A Fateful Find

The barren tree branches creak overhead, swaying violently in the cold wind. It's been two months now, I realize as I sit upon the old wooden swing. It's nothing more than a splintering oak plank with frayed rope suspending it above the ground. It may snap at any moment, but I wouldn’t mind. The fall wouldn’t hurt. Or, has it been over a year?

I kick the ground and thrust myself backwards to gain momentum. I can't remember anymore. Sometimes it feels like time hasn't moved at all, but the forest doesn’t lie. Autumn is gone. I'm just not sure which autumn.

Two crows land near a pile large of damp leaves beneath one of the larger trees. They peck at something underneath, tearing pieces off pieces of meat. They pay no mind to me as I swing higher and higher. A third soon joins them, and they caw at one another as they rip into the bounty beneath their talons.

I push into each swing, until I don't think I can go any higher; until I can see my backyard fence peeking through the naked branches.

I remember waking up on that Sunday in August, making my way downstairs, sleepily. I remember being confused when I saw Daddy scrubbing the carpet near the front door, the smell of bleach flooding my nostrils. He glanced over his shoulder at me, his surprised expression quickly turned to a kind smile.

"Good morning Lizzy." I smiled back.

"Morning. Did Mom make breakfast?" His smile dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. He looked away, returning to his scrubbing.

"Your mother went out," he said. "Just make yourself something."

I attempted to make myself a bowl of Fruit Loops, and spilled milk on the counter. I opened the drawer, looking for a washcloth to clean up the mess. The drawer was bare. I thought little of it, and grabbed a wet sponge from the sink. It reeked of bleach. Still, I ignored it, cleaned up the milk, and returned it to the sink.

It wasn't until I spooned cereal into my mouth that I noticed my fingertips were stained a dark pink.

I heard the front door close as I rinsed out my bowl and placed it on the counter. I was just starting back upstairs when I heard it again.

"Elizabeth," Daddy called, just as I turned the corner of the hallway leading into the living room, "can you come back here for a moment." He was leaning against the counter when I returned the kitchen. He wore an old, navy blue t-shirt and faded jeans, his usual work clothes. His eyes had dark rings around them and the skin on his hands looked dry and cracked. I wondered if he’d been working in the shed all night again.

"I know your birthday isn't until tomorrow," I was surprised he remembered, "but you’ll be at school, so we can go shopping today." I instantly perked up.

“Do we have to wait for Mom to get home?”

“No.” He replied, expressionless. "Go get a shower." He walked away and I heard the door close behind him.

I showered quickly, and hurriedly picked out a lime green sundress with and matching ballet flats. I pulled my still damp hair into a tight ponytail, and rushed downstairs where Daddy was already waiting for me. He'd changed into a polo shirt and a less worn pair of jeans.

"Ready to go?" He asked as I rounded the corner. I nodded and we were out the door.

He didn’t complain as I browsed countless shops in the mall. He just followed closely as we went from one store to another, as I was undecided on what to buy. Every few minutes he would remind me to stay close to him, reprimanding me when I wandered too far. I tried to do as he wanted, because making Daddy angry never ended well. When we neared the pet store, though, I hastened my steps.

There was a cage with half a dozen kittens in the window. I put my hand up to the glass and a ginger kitten followed my finger as I slid it along the cold surface. He’ll say no, I thought. He always says no.

Within a few seconds, Daddy was standing beside me, visibly irritated.

“Please?” I begged.

“No.”

“But… it’s all I want.”

“Cats are burdens.” He said apathetically.

“What about a hamster or a rabbit?”

“I said no.”

“Can I get a turtle? They’re quiet.” I implored.

“You’re not getting any animals.” He grabbed my wrist tightly.
“But…”

“I said no pets!” he snapped. “Ever.” He pulled me away and took me out to the car. I sat silently the whole ride home and tried to hide my tears. Daddy only got madder when I cried.

I spent the rest of night in my bedroom. When I woke up, there was a small pile of gifts at the foot of my bed. There were a few new outfits, a video game I’d been wanting, and a new console to play it on. There was also an envelope containing a fifty dollar bill. I shoved it all under my bed.

A month passed. The weather was turning colder, and Mom still hadn’t come home. Daddy wouldn’t talk about her, and spent most his time in the shed in the back yard. I stopped asking questions about how he acted whenever she was mentioned. Like how he shredded all the mail that came for her; how one day he’d removed all her photos that had hung in the living room. He didn’t wear his wedding ring anymore either, I noticed.

I was alone most afternoons after school. Daddy would get home around five, and disappear into his shed until I’d already gone to bed. Some nights he brought takeout for dinner, but most nights I would have to microwave something.

I’d taken to reading books to pass the time. More specifically, I would take whatever novel I was reading and walk to the forest, thirty meters or so behind our house. There was an old swing where I’d sit for hours, until the sun began to set and twilight was looming on the sky. Some days I packed a sandwich for my dinner and carried it with me, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to come back early because of a growling stomach.

It was one of those evenings when I heard a sharp yelping behind me in the trees. I brushed it off as nothing, at first. It persisted, however, and I decided to investigate. I sat my book on the swing and headed into the trees. It didn’t take long for me to find the source: a young dog, three or four months old, staggering on three paws. One of its front legs was lifted close to its chest. It tried putting weight on it, and yelped again.

Slowly, I approached it. It turned to look at me. It lowered its head; its sad brown eyes looking up at me piteously. It laid down and watched as I drew nearer. I kneeled beside it and ran my hands along its black fur. It looked like a border collie, with its fluffy ears and white chest and paws. It didn’t seem bothered by my touch, until I took its hurt paw in my hand.

The puppy whimpered, but didn’t try to pull away. There was a thorn wedged between two of its toes. It cried when I yanked it out, and then licked the paw continuously. I sat beside the dog, looking it over. It was thin, but not starving. There were fleas crawling under the course fur, and a thin cut on the back left leg. I also realized it was a boy. He was clearly not a lucky dog, but I loved him instantly. He liked me too, it seemed, because when I started walking away, he limped after me.

When we returned to the swing, I took my sandwich from the bag, tore it into two halves, and gave him the larger. I took a bite and he gulped his down. He stared at me, and I smiled before forfeiting the rest of my half. You can’t keep him, I kept telling myself, but I refused to listen. I named him Poe.

I adopted a new after school routine. Instead of one sandwich, I brought two. Instead of books, I brought tennis balls. Instead of heading in at sunset, I had to tear myself away before nine o’clock. Poe grew bigger and fatter as the days grew shorter and colder. One day, when it was forecasted to rain, I drug blankets and a large, flat piece of wood from behind Daddy’s shed. I made a make-shift shelter, held together by sheer willpower and half a roll of duct tape.

After a few weeks, I decided Poe needed more than just the sandwiches I was bringing him. I took the envelope that I’d shoved beneath my bed on my birthday and stopped at the store on my way home from school the next day. I bought a week’s worth of canned dog food and a can opener, which I stored in my backpack. I knew it was only a matter of time before I got caught, but I intended to avoid it for as long as possible.

Everything was working out well, until Daddy caught me returning home one night, well after dark.

“What are you doing out so late?” He demanded.

“I, um… forgot my book.” I said, flustered. ”I didn’t want it to get rained on or anything.”

“Well,” he said, “where’s the book?” I then realized my hands were empty.
“Couldn’t find it,” I shrugged.

“Do you want me to-“

“No, that’s okay.” I cut him. “I’ll get it tomorrow. I doubt it’ll rain anyway. Goodnight.” I hurried into the house.

I laid in bed, unable to sleep. After about an hour, I heard rustling in the house. There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, several doors slammed, then silence. I looked out my bedroom window. Daddy was stomping towards the forest with a shot gun in his hand.

I hurried downstairs, but by the time I got outside, I couldn’t tell how far he was from the trees. I ran, ignoring the pain of my bare feet stepping on stones and sticks. There was a sharp yelp from the trees and I sprinted harder. I could see but dark, blurred outlines as tears welled in my eyes. I whiped them away as I drew closer.

Poe was on the ground, whimpering. I could hear Daddy grumbling something to himself. He pointed the gun at the dog and cocked it. I thrust myself into his side, causing him to stagger back. The gun fired into the tree tops and Poe ran away, into the forest.

Daddy looked at me, his eyes wild. He shoved me back, hard. The back of my skull collided with the trunk of a large tree and I heard a loud crack. I slid to the damp soil.

The last thing I remember seeing was a deep red leaf that fell from the branch above, and landed on my cheek.