Chasing the Sunset
Karen tried not to look at the food. When she did, the poppy seeds looked like ants. They crawled over the bagel and towards her fingers. She closed her eyes and forced herself to eat a few more bites. She had to stop when she realized she could feel the seeds on her tongue, like ants in her mouth.
Her stomach churned with the new weight of food. She could feel the half bagel stretching her stomach, threatening to come back up and join its other half.
She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Deep and slow.
“It’s only food. It’s only food.” She chanted her mantra between breaths. The bagel stayed down.
Her brief meditation was interrupted by a concerned whine. Karen looked down to see her greyhound at her feet. The dog was looking from Karen to the half-eaten bagel and back.
“You want this?” Sunny stood, panting. Her ribs heaving. Karen remembered something she had read in a book on raising dogs: you can’t fatten a greyhound. “Lucky bitch.” She smiled affectionately at the dog. Bitch, of course, was technically correct. It was a little joke she had with the dog. Sunny didn’t get it.
Karen waved the piece of bagel in front of the dog, teasing her. Sunny watched each movement with rapt attention. Karen enjoyed the game until she looked at the piece of bagel in her fingers. Once again, she thought she saw ants crawling over the surface of the bread. She threw it across the kitchen as far as she could.
Sunny looked at her dumbly. “Treat.” Karen said and pointed after the bagel. Karen knew the dog only really understood three words: treat, sit, and outside. Greyhounds weren’t known for their intelligence.
Sunny took off after the bread. Karen watched her eat and felt the weight of food in her own stomach.
She regretted eating that half bagel. She regretted anything that took away that clean empty feeling in her stomach.
Sunny trotted proudly back, licking bread crumbs from her lips. Karen watched her move. Sleek muscles bunched and stretched with her steps. Her back arched gracefully, the spine poking through under the skin. Every bone was visible under the short glossy
coat. Beautiful.
She could imagine the dog racing across the desert, chasing jack rabbits. She imagined running with her, chasing the wind, the sunset. She imagined herself. Thin. Graceful. Perfect.
“Want to go for a run?” Sunny looked at her master and cocked her head to one side. Karen knew she didn’t understand. “Outside?” That was a word the dog knew.
Sunny ran to the front door. Karen could hear the dog dig through the basket of toys. She knew Sunny would find the leash. Running was Sunny’s favorite activity, next to eating, of course.
Karen got up from the table and started for the living room to get her jacket and running shoes from the coat tree by the door.
She took a few steps and felt a rush of blood to her head. A familiar wave of red washed over her vision. Her fingers and toes tingled. Sunny’s bark came to her not from the living room, but as if from the other end of a long tunnel.
The haze cleared and Karen found herself clutching the edge of the table. Sunny was at her feet whimpering in concern.
“It’s OK Sunny.” She tried to sound cheerful to reassure the nervous dog. “Mommy is fine.” She reached out to pet the dog. Sunny looked at her suspiciously then allowed herself to be petted. After a few strokes, Sunny melted into the touch, all traces of concern gone.
These head-rushes had become commonplace, minor inconvenience only.
“Well come on, are we running or aren’t we?”
Karen made her way somewhat unsteadily to the living room. She knew she had just stood up too fast. A run would do her good. It would burn those calories sitting like lead weights in her stomach.
She retrieved her well-worn running shoes from their place by the door. To her amusement, she found the leather dog leash draped across the toes of the sneakers.
“Subtle” she said to the dog with a grin. Sunny managed to pant and look proud of herself at the same time.
Karen pulled the shoes on. They were still damp from her earlier run. During the workweek, she could only run once a day. Today was Sunday. On Sundays, she liked to run twice, even three times.
She shrugged into a sweatshirt and windbreaker. She grabbed her water bottle in its holster and slung it over a shoulder.
She debated wearing a scarf. It really wasn’t that cold outside. It was early spring, and the sun had been shining all day. Still, she
had been so cold lately, inexplicably cold. Bone cold.
Karen’s hair fell foreword into her face when she bent to pick up the leash. Her hair had been striking once, glossier even than Sunny’s red and white coat. It was dry now, brittle, had been for months. She wished her red was still as bright as the dog’s.
She couldn’t understand how old she felt for twenty-three.
She snatched the leash and clicked it to Sunny’s collar. The black leather dug into the bones of her hand as Sunny made a lurch for the door. “Steady girl.” Karen adjusted the leash. She didn’t understand how everything seemed to reach straight into her bones.
Sunny was clawing at the door with a long narrow paw, eager to run free.
“OK. OK.”
Sunny squeezed out as soon as the door was open.
Karen loaded the dog into the car and drove them to her favorite place to run: a park about a mile from her house. The trails took her up and down hills, making the run satisfyingly challenging.
The park was just about empty when they arrived. The sun would set before long. Only the die hard runners like herself would be out at this hour.
Karen watched a group of joggers choose a path. She chose another one. She was always self-conscious when she exercised in front of people. She always thought they were staring at her, scrutinizing her body.
The trail she chose was largely uphill at the start, the most challenging of the trails. She kept Sunny at a slow pace until she felt sufficiently warmed-up to run.
She pumped her legs hard, feeling the burn of her muscles. Her feet hit the packed dirt trail hard and sent concussive shocks through the bones of her feet up into her legs. It hurt, but she convinced herself it was a good feeling. That it was her muscles growing strong and attacking the fat in her body, making her thin. Making her perfect.
The hill flattened out at the top. Sunny began straining at the leash, wanting to run full out after a flock of birds, a squirrel, a leaf in the breeze. Karen knew the dog would take off and follow her canine instincts if given a chance. Karen ran faster to keep up, allowed the greyhound to set the pace. If she could keep up with the racing animal, she could burn off that bagel. She could reclaim that satisfying emptiness. She could be as slim and perfect as the greyhound.
She watched Sunny ahead of her, watched the muscles of her legs move effortlessly over the terrain. She watched the lungs expand the deep chest. She imagined the dog’s heart pumping rich, dark blood through that perfect body.
She felt her own heart straining with the exertion of the run. She was used to being able to run so much further before she felt the strain. They had only gone halfway up the trail. Only two miles. Not far enough. Not enough to purge the food, the weight.
She had to stop. Just for a moment. Just to catch her breath.
“Stop…Sunny,” she panted. Sunny reluctantly slowed when Karen pulled against the leash. Karen stood wheezing at the side of the trail. Sunny was panting heavily, but kept glancing down the trail, eager to continue. Karen took the water bottle she had slung over her shoulder and took a sip. She swished the water around her mouth and spit.
“Want some?” She held the bottle out to the panting dog. She squirted a stream of fluid onto the ground. Sunny lapped at it before it touched the dirt.
"Not too much. You don’t want to get cramps.” Karen took a gulp of water and capped the bottle, replacing it over her shoulder.
Sunny was looking down the trail again, anxious to continue. Karen wanted to as well, but her legs felt like lead. Her heart was still pounding. She could feel it pulse throughout her head, her ears. It seemed to drown out every other sound. The wind. The birds. Sunny barking at the end of her leash.
Her head felt disconnected. Heavy, yet unattached at the same time. She could see the red wave at the edge of her vision.
Sunny looked back and her and barked. Karen knew what it meant. “Come on, Mom. Let’s run.”
They had stopped to rest at a place where the trail turned west. As Karen picked up her heavy feet, and began once more to jog the trail. The sun glowed red in her eyes. It was almost blinding, obscuring her view of the dog who ran before her. She knew Sunny was still there, could feel the pressure of the leash digging in, a gentle pain in the carpals of her hand.
Her feet beat a steady rhythm on the packed dirt. Or was that her heart again? She was having a hard time distinguishing. Her footsteps from the dog’s. The dog’s strong heartbeat from her pounding one. The rhythms all became one as they swelled and receded in her ears.
She was having an increasingly difficult time distinguishing between the lights as well. Which was the sunset and which was the wave that threatened to crash once more over her vision?
Then the lights were one. Red. All she could see.
And all sounds were one. They melded into the percussion of her heart. Too loud. Too hard. Too fast.
She felt herself falling even after she hit the ground in a pile of flesh: skin and bones.
She felt a shock of pain as Sunny nudged her in the ribs. Through the haze, she heard the plaintive whine. “Come on, Mom. Get up. Let’s run.” She tried to reach for Sunny, to reassure her. Her arm was stubborn and disobeyed. She managed to open her fist, release the strip of leather that bound the dog to her.
She closed her eyes and saw Sunny running free and happy towards the sunset. No. It was herself she saw. A red greyhound. Thin. Beautiful. Chasing the sunset.
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