Shiloh, though, seemingly knew what to do. He jumped up on the bed, crouched into a forward lean, and pressed up against me. I kissed him and gave him a belly rub, but it didn’t stop the tears. I didn’t know how a dog like him could have such unshakable faith in me when I didn’t even have faith in myself.
A morning like this was making me hope even more than LeCharles would reach out to me. I just needed something good to happen. I was so sure that he was going to reach out to me... so sure...
And now, like a fool who was forced to confront the disillusionment of her reality, I was left to face the fact I had put myself in a hell far worse than anything the Bible or any priest could ever describe. I didn’t need to die to go to hell. I was already experiencing it right here, right now.
I got up from my bed and reached for my phone. Shiloh perked up, perhaps expecting a walk, but I told him in a tearful voice to stay. Somehow, he decided it was a good idea to listen to me. I couldn’t imagine very many people would have thought that.
I pulled up LeCharles’ phone number and texted him. I knew I shouldn’t have, but in this state, I didn’t have a whole lot of self-control.
“Hope you’ve been well. Wanna meet up soon?”
It was just barely after seven in the morning when I sent that text. I knew I had no good reason to expect him to reply so soon, but when I didn’t see one immediately, I just tossed the phone back to the ground. There was no point.
“I gotta do something,” I said.
Staying in bed all day, though more appealing than I wanted to admit, sounded like the kind of thing that would ensure the day would only get worse. The last place I wanted to be wasn’t anywhere physical—it was in my head. At least a walk could somewhat get me out of there.
“Let’s go, Shiloh,” I said. “We’re going to go for a walk.”
As soon as I said the word “walk,” it was like I had just injected cocaine into his veins. He moved with hyperactivity, practically doing laps around the apartment, waiting until I got to him with a leash. I cracked a couple of genuine laughs at seeing how happy he was—I almost wondered if he sensed my sorrow and was acting in such a way that would get me to feel better about myself. I was probably reading too much into it, but then again, no one knew me better than Shiloh, even if he couldn’t verbalize it.
I opened the door to a cooler-than-expected California morning. I decided to jog the first bit, and with Shiloh trotting with me, we just kept moving west.
And west.
And west some more.
I didn’t bring my phone with me, so I couldn’t say for sure how far we had gone, but I did know that it started to warm up enough that I began to sweat pretty hard. I also knew that I had lost track of time to such an extent that at one point, I was pretty sure that the sun had gotten to its highest point, indicating that we had been walking since noon.
But. I. Just. Didn’t. Care.
I was walking like a zombie because that’s what it felt like. It felt like I was a person walking without a purpose, without something to move toward. Everything I had built toward no longer existed or flaunted its impossibility in my face. I was destined to be a desolate, destitute person, unmarried, childless, and useless. Shiloh, if all went well, would last me about another five years, maybe eight or so if I got lucky for once, and at that point...
It was only when he started to whimper under the heat that I realized it might have been worth turning back around. I was also starving to such a degree that I would have taken whatever restaurant popped up.
That ended up being McDonald’s, which may not have been healthy for my gut but was... well, not really healthy for anything. But when you’re in the midst of a downswing like that, you don’t think in terms of healthy or unhealthy. You just think in terms of the bare minimum.
After McDonald’s, I just couldn’t muster the energy to walk home. Even with the nourishment, I knew Shiloh would have a difficult time walking home. By no means was he a senior dog, but he was certainly in the latter half of his life. And even if he wasn’t, even if he was a dog that had energy and could go, what kind of an owner was I if I was going to make my dog walk six, seven, eight hours in a day under a clear sky?
Instead, I hailed an Uber, making sure to note I needed one that could transport a dog. The first driver who responded was none too pleased, but with the promise of a twenty-dollar tip—cash I didn’t really have the luxury of spending, but cash I needed to spend—he accepted my offer and had me home within about twenty minutes.
As soon as I got inside, Shiloh made a beeline for his water bowl. I immediately felt guilty for dragging him along on my little pity trip, but at least he’d gotten home safe.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I said as he continued to slurp up the water. “I’ve just had a bad day, but... ”
I let the words trail off. Nothing I said would justify what I’d done. I’d just have to get my shit together.Hopefully, something good will have come to my phone since I came back.
I checked.
Nothing.
No word from LeCharles.
As far as I was concerned, he was now really, truly gone from my life. I was left to my own defenses.
And, well, fuck it, if I was left to my own defenses and had hit rock bottom, then why not relish being down here?
* * *
