Run from the Dream: Trading Drugs for Cardiology

Trey Modlin

Run from the Dream: Trading Drugs for Cardiology

I was too young to remember my dad suffer a heart attack from a drug overdose and die during open-heart surgery. It’s been a struggle dealing with my single mother who also has a drug addiction and who is sure to suffer the same fate as my dad. All of my friends and close relatives have also turned to drugs. I wish I was old enough and mature enough to save all of them even now, but I couldn’t even bypass my own issues.

In Harlem I regularly dodged authority while buying and selling drugs for my mother and using some for myself to handle stress. Days before my high school graduation however I slipped up. I was arrested for possession while snorting cocaine during a transfer and spent the night in the county jail. After a fine and my release I had to plead to my high school not to deny me my diploma per school policy, and luckily my principal let it slide. After my graduation NYU sent me a warning which read: “If you are ever found in possession of drugs while enrolled at New York University, then your acceptance will be withdrawn and you will be dismissed.” Faced with these prospects I moved out of my mother’s house that August and supported myself throughout college with money that I saved up from working two jobs throughout high school.

I met Marcus midway through first semester in chemistry lab while drenched in stress. Instead of safely taking whiffs of the chemical liquids as instructed in orientation I closed my eyes and one-by-one I sniffed directly from the flasks of dimethyl ether and calcium sulfate like I was sniffing cocaine. Of course he didn’t know my history before now, but he figured I was either crazy, stupid, or had personal issues, so he approached me. “Dude, you’re going to pass out!” he exclaimed as he yanked the toxic flask from my hand. We made eye contact, but I just starred through him like he was a ghost. If anyone could help turn me around mentally it was Marcus. Concerned for my safety he introduced himself and offered me lunch. Hesitantly I accepted and we met after lab.

At lunch I discussed my issues: my dad dying on the operating table, my drug-addicted mother, my struggles working two jobs, the warning from NYU, and my drug addiction. I also told him that I dreamed of turning my life around, so I developed an interest in Cardiology, a lifestyle that was opposite to what I had before. From this point Marcus and I developed a strong friendship. We hung out on the weekends, and occasionally his family would invite me over for dinner in Flushing, so his house was basically a second home to me. I went to Harlem once in a while to visit my mother. Although I knew it was bad, sometimes I’d take a puff of her weed and snort some of her coke behind Marcus’s back just to handle school-related stress. Like nicotine my heart couldn’t completely abandon my past, an issue which cost my dad his life and soon for my mother, friends, and relatives. Even so I avoided trouble and Marcus’s detection through the years and together we excelled in our classes. We worked together on projects, earned high grades, and helped each other pass the MCAT. We even got accepted into NYU’s medical school together. Although these were great times for me there was one problem lurking which I could not evade.

It was midnight on May 5^th, just two weeks before graduation. We were at Marcus’s house when I stepped out for a few minutes. When I returned he noticed white powder on my pants, and my hand in my coat pocket like I was concealing something.

“What do you have there?” he asked condemningly.

“Uh, nothing, just some mail.”

“At this time of night? Come on. Show me what’s in your hand.”

Resignedly I revealed a bag of white rocks and powder.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“A few weeks – I met an old friend from high school who moved to this side of town recently.”

“But look at how far you’ve come.” He continued, “Don’t think you’re in the clear just because you’ve been accepted into medical school. If you start getting involved with the stuff that got you in trouble in high school, you’ll be in jail and you’ll be kicked out of school. Plus you’ll die sooner like your dad did and like your mom will.”

“I’m sorry. I tried to stop, but the urge was just too much. No matter where I go there are always drugs. Even when I stop using for a while I’m always reminded of my past addiction.”

I tried to continue, but I choked up and started moving for the door before he cut me off.

“Look. You’re not getting yourself into trouble again. I’ve been here for you for this long and I don’t want to see you throw away your future over methamphetamine, or cocaine, or whatever you’re using.”

The next day was our final gross anatomy lab of the semester. On our cadaver Marcus saw evidence of carditis, inflammation of the heart, which likely led to a heart attack and its death.

“See this?” he sternly stated. “This will be you if you continue your bad habits.”

I gazed at the cadaver envisioning my dad in his open casket, subliminally connecting to the cadaver. I was too young to remember his funeral, so I just used my imagination.

“I can help you, but only if you also help yourself” Marcus continued. “Do yourself a favor and stop before you get yourself in more trouble.”

 “For real this time. I can do this.” I responded triumphantly. “I’m done. No more coke. No more meth. No more dealing. I’ll just tell Kenneth I’m leaving so he doesn’t except me anymore. That’s it.”

But I wouldn’t get another chance. I forgot that I had stored a bag of angel dust and a bag of weed in my lab coat pocket, which both fell to the ground – just as the dean of the biology department walked in to conduct a post-semester inspection. He heard the bags fall and swiftly walked over in a manner which signaled trouble. I stared at him and froze. I couldn’t move. Finally, before he could get to me, Marcus shouted, “RUN!” I dropped my backpack and my lab coat and bolted for the door. From there only one door separated me from the streets and nearly nine miles separated me from the streets to the projects of Harlem. All I could do was run: run from the dream of turning my life around, run from the dream of saving lives, run from the only positive influence in my life, run from the dream of trading drugs for cardiology.

The Waiting Game

The Waiting Game

By: Kelly Jurchisin

October 6^th 2008

Dear Lizzi,

Before I get started, you should know I wasn't forced to do this. The longer I sit here in this cold, lifeless room filled with “get well soon” balloons and stuffed teddy bears, the more I realize that I don’t know the person I’m sitting next to. Since when did your beautiful dark brown hair get so long? When did you start to get these lightly orange brown freckles on your cheeks? Who is this thirteen year old girl that I call my sister? I wish I knew, I wish I had more to say to you then just these few words. You’d be surprised that I’m actually up here visiting you every single day. I have decided to write to you because I feel a little silly talking to you out loud and getting no reply.

Love always,

Aaron

October 11^th 2008

Dear Lizzie,

The nurses come in here every once in a while and mess around with the tubes and computers sitting around you. I really don’t know exactly what they’re doing but I hope it’s helping. All your friends from your soccer team came in today after practice. Their eyes were red and puffy from crying and didn't really know exactly what to say. They asked who I was, and when I told them I was your brother they didn't believe me. I guess you don’t talk about me much, don’t blame you. I told them you’d be up from your coma and back to practice in no time, they left with hope for you… I do have hope for you, it’s just difficult to have it when I’m here every day and nothing changes. But I know you’ll prove me wrong, you always do. Remember when I told you there was no way you’d be able to jump that dirt hill with your bike and land? You proved me wrong as fast as bullet. I was pretty upset with you when you did it but honestly I had nothing to be upset about, I should have been proud of you. I should have told you it was really smart of you to accelerate right before you peddled up the hill and then bent your knees on the landing. You’re such a crazy little thing and a force to be reckoned with. I wonder if you’re still like that now, how you used to be.

Love always,

Aaron

October 16^th 2008

Dear Lizzi,

The doctors said we’re still playing the “waiting game”. I really don’t think it’s a game. Games are usually fun and waiting for you to wake up isn’t much fun. Sometimes I’m scared that I’ll be here when you wake up and you won’t know who I am. I’m not who I used to be, Lizzi. I’ve changed since mom and dad kicked me out. Living with Uncle Robert has been life changing. I don’t cut myself anymore, and I don’t sell drugs; I don’t even do them myself. It’s been a hard three years but I know you’ll like the new me if you ever wake up in time to meet me. Mom and dad still don’t trust me though, I don’t blame them. They come in here every once in a while to make sure this is actually where I am. Anyways Lizzi, I’ll be here tomorrow.

Love always,

Aaron

October 21st 2008

Dear Lizzi,

I was sitting on the couch watching a football game when mom called Uncle Robert with the news of your accident. My stomach dropped as soon as Uncle Robert said you got hit by a car. The first thing I wanted to do was track down the idiot that would hit a girl walking home from school by herself. I know it was an accident but I don’t care. But with all the trouble I have been in already, Uncle Robert said if I wanted to do something about it then I should at least wait a little while until I stir up any more trouble. Just to let you know, when I was away from you guys, you were the person I thought about the most. I missed those nights that we would watch movies, or go fishing when we had nothing better to do. You were always so sweet and innocent, we could sit there and not talk to each other for hours and I would leave you feeling better than ever. Not a lot of people can say they have a sister like that. So I just want to thank you for just being who you are Lizzi.

Love always,

Aaron

October 25^th 2008

Dear Lizzi,

It’s been 3 weeks since the accident. Mom and Dad told me today that you could wake up and be a totally different person and that we should be prepared for that happening. How can I be prepared for that if I’m not even prepared to see the real you? The doctor says that the longer you stay asleep, the more you will forget. That scares me, but then again it could give me a second chance at proving to you that I could be a good brother. Maybe what happened is a blessing and you will forget these crazy times that I had away from you and remember all the good times we had before I went through my depression. You’ve always been so much stronger than me. You may be four years younger than me, but emotionally, I’ve never met anyone stronger than you. If anyone could make it out of this it’s you, Lizzi.

Love always,

Aaron

….

October 27^th 2009

Dear Lizzi,

It’s been a year since you’ve passed. I’m writing to you now because I can finally gather my thoughts. I’ve been so lost for so long Lizzi. Wondering why it was you and not me. Wondering why you had done almost nothing wrong your whole life and I messed up countless times, but you were the one who suffered. Reflecting back now, I know you would say to me that I deserved a second chance at life and that’s why it wasn’t me. You have given me a reason to live; you’ve given me a purpose that I have been wanting in life for so long. You always have, it just took a terrible situation like this for me to finally realize that I need to cherish what I have in life. I’ve learned that life will always keep you on your toes; it’ll knock you down as many times as you will let it. You’ve taught me to stay strong through the hard times, and remember the good. I can’t thank you enough and I can’t wait until the day that I wake up to meet you.

Love always and forever,

Aaron.

Flat Lined

Caitlyn Bush

Flat Lined

            Here I lie on the table. Cold and barely breathing. My weak body resisting the doctors’ attempt to save me. I faintly hear them say I’m not going to make it. In my heart I know they are right I know it’s a matter of time before I slip away forever. Am I scared? No, not anymore. I have done plenty of stupid things in my life, but nothing as stupid as this. I contemplate this as the lights grow dim around me.

            You know, I never really had a bad life. In fact, I was content with how I turned out. I was twenty-five, single, and working part-time at the coffee shop on the corner of 6^th and Main. No, it wasn’t the life I imagined I would lead, nor did anyone else. Everyone in my home town was disappointed with me after I graduated nursing school last year. Growing up with the parents I had, I was destined to do something great with my life. I was supposed to be a lawyer. Yeah, right. In a way there was a load of pressure put on me to be perfect. To live up to the family name. My parents still loved me; however, they never understood how I could settle for less than my potential. It wasn’t even that I was settling, I just wanted to be in control of my own life. Nonetheless, I was okay with how my life was going.

            I think that is where my problem began. I found myself wanting to rebel. I did any and everything to find an adrenaline rush. It started out small. I would go to the gas station twice a week after my shift at the hospital and slip a piece of gum in my pocket without paying. It’s silly, I know. I loved the way I would casually walk to the soda fountain, fill my cup with Fanta RED, and then stroll to the candy aisle in search of something to satisfy my sweet tooth. I would glance around calmly, pick up a stick of bubble gum, and then slide it ever so gently into my scrub pocket. I never got caught, and no one suspected me. This became an obsession with me. I wanted and needed more suspense in my life, whether it was through petty theft or a small piece of gum. It was a rush that made me feel alive. Maybe this was supposed to be my life. I felt young, wild and free, and who the hell knows except what is done is done. I was in control.

            I needed more risk, and in my attempt to fulfill my need, I finally got caught. I just finished passing out meds to the patients on the 5th floor, when the idea came to me. I should steal a bottle of Xanax. I don’t know why I wanted to. I didn’t plan on taking the pills. I just figured it would be easy to do. Roll the medicine cart into the supply closet, pour a few pills in a zip-lock bag, lock everything up, and I’d be good to go. It didn’t quite work that way. Right as I was slipping the baggie into my pocket, my boss opened the door. I was fired on the spot and my nursing license was revoked. There was a big scandalous write up about me in the Sunday paper that week. The whole town was in shock that Sarah Harris, daughter of Jeff and Kelly Harris, had done something so terribly bad. I had lost my nursing license and damaged the Harris family name. Too bad I didn’t turn out to be a lawyer like my parents, or I could have gotten myself out of this mess.

            The days following my misfortune I found myself not needing the adrenaline rush. I sat in the floor of my apartment curled up in fetal position for weeks. I needed to find a new purpose for my life. I needed to clean up the mess I had made. I found a job at the only place in town that would hire me, the coffee shop on the corner of 6^th and Main. I didn’t mind it. I got free coffee and pastries, so even if I had the urge to steal them, it wouldn’t matter. My co-workers were pot heads. They were young and naive and looked up to me for being the talk of the town for stealing a bottle of Xanax I didn’t even plan to use. I was content. I was getting my life back together. For myself and for my parents.

            It had been snowing the day it happened. The accident. I was driving home from the coffee shop when my car hit a patch of ice. I didn’t panic; the adrenaline didn’t faze me much anymore, but I should have panicked. My car skid through a red light and there I was, in the middle of the intersection, with a truck coming at me head on. Helpless and not in control. It didn’t take long for the ambulances to arrive. They said it would be a miracle if I made it, and yes, it would have been a miracle. But it wasn’t.

            My eyes are slowly fluttering open and I know that I can’t hold on much longer. My breathing has gotten shallower and the doctor is now saying this is the end. My parents are holding my hand and I know they are crying. Crying because I am their only child, crying because the start of this all was their fault, and crying because I ruined their family name. I want more than anything to apologize and cry right along with them, but in this moment, I take my last breath. I have no more control. I have flat lined.

The Miracle Made With the Man Who Holds Her

Taylor Cooper

Professor Lauri Anderson Alford

English 2307

24 November 2013

The Miracle Made With the Man Who Holds Her

            “My beautiful, angel sent, miracle baby” is what she would always call him. “My pride and joy” was another term she used to explain her obese Michelin Baby. After he was born she had to be sedated due to her inability to let the sumo infant go so that the doctor could do his job and give medical treatment to the newborn and herself. Madly in love is an understatement when it came to her feelings for this child. Clinically insane would have been a more appropriate way of explaining her obsession with the miracle.

            You see, she was a jaw dropping beauty, a riveting conversationalist, and had always been a delightful person to be in the presence of. When she entered a room everyone just seemed to radiate with joy and enthusiasm. She had a way of rubbing her good vibrations off on everyone she came into contact with. Naturally, children had a strong attraction to her and her to them. The only hiccup in her design was that she was the type that was meant to die young or at least never become old. In other words she was a bit of a rock star. Her body even knew this at a young age for she developed ovarian cancer at seventeen, disabling her from ever producing a child.

            Men were always infatuated with her and she knew it. Out of the millions who attempted to court her, there was only one who succeeded, and even after they parted, there was never another. When she loved, she loved with every fiber in her body, all the way down to her soul, and the receiver of this gift would forever be in awe from the power of it.

            After Tyler, the miracle baby, turned six his mother and father split. This was due to his father’s constant cheating and alleged drug use, but that was never truly validated. Once the divorce was finalized Tyler and his mother moved about twenty two times. They went from house to house while his mother tried to find another match to suit her. This never happened.

            When Tyler was fifteen his mother started dating a twenty four year old man. He was a screw up, but he came from money and his mother seemed to be happy so he couldn’t complain. Once he asked her “Mom, why do you care about this dip shit so much?” She replied with “When he holds me, I feel safe; he’s the only man who has made me feel that way since your father.” Tyler would never forget that statement.

            Tyler’s mother and the young man split after he was caught having sex with his mother’s best friend. After the break up Tyler’s mother went into a deep depression. Tyler had seen his mother depressed before, but she could normally numb it for a week or so with case or two of Coor’s Lite and then snap out of it. This depression was different. She was so depressed this time that she went to the doctor, and the doctor prescribed her an anti-anxiety medication; Alprazolam and more famously known by the Pfizer brand-name of Xanax. This undoubtedly marked the turning point. This was the beginning of the end.

            Once Tyler’s mother started using Xanax, she became a different person. She was asleep more than she was awake; and when she was awake she was highly irritable. She stopped caring as much for her miracle and started caring more for her precious Xanax. The overwhelming love she once possessed for others, turned in to an overpowering addiction for her next fix. She was once known as the most caring and giving person anyone could ever come into contact with, and now people didn’t want her in their home due to her sticky fingers and spiteful words.

            By the time she was forty-six years old, only seven years after Xanax came into her life, she had lost her son, her home, her job, her car and her dignity. She would lie in her mother’s guest bedroom and get high off of whatever she could get her hands on. Eventually Tyler couldn’t take watching his mother destroy herself any longer, so he joined the service and went as far away as his orders could take him.

            While Tyler was stationed overseas, his mother would often send him messages saying the same things over and over again. Things like “I’m so tired of this life; when you get back I will be clean and have a house for you to come home to,” or “I love you so much Tyler; these people don’t understand me at all; when you come back we will have a home that we can live in and I’ll never let you go again.” These messages sounded wonderful, but Tyler had been hearing the same rants since he was eighteen and at this point they just made him feel sorry for her.

            When Tyler finally did return, he came back to his mother being worse than he had ever seen. She would get so high on pills that when he would visit that he would have to carry her from the floor to her bed while she mumbled to herself.

            One day out of the blue his mother went to a free rehabilitation center to try and get clean. Tyler didn’t get to speak to her while she was there, but he was very proud of her for taking this leap on her own. Sadly, ten days later she dropped out of the program and was shortly back on drugs.

            At this point Tyler was enrolled in a college and was hoping to better himself with a higher level of education. Two weeks before he was to ship off to his far away college, he went to his grandmother’s house to visit his mother. That week was full of love and it almost seemed as if his mother was back to normal. They laughed and talked about a future that was all of a sudden looking bright and full of opportunity.

            On Tyler’s last day with his mother she said “Baby, I’m sorry but I have to leave because I have an interview for a position at a high school.” As you could imagine, Tyler was ecstatic to hear this information so her told her good luck and they went their separate ways.

            The next morning Tyler found himself at a hospital looking over his mother’s swollen body. She was yellow and puffy because all the drugs she took had shut down her organs and became septic. The only reason she was alive was because of the oxygen the doctors were pumping into her feverish body with a machine.

            Tyler had seen his mother suffer for seven years now and had never been able to help her. Now, as he held her puffy yellow hand and an army of family and friends stood beside him, he told the doctor to pull the plug. Tyler then released his mother’s sweaty palm so that he could sign the “Do Not Resituate” paperwork. He then walked out of the hospital and got into his car and began his academic journey alone with hopes of a brighter future.

Love for the Game

Love for the Game 

By Trisha Horwood

I am an eighteen year old girl. I go to Brock High School, where I am a senior basketball star that everyone knows about. My daily routine consists of school, basketball practice, homework, and then bed. I have many scholarship offers all around the world to play basketball and that’s the only thing that I think about every single day, minute, and second of my life.

            Sports is in my blood, it is what I was put on this earth to do. Basketball all started for me when I was six years old. I began to play with my two older brothers just for fun and quickly learned that I had a deep passion for the game. My mother saw the love I had for basketball and said there was a coach in Mineral Wells that wanted me to play on a select team for him when I was only in the first grade. I traveled to Houston, San Antonio, Dallas, Georgetown, and even as far as Oklahoma to compete in the national basketball tournaments. Although traveling was very time consuming and exhausting, I never questioned that basketball was what I wanted to do forever. I played on the select team for five years and when I got into Jr. High my mother told me that I would have to quit the select team because I was going to play for my school and that is what team I needed to focus on the most. Through my Jr. High career our team went undefeated and I was averaging fifteen points per game. I was a leader and role model to my teammates and they all looked up to me. My mother was my number one fan; she pushed me to always be better and critiqued my weaknesses that I had on the court.

            The summer before going into high school was not like any other normal summer. I came home from the gym and saw my mother talking to my father, crying. They told me and my three siblings to go sit in the living room so we could talk. My mother said, with her shaking voice, “I am sorry guys and I want to be the first ones to tell you this before the town tells all of you.”

            “What do you mean mom? What are you talking about?” I ask. “You’re scaring me.”

            “I am sick kids and I am going to start treatment.”

            “What kind of treatment and what do you mean by sick?”

            “I have stage 4 colon cancer and I have to immediately start taking chemo and radiation treatments in Houston, She says. I felt like the walls were slowly caving in on me and my family.

Running noises and teardrops filled the big, empty room. I looked to my father, who has his face tucked down into his soaking wet T-shirt.  This could not be happening, I thought to myself.

            As the summer progressed my mother got weaker and weaker. The only thing that kept me going was being able to relieve my stress on the court and knowing that from now on, I stepped on the court only for my mother and I wouldn't step off of it without leaving everything that I had.

Before my mother passed we grew closer and closer. She taught me so many important things in life that I hadn't known before. She told me to do everything with your whole heart and to never quit on anything in life because quitters will never succeed. When she past in mid-June I applied her words to what I knew how to do best: basketball.

I started as a freshman on the Varsity team for Brock and soon realized how much time I needed to put into practicing to get where I wanted to be as a senior and beyond. Practice was three hours long every single day, but I stayed two hours after for extra practice. Each year of high school I improved but I never believed that I was good enough, so I kept pushing myself to the limit. It wasn't until my junior year that I finally realized how good I had become. That was the year I carried my team to the State Championship game. We lost by only two points in over-time and I will never forget the sick feeling that I had in my stomach and how much I wanted to just go back in time to fix all the mistakes I had that game. My coach had to come and get me out of the locker room after the game. We had a deep conversation that I will never forget.

“Brittany” he said. “I am beyond blessed to be able to coach an athlete with heart like yours and I have no doubt in my mind that you are going to win the state championship for us next year, you’re senior year.”

“But I didn't this year because I played terrible for you coach…”

“Hush it. You had the best game of your life and you will have even better games next season.” He said, almost shouting at me.

My senior season quickly rolled around and I was beyond ecstatic to finally begin the season of my dream career. On the very first day of practice I was pushing myself to the max. My pony tail was completely drenched with sweat and I could barely feel my body because it was aching from being so tired. Coach calls for the drill and it is my favorite one because you get to keep playing as long as you are scoring or rebounding. I grab the rebound and dribble out quickly to try to beat the defenders down the court. I see a girl that is on my team calling for the ball, so I do a rapid jump stop. I hear a huge POP (that to this day still haunts me) and then feel my knee give out. I fall to the ground in excruciating pain. I cry out to my coach to help me up but he stands there, shocked. As my coach stares at me, I lay on the ground and feel the whole entire world of basketball slowly creep out of my life. I see the torn ligament in my knee and the doctors telling me that I am officially done for the season. I see college basketball and the WMBA become out of reach. I see my mother looking down on me from heaven and placing her hand on me to say, “Sweetie it is all going to be okay. There are many things out there other than basketball for you to do. I love and I will always be here with you in spirit.” At that moment I know that I am going to have to live the rest of my life without the one thing that had, until now, been my entire life.

           

            

Never Enough - Silver Burney

Never Enough

“I can’t get over the way it smells in here”

Mary just rolls her eyes “Get over it Rex, he has been here for one day, there is no way he has stunk up this whole apartment.

I knew she was just trying to defend the poor dog because it did, in fact, already smell terrible. This was the first stench ever in our penthouse apartment ever.

Mary was always the first one to be on a dog’s side. She had such a loving heart for animals. This is one of the many reasons I fell in love with her as well as the reason I was in this predicament.

See it all started last night when Mary and I went on a double date with Rex and Rachel to dinner and to see some RomCom the girls had been ranting about all week. I didn’t want to go stating that I should be working but Mary insisted. We of course had to take Rex’s new lifted F350 his parents had bought him. My twelve-year-old Honda Civic was rarely the means of transportation if any other vehicle was available.  He always had the most dubious luxuries seeing as his dad was an oil king in South Texas making all my possessions look almost obsolete. I was just living with him since parents didn’t want him living alone in college and the rent was free for me.

As we were walking back talking about the few funny lines that the movie entailed, we saw the situation. A pathetic brindle puppy was lying under Rex’s truck. As we coaxed the little guy to come out from hiding we could see that he was extremely malnourished. Every rib exposing itself as to tell of the hardship the pup had experienced. I knew as soon as I looked at Mary’s face that we were going to have to take this stray in and help him.

Rex was very resistant to letting this wet; stinking dog in his new truck or back to our place but Mary insisted that I talk him into allowing it. He finally complied but with the stipulation that “He’s y’all’s problem, got it. And he damn sure ain’t staying long. I mean it”.  I understood and was actually shocked at his leniency.

He was very timid and sweet, seeming thankful for our hospitality. As soon as we got back to the apartment we poured Flaco some milk and fed him some left over steaks that Rex had cooked earlier that week for one of our monthly soirees.

Mary decided we were going to name our new little friend “Flaco” because it was Spanish for skinny. This was no surprise to anyone because Mary always called everything by her native tongue. Mary came from a successful cattle operation down near the Frio River.  This is wear she probably acquired her beautiful sun kissed skin. All of my friends, including Rex, would constantly go on and on about how gorgeous she was but to me, she was just mine.

Now that Mary and Rex are over their little tiff this morning, they both left for class and I was stuck home with Flaco until I went to my second job in a little while. My first job had called and said that we weren’t going to be able to do any roofing today due to the sleet and snow. Some liability bullshit that just means my check was going to be shorter. My other job is at a supply warehouse that Mary’s cousin owns. I stock their inventory shelves every other night. It is a boring job but it has to be done. Making sure the shelves are never empty isn’t a difficult task but it is exhausting. Also I have an ad in the local newspaper stating that I can do any handyman jobs that one might require. This is something that consumes any spare time I may have left over after work and my classes. Mary is always on my case about how I am wearing myself out. She says I don’t really need to work so much, my bills are nearly nonexistent and I have enough. I insist that there is no such thing as enough. She doesn’t see it that way. She says my insatiable attitude is going to deprive me of enjoying what I have and that I’m never satisfied.

 I set another bowl of milk out and some sandwich meat for our new occupant. He scarfed down every speck of it in a matter of moments. His belly was swollen with all the nourishment.  Just as I lay on the couch, my phone rang. It was my mother complaining about money again. “Christmas is going to be light this year “and “Your dad is stressing about the bills” echoed in my ear as I ignored the nagging. As I rest there, zoning out the financial whoopla I watched as the dog, who was absolutely stuffed, search the apartment for more.

I thought to myself, why doesn’t he just lay down and enjoy his full belly. He’s a mutt in the penthouse apartment with a bed that Mary made for him with Rex’s old duvet cover he was going to throw away because he spilled something on it. I laughed doubting there’s another dog with so much going for him.

An incoming call from someone answering my newspaper ad ended the call with my mother. They wanted me to put together a new entertainment center; I said I had time right now.  I got up threw on my old denim jacket, grabbed my keys and headed for the door.  As I went to shut the door behind me, Flaco was still sniffing every inch of the penthouse searching for any crumb that he could find.

Late that night I returned to find Mary in my room watching some romantic movie on Lifetime while Rex was in his office studying for some big exam. I asked them both about Flaco. They said they had seen him snooping around the apartment for food. They both said that they both had fed him. Mary said she stopped at the butcher for scrapes and even brought a femur bone for Flaco to enjoy. Rex had brought home a chicken breast for dinner and dropped it on the floor as he tried to open the door and carry in his cleaning at the same time. Rather than throwing it away he just fed it to Flaco. I asked where he was then, they said the only time they had seen him was when he would stroll by in search for more food.

“Still?” I questioned with a displeased tone.

I went to the lavish bed we had made him and it seemed untouched with the femur right next to it where Mary had left it. I found him out on the patio still, hunting for another bite. I was amazed at his focus. He had not stopped once to enjoy all he had been blessed with, just to find something that he didn’t even need. He had been provided with more than enough.

Mary told me that she had found a nice shelter outside of town that took in strays and replaced them in loving homes. “I made an appointment to drop Flaco off first thing in morning before you go to work.”

I was a little disappointed to hear that tonight would be the last night with him but he obviously didn’t enjoy our company. I also knew that our penthouse was no place to keep a dog and our busy schedules didn’t allow for the time and attention required for being a responsible dog owner.

The alarm goes off what seems like is moments after I had laid my head down. It’s still dark out but that isn’t anything to new to me but it was to Rex and Mary and they didn’t mind bitching about how early it was. “Well honey you were the one that made the appointment so early” I said as I laced up my work boots.

Rex said he wanted to go to see Flaco off which surprised me because he is a man that has a deep affection for his sleep. We all loaded up in his pickup and he didn’t complain once about having the dog in the there.

Pulling up to the shelter I realize that this was more appropriate place for a dog with lots of places to roam and play. The drop off didn’t take much time at all and the lady at the counter just thanked us for getting a stray off the streets. Mary gave them her email address to be updated on what happens with Flaco.

As we pull out of the drive I laugh, “You know he was treated like royalty, pampered and fed the best a dog could have been. He didn’t even stop to realize and appreciate it all”. 

As the words leave my lips I catch a reflection of myself in the window. I have dark circles under my weary eyes. I look much older than my 22 years. I look back at Mary and she smiles the biggest and most beautiful smile. I never noticed how her eyes sparkled when she smiled and how lovely she looked with her hair pulled back. I must have stared long enough to make it awkward. She pushes me jokingly and asks, “What are you looking at me like that for”? As a smile creeps across my face I say, “Hey I think I’m going to take the day off today, maybe we can just hangout or something. We should just enjoy the day, what do you think gorgeous?”