The next day, when Paul was at school, Abbie had to take Snow with her wherever she went—given that the house had not been dog-proofed and there were more than a few things she didn’t want the animal getting into unsupervised. Without Paul, Snow seemed different. Agitated and distrustful. Abbie tried to pet her in the morning and she growled and snapped her jaws at her. She fed Snow a treat and the dog seemed to calm after that, but she was still wary of Abbie for the rest of the day.
She and Warren had their couples counseling session that day at noon. Abbie didn’t know what to do with Snow for that time, so she dropped the dog off and their house, tying her to the large oak in their backyard. She put a bowl of food and a bowl of water next to the dog and gave Snow the stuffed bone before setting out. As she walked towards the car, she could already hear her barking uncomfortably. It’s only an hour and a half, Abbie thought. I’ll be back soon.
As expected, couples counseling did not go well. Whenever asked a question, Warren would either deflect or give a somewhat vague answer that Abbie couldn’t understand. The therapist explained—in their individual session—that he might need a bit more time to open up, feel safe enough to interact with his feelings in this space, but after six months, things were feeling a bit hopeless. The new dog didn’t seem to help things. He was even moodier than usual, and when the topics of “making decisions together” and “communicating” came up, he seemed all the more agitated.
Abbie simply wished he could speak in these moments, not recede back into himself while putting up this cold, distant front—but nothing she did or said seemed to have any effect on this deep-rooted defense mechanism. They ended the session with the therapist suggesting that Warren come see her an additional time every week, at least for now. Warren objected at first, but then unexpectedly made eye contact with Abbie, quieted down, and agreed.
Abbie left first while Warren scheduled his extra sessions with the receptionist, but just as she reached her car, Warren tapped her on the shoulder. Abbie swung around in alarm, but when she saw it was him, she quickly calmed down.
“Oh…sorry,” Warren said, realizing his mistake.
“What do you want?” Abbie asked.
“Here,” he said, handing her a piece of paper. “I talked to one of my co-workers who’s been looking for a dog. She said she’s willing to foster the animal and can meet today after work. That’s her number, I didn’t know your schedule, so you can call her and set things up yourself.”
Abbie felt this sour, spastic, suffocating feeling inside of her—the discontent that started years ago when all this pain and resentment started—well up and explode in a single moment. She ripped up the piece of paper. “What the fuck is your fucking problem?” She asked. Warren’s face revolted in surprise. “Paul, our son, your son, has had to deal with our fighting, our shouting, our silent treatment, and everything else our shitty relationship has produced for years. Now, it’s been six months of you just sitting alone in the basement painting your models like it’s the only thing you can fucking do. You don’t talk to us. You don’t look at us. You don’t help us when we need help. And after all that you can’t even let him have this? This one thing that’s made him smile for the first time in six months and you just want to take it away from him. Why? Do you even know that he’s on the track and field team? Do you know that I bring him to the park after school because I don’t want to come home to that cold, unhappy house? Do you know what it feels like when I do come home and all I see is that fucking light coming up from the basement and nothing else? You used to smile when you saw me. You used to ask me how my day was. I used to feel…I used to…” She closed her eyes, stopped, and turned away from him.
“Abbie…” Warren said, his voice was on edge, but not angry. “Abbie…I…” She could feel him struggling inside himself, something wanted to come out, but something else stopping him. “I don’t want…I don’t like…” He gritted his teeth, made a frustrated shout, and punched the car door.
After a moment, Abbie sighed, shook her head, and then looked up at Warren. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. If I did, I would try to help, cause somewhere deep down inside—down where I can’t reach—I still care about you. But I can’t wait forever. And if this is the best you can do, then just leave already.”
When Abbie got home, she noticed that the gate to the backyard was wide open and one of its hinges had been broken, leaving the wooden door hanging at an angle. Snow was gone. Panic flooded her mind to the point that she had to stop, close her eyes, and take a few deep breaths before she could focus on finding Snow. She circled the block in her car several times, then expanded her search to neighboring blocks and then ultimately to the park where they had found the dog. Anxiety built up in Abbie’s body as she combed through the park and the residential area surrounding it with no signs of Snow anywhere. Eventually, it was was time to pick Paul up from school and Abbie still had no idea where Snow was. On her way to pick him up, Abbie recited the explanation she would give Paul and the assurances that they would not rest until Snow was found. They would continue to search the surrounding area while also putting up signs, offering a reward, and talking to the neighborhood association.
A huge wave of relief purged the anxiety from her body when Abbie drove up to the pick-up area and found Paul holding Snow in his arms as the dog slurped at his face relentlessly. Abbie staggered out of the car, tears on her face, and hugged Paul and Snow together.
“Mom, mom! Not in front of my classmates! Mom!” Paul dragged his mother into the car. “Are you okay?” He asked as they drove off. Abbie couldn’t help it as tears streamed down her face. She blubbered an explanation of what happened and her discovery of Snow’s escape followed by an apology. Paul smiled softly and patted his mother on the shoulder. “It’s okay mom, it’s okay. I guess she’s a smart dog, she tracked me all the way to school and I found her digging around the trees near the track at lunch.”
“I still don’t understand how she got out of the backyard,” Abbie said. “There are two latches on the gate.”
Paul didn’t seem to be listening as Snow climbed from the backseat into his lap and began licking his face again. Abbie smiled seeing Paul chuckle at the dog’s affection and return it with an overabundance of head scratches.
They went to the park and Paul ran his two miles with Snow trotting happily beside him. Abbie was surprised by the level of obedience from the dog, given that they only had her for a night. The dogs her family had raised when she was a child were mischievous adventurers—any chance they got, they’d run off and sniff and pee on whatever they could find—but Snow didn’t seem to care about, or even notice, anything other than Paul. It almost felt as if they were linked in some supernatural way and it brought Paul a joy that felt rare these days. He even finished his two-mile run thirty seconds faster than his personal best.
Warren didn’t like Snow, he seemed to tense whenever they were in the same room together, but he never mentioned giving the dog away again. Snow didn’t seem all that trusting of Warren either, only staring at Paul’s father like a wild animal watching the movements of a stranger. Abbie and Snow’s relationship however seemed to get better with time. Eventually, the dog stopped growling at her, staring at her with those wary eyes, and even licked her on the hand once or twice.
The family fell into a weekly rhythm as Snow brought a new energy into the house. Paul’s running became a daily focus while Warren drifted ever further away from his family, not speaking with anyone in the house since Abbie had yelled at him in the therapist’s parking lot. Eventually, the day of the first track meet came and Abbie brought Snow to watch Paul run his event, finding a place in the front row of the Ford Middle School bleachers—as close to the red-orange polyurethane track as possible. Abbie had invited Warren, even made sure to tell him a few weeks in advance, but he never responded with a definite answer. His absence was expected, but Abbie felt something heavy in her chest when she realized he wasn’t coming.
Paul expected as much and, after a split-second frown when he looked up and saw only Abbie and Snow, he smiled and waved to them.
“Good luck,” Abbie shouted in response—a call so loud that it cut through the myriad conversations on the field and caused a moment of silence as heads turned to see who was speaking.
Her son gave a thumbs up and a smile in response and Abbie sat down, satisfied and a little embarrassed. Snow quietly sat down next to Abbie and she noticed a strange calm about the dog. Normally around Paul, the dog was playful and energetic, constantly trying to goad the boy into paying attention to her. Today, however, the dog didn’t bark, didn’t whine at the fact that she couldn’t be near Paul, didn’t even seem to require treat-bribes to sit calmly in the bleachers. All Snow did during the entire three-hour track meet was sit and watch, eyes focused solely on Paul.
The two-mile run was one of the middle events in the day that ran concurrently with girls shot put—the event that had attracted a large group of middle school boys as well as one extremely vocal parent couple. Abbie sat in silence, watching her son run at a speed she didn’t know he could move. He looked different, his running form was low to the ground with fast, uneven arm movements and powerful feet strikes, as if he were launching himself off the ground each time his shoes connected with the ground. He moved in a way that seemed inhuman and his competitors and the coaches all watched with silent awe. Even if it was a bit unorthodox, Paul won the race with over a minute different from second place. His coach looked dumbfounded and his teammates applauded him happily—it seemed that no one had expected him to win.
That night, Paul ate twice what he normally did, scarfing down the KFC chicken like he hadn’t eaten in days. Abbie was so happy that she even deboned a drumstick and fed the meat to Snow, who received the meat happily. Warren was absent—not even in his basement—but Abbie refused to let it put a damper on her son’s victory. This was the happiest she’d felt in months.
“Thank you mom,” Paul said as he finished Warren’s share of the food on top of his own.
Abbie looked surprised. “For what?” She said, trying to hold back a smile—her son had rarely ever thanked her for anything. “You were the one who was running.”
“You supported me through all of this running stuff. You bought me new shoes. You never really even asked why I started running, you saw that I wanted to do it and you sat there—every day— and waited while I ran.” He looked down at Snow and ran his hand over the dog’s head. “You even let me keep Snow, when neither you nor…he wanted a dog in the house.” He hesitated for a second. “I know things haven’t been easy for you, but you always thought of me first…so, thank you.”
Abbie could feel a lump in her throat as her vision filled with tears. She held onto Paul’s shoulder and looked down, embarrassed by her uncontrolled emotions. “Thank you,” she managed to say through her trembling sobs. After a few moments, she recomposed herself and she and Paul had a nice, lighthearted conversation over dessert—an Oreo ice cream cake they had picked up at the nearby Safeway.
It was after dinner when it happened. Paul had finished washing the dishes and, still hungry, he went into the pantry for the family size bag of Doritos. He’d just opened the bag when his legs collapsed underneath him and he fell to the floor, howling in pain. Abbie found him clutching his legs, scratching at them as if the slashing of his fingernails would abate the pain within. She rushed to the phone and dialed for an ambulance, but as the phone rang, Abbie saw Snow rush into the pantry and second later the screaming stopped, replaced by the dog’s slurping tongue and Paul’s laughter. He walked out of the pantry as a voice over the phone asked what the emergency was.
Abbie, shocked and confused, walked up to Paul, examined his face, then put her hands all over his legs, looking for any spots that would invoke a painful reaction.
“Everything’s okay mom,” Paul said with a smile. “I’m okay.”
“You…you weren’t though,” Abbie responded. “You were shouting and screaming and whimpering and clawing at your legs with that strained face like…”
“A muscle cramp,” Paul said reassuringly. “That’s all it was. A muscle cramp. I did just break the middle school record for a two-mile run today.” He looked so calm, Abbie didn’t understand. “I just need a bath…soak these tired legs.”
Abbie couldn’t believe what Paul was saying or that he was standing comfortably, but no matter what she said, he continued to insist that everything was okay in that unnervingly calm tone. It was so unbelievable that Abbie was still playing out what happened in her mind well into the next day. It couldn’t have been cramps, she thought, no way. But nothing she thought up or researched on the internet felt quite right. She search for so long without a proper answer that she thought perhaps it actually was cramps. To be honest, that wasn’t the biggest thing Abbie was concerned with. Snow had run into the pantry just before Paul’s symptoms had subsided. Snow had watched Paul during his race with that eerie silence. Snow didn’t trust anyone but Paul. Abbie shook her head, there were so many stories in the news and online about a dog’s bond with their owner reaching unspoken intimacy, but it was hard for her to believe that Paul and Snow had such a relationship in just two weeks. Not to mention that it still didn’t explain what happened in the pantry last night.
To Abbie, something never felt right about Snow. Anyone else would see the dog as Paul’s guardian angel. From the moment the two met, Paul had become happier, he started consistently improving his mile times, he’d won the race at the track meet, and now Snow even saved him from some mysterious, unbearable pain. But, something about the way the dog’s mother died—torn to pieces by some unknown creature—something about how attached the animal was to Paul, made Abbie feel anxious.
Over the next few weeks, Abbie tried to limit the amount of time Paul and Snow spent together. She insisted on walking and feeding the dog by herself, she refused to allow Snow to run alongside Paul when he practiced, and even required that the dog sleep downstairs in her kennel—Abbie bought an overly expensive wood and metal dog crate that doubled as an end table just so Snow wouldn’t sleep in Paul’s room at night, but made sure it was nice and comfortable so that if she was wrong about the abnormal aspect of the dog’s relationship with her son, at least the new sleeping arrangement would be comfortable.
For the first week, Paul would sneak Snow up to his room after Abbie fell asleep, something she expected to happen. However, with Warren’s erratic sleep schedule and him using the couch as a bed over half of the time, Paul found it harder and harder to reach Snow without the risk of running into his father. The two still wanted to spend as much time together as possible, but Abbie’s insistence on caring for the dog herself and that Paul focus on his training and studies cut this time to the point where she saw a marked change in Snow’s temperament.
While Snow was venting her frustrations by attacking the furniture and digging, both in the backyard and in the living room, Paul found that—no matter how hard he tried—he couldn’t replicate the mile times he achieved at the track meet. Abbie watched Paul push himself harder and harder as the days went by, but he never reached that speed again. She felt mountains of guilt shoveled onto her conscience as she watched the two struggle and hoped she was wrong about the dog—that she could stop this strange game of keep-away soon—but she had to be sure.
It was three weeks after the track meet—Abbie was still trying to keep them apart—when Warren returned home from a late night at work to find his basement in ruins. Snow had somehow gotten past the locked door and decided that Warren’s collection of model ships were chew toys waiting to be broken in. Paul was in the kitchen, washing the dishes after dinner and Abbie was in the living room engrossed in the latest true crime report on 60 Minutes when Warren returned home and trudged directly from the garage to the basement.
“What in the hell…?” Warren said softly at first, but he then immediately repeated himself loud enough for everyone in the house to hear him. She rushed downstairs just in time to see Warren wrestle a half-eaten plastic model out of Snow’s mouth. Paul followed downstairs and a quiet look of satisfaction spread across his face when he saw his father’s work destroyed. Snow seemed to think they were playing until Warren grabbed the dog by the skin on its neck.
Snow yelped and suddenly Paul had tackled his father to the ground, forcing him to release the dog. Warren took some time to recover from the shock of getting thrown to the ground, but when he stood up he found Paul and Snow poised for a fight with the later emitting a dangerous growl.
Warren sighed, continuously shaking his head as he looked around at all the demolished miniature ships, the shattered glass bottles, and the mess of leaking paint bottles and broken tools that were thrown about in disarray on his hobby workstation. “I want that dog out of the house,” he declared. “Out! Now!”
Abbie swiped at Paul’s arm to get his attention and motioned for him to take Snow and leave the room. Paul didn’t budge, and Snow continued her low-toned growl, baring her fangs at Warren. “Paul,” Abbie said, “Paul,” this time with more force, “please take the dog outside…just for now.”
“No,” Warren said. “No, not ‘for now’, that dog isn’t living in this house anymore. I want it gone.”
Paul’s entire body seemed to tense as his eyes took on a sharp, angry quality. Abbie begged him to take Snow and leave, and after a few moments, he turned and ascended the stairs with Snow following behind him.
The moment Paul slammed the basement door behind him, Warren turned to his workstation and flipped the table with an angry shout. He balled his hands into fists for a moment and then let them drop, lifelessly, to his sides. “I’m trying Abbie, I really am,” He looked straight down at his shoes, “But, all these…these damn…” Warren made a frustrated sigh and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I know these last few months…few years haven’t been my best, but I—” He turned around and suddenly his face turned from angry to tense, eyes wide with a look of disbelief. “Paul, what are you doing?”
Abbie heard Snow’s low growl, feeling it pulse through her entire being, before she turned towards the stairs and found Paul was standing there with a kitchen knife in his hands. Snow stood next to him, teeth bared, eyes trained on Warren.
“Paul, calm down, what in hell are you doing?” Warren said. “What do you think you’re going to do with that knife boy?”
Paul just stood there, silent, unmoving, until Snow barked—one low, deep woof that seemed to echo in her mouth. Once he heard Snow, Paul charged at Warren—moving so fast he seemed to blur across the room—and suddenly everything stopped. Everything was silent.
It took Abbie’s brain a moment to process what she was seeing. Paul had pushed his father onto the ground—among the paints, brushes, and other hobby tools that had once been meticulously organized on Warren’s workstation—and rammed the kitchen knife into his chest. His white button-up shirt suddenly had a red stain that was quickly growing while Warren choked on more blood leaking from his mouth.
Warren sputtered, trying to speak through the viscous red fluid as he struggled to push Paul off of himself—his arms too weak to get the boy to move—before his eyes moved from his son’s face to Abbie’s. The two made eye contact and, for a split-second, Abbie saw something in that look that she hadn’t seen in Warren’s face before—something that quickly faded as her husband’s eyes glazed over with lifelessness.
“What…what…why?” Abbie turned to Paul. “He…Warren…we were…” Abbie stopped the moment she felt it. The feeling that something inside her, something that was grasping onto her heart, tense, crushing, suffocating, released all at once. Abbie felt like she was breathing for the first time in a long time, but just as quickly as she felt that release, did she feel the tension, the anxiety, replaced by this putrid, slimy sourness that spread throughout her insides.
“I couldn’t let him take Snow away from me,” Paul said, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Snow taught me how to be free.” He turned to Abbie and smiled, blood covering half of his face, “And now you’re free too.”
