Driving up the one-way 22nd street on way to the highway that’d lead me home, it was beautiful outside despite the heat. There were a few cars ahead of me, following the speed limit. Suddenly, a gray blur came out into the road from between parked cars, ahead of a red truck. My breath caught in my throat. The gray blur was hit and then swung into the air onto the other lane, at the same time I experienced an electronic jolt throughout my body as I had a physical flashback of being hit by a car in the dark. My heart seized, breath stolen, muscles tense in remembered pain, as I slowed the car down. I begged that it is a ball, a shopping bag, or a raggedy piece of shirt.
Please let it be anything but life. It was a miniature Schnauzer, pepper and salt.
I looked quickly ahead to see if the red truck was going to stop…it wasn’t. It continued going its way, as I pulled to the opposite side of the road. Tears were already spilling on my face as I came out of the car, remembering the confusion, the pain, the fear I don’t want to die. The car behind me had slow down, and then passed me. I pulled up a hand to stop the traffic, unthinking,
I need to get to the dog. The dog needs help. Cars stopped.
It was laying there still on the hot pavement. Closer I came; I saw the eyes were blinking in its old man face. I didn’t want to move him in fear of causing harm furthermore, but it was in more danger lying in the other lane, risk of being hit by more cars. I looked around quickly in hopes of seeing anyone coming to claim the dog. Two children had curious looks, as an adult sat there on the porch two houses away, but no one stood or ran in distress. Nothing. The dog looked well-groomed, very healthy, yet still in its body. Slight breathing, blinking in confusion, but no movement. I gently picked the dog up, knowing the dog could bite in pain. The dog made a whimper as I put it in a one-arm cradle, as I opened the back passenger door. The dog stared at me with trust, licking my hand when I checked the muzzle to check for blood. There was a blue collar, turquoise. Everything became sharp clear, the stillness of the air, the cars cautious slowing by, the children inching closer to stare over the opposite door, as I reached for the tags of the collar. No name or location for the dog, but a rabies vaccination tag and a veterinarian tag with number. Grabbed the blackberry pager to look up the address of the vet, hoping feverishly that the vet is nearby- it was. I looked at the dog, no movement but for eyes slowly blinking, gray fur against the black passenger seat.
I jumped into my seat, putting the address on my GPS- not familiar with the area despite that I have been going here for two years for my therapy job. It was closer than I hoped for. I looked back at the dog, and touched the nose to check for breathing, and got my finger licked again as the eyes deep in black looked at me. I wiped the tears away, firmly taking a deep breath and told myself, “You can do it.” I drove with one hand, as I kept the other hand on the dog’s face, feeling the need to make sure that the dog knows somehow that I’m there. Silly, I know, but that’s what was needed when I woke up in the hospital after the hit and run;
I was not alone.
I had to use both hands to make a turn onto the veterinary office’s parking lot, withdrawing my hand away from the dog to do so. I parked and dashed into the office, tears building up in my eyes again. I saw a woman behind the front desk, and I said, “Car hit dog- he’s in my car.’ The woman stood up quickly and called for someone else, as she followed me to the parking lot. I opened the passenger car. The eyes were staring blankly at me. The woman softly pushed me aside, as she checked the dog. I could feel my heart straining in pain, as tears falling on my cheeks. The woman stood up out of the car, and looked at me, “I’m sorry.” I knew already before she said that.
A tech removed the dog gently out of the car. The woman gestured at me to come with her- she asked, “Yours?” I shook my head- I said, “Saw car hit him, and car left.” She nodded, as she spoke to the tech carrying the dog to the back. She gave me a tissue box, as I gave my information on paper. The tech came back and spoke something to the woman. She wrote “His name was Yuppie- his owner is on her way. Do you want to tell her something?” I shook my head, eyes nearly dry, tears drying on my face, and I paused. I wrote “please tell her that someone was with him- he didn’t die alone. I kept my hand on him all the way here, so he was not alone.” She read it and nodded, tears filling in her eyes.
I’m home, I had just returned from walking Lola and Hairy. I stared at Hairy as he did his number two dance, in numbness. Lola jumped around, running in lively joy, as I held on to the leash, thinking, “Life goes on” with a lump of grief in my heart. Yuppie did not die alone- but that’s cold comfort for me. I lived but he did not. That’s not fair.
The Story of Beautiful Girl by Rachel Simon
