She tucked her hair behind her ears. Despite her beauty, there was a shyness in her behavior. She didn’t seem like the type to be wilting from a traumatic background, but she also exhibited enough resilience that I could see her overcoming anything with an uncertain smile.
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing at a potted plant.
“I’ve never had a green thumb,” I said. “I have no idea.”
“Not the plant. I think it’s a cat.”
She crouched down, offering her hand out toward the base of the ceramic pot. Tucked behind the plant, a bundle of white fur shivered against the pot. Only half of its face was visible. I kneeled down beside Zandra.
“It’s okay,” Zandra reassured the white ball of fur. “It’s safe. We won’t hurt you.”
Its head moved, revealing a snout.
“It’s a dog,” I muttered. Zandra jerked back a little. I put my hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She quickly glanced between the dog and me. Her hands were trembling.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just…I have a bad history with dogs. They, uh, don’t like me.”
“I have a hard time seeing people not liking you, much less dogs,” I said. I took a few small steps forward, staying crouched down. The dog tensed, ready to bolt. I slowly reached toward my bag. I opened the side pocket, finding my baggie of trail mix. I take out an almond, tossing it in front of the dog.
After several seconds, the dog crawled forward, gobbling up the almond before retreating back toward the pot. It only hid half of its body this time.
I offered it another almond, holding it out between my fingertips. It crept forward. When it took the almond from me, I scooped it up with my other hand.
For a few seconds, he struggled against my hand, but as I pressed him against my chest, standing up, he calmed down. He felt like he weighed less than five pounds and his fur was matted. If he was missing, he’d been missing for at least a day. I turned around to look at Zandra. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, eyeing the puppy warily.
“It won’t bite,” I said, the puppy already snuggling up against my chest. “Even if it did, it wouldn’t hurt.”
She stared at me for a second longer before her hand cautiously reached forward. She barely touched the puppy’s head before pulling away. I didn’t move. I didn’t say anything. After a few seconds, she stepped forward, petting it from its head to its shoulders. Her expression softened.
“It’s cute,” she admitted. “It doesn’t have a collar.”
“A lot of people don’t put collars on puppies. Let’s go door to door. Hopefully, it hasn’t wandered far from its home.”
As we walked to each house, Zandra became more and more affectionate toward the puppy. She told me that when she was five, she’d seen a neighborhood kid get mauled by a dog. The kid survived, but there had been a lot of blood and since then, she’d avoided dogs. It hadn’t helped that many of the dogs she’d seen in the city were barking and yanking against their leashes.
Her confession only added to my admiration for her. She was cautious, but she didn’t let fear overtake her. Her past affected her, but it didn’t determine her path.
We kept on knocking doors until we’d gone through three streets. She told me about her family, and I told her about mine. She was from Manhattan while I had bounced from Texas to D.C. to Tufnell Park to Chicago and back to London. Art was a conduit of emotions for both of us.
But the things I didn’t say to her started to pile up: Did she have a boyfriend? Was she aware that she was a tidal wave? That if she wasn’t so beautiful and warm, I’d be too threatened by her power over me to stick around? That all of the freedom I’d been chasing after was less desirable when I contemplated being captured by her?
I led her to one of the local cafes. On the glass window, there was a sign that depicted a dog with a red circle drawn around it and a diagonal line drawn through it. NO DOGS. INTERDIT AUX CHIENS.
I held out the puppy for Zandra. She took a step back, folding her arms around her waist.
"I just want to go inside to buy us some coffee and breakfast," I said, holding the puppy close to my chest again. "I can give you the money if you want to go inside instead."
"I don't have my bag," she reminded me. "I don't have any money on me. We don't need to get anything yet."
The dog squirmed in my arms. He tried to get to Zandra. As he lurched forward, she quickly took him to prevent him from falling onto the concrete. He licked her face.
Her body trembled, but as the puppy settled into her arms, she let out a slow breath.
"I'll be right back," I promised her. She made a small noise in protest, but I slipped into the cafe. I didn't want to abandon her with one of her fears, but I could tell she wasn't the type who would let me buy her breakfast, so I needed to act while she wouldn't be allowed to follow me.
While I was in the cafe, I kept peeking out the window. Initially, Zandra glared daggers through the window, but by the time I was at the cash register with the coffee and éclairs, she was holding the dog close to her face and seemed to be talking to him.
