I know I mentioned my BAD ANKLE earlier. So here we’ve left our dogs at the kennel with some nincompoop who is NOT MARY, and as we trudge back to the stifling, boiling hotel room to FRESHEN UP for the big wedding, my faulty limb is throbbing in the most hellacious way. The throb mingles with intermittent white-hot bolts of razor-sharp nerve pain. They say that stress worsens any existing medical condition that one might have. I am here to tell you that THIS IS 100% TRUE.
So anyhow, I’m still crying. Not 'cuz of my ankle, either - it's all about the dogs. In fact, despite numerous tries to pull myself together, it seems that I am physically unable to stop crying - so much so that I am beginning to scare myself. I know that Chris feels just terrible. He is mostly silent, reaching over occasionally to pat my arm or my back and murmuring forlornly: “I know that was a bad scene back there…I’m sorry this is happening, hon… It’ll go fast… They’ll be okay.”
Chris gets in the shower first. So this whole time I’m trying to phone the kennel and get a progress report on MARY’s whereabouts. But nobody’s been answering – not even a machine – it just rings and rings and rings and rings. I am now sitting on the edge of the rotting, putrid, revolting hotel bed. Absolutely wild, I fling the phone at the wall.
I imagine Ellie and Herman shooting out of their improperly-latched pens. Being unsuccessfully pursued by the ineffectual Handy-Dude, they dash down the unfamiliar country road in search of MOMMY and DADDY’S CAR. And of course, The Grande Finale: Both dogs bolt out onto the NYS Thruway and immediately getting flattened by an 18-wheeler. Carnage everywhere. All my fault, all my fault…Oh, My Bubbies. My sweet, pretty Bubbies… How could I have left You in that nuthouse with a hapless imbecile…a STRANGER…
Me (thru a torrent of tears): “WHAT THE FUCK – NOW I can’t even get the goddamn DIM-WIT on the line?!? WHY IS NOBODY PICKING UP!?? WHAT’S GOING ON OVER THERE AT THAT FUCKING PLACE????”
Chris (Just coming out of the shower): “Ok, honey? Listen. I am 2 SECONDS away from calling an ambulance for you. You are giving yourself an aneurysm. Get in the shower and get in there now. It can only help you. A nice, cool shower.”
Me: “CAN YOU KEEP CALLING THE KENNEL WHILE I AM IN THE SHOWER? PLEASE?”
Chris: “Yes, I will keep trying them. But I will also be getting dressed. So please just get in the shower. The sooner we move, the day will go by and before you know it we’ll be picking up the dogs, okay?”
Me: “Yeah, or picking up their REMAINS…”
Chris: “LYNN. THAT’S ENOUGH. GET IN THE SHOWER.”
I get in the shower. The only thing I can tolerate is freezing cold water. My body feels so over-heated that I am feverish. As the water pelts down, it occurs to me that my complete lack of sleep and hormonal state are playing a big part in doing me in psychologically. I hold onto the shower walls, take a deep breath, thrust my face into the cold spray and finally…slowly…I stop crying. It feels like I could collapse - right here in the shower - and sleep deeply for 8 hours straight. But of course, we all know THAT ain’t gonna happen! WE GOTS A WEDDIN’ TA GIT TO!
I emerge from the shower. I note that Chris is nearly dressed in his tux. The room is so muggy and stuffy, the thought of how gross it must feel for him to have to be wearing that mess fills me with sympathy and concern. I refrain from asking him if he’s called the kennel again. He doesn’t need that right now.
Me: “You look nice, honey, but you look so hot. I’ll get dressed quick so we can get out of this place.”
Chris: “That’s all well and fine, hon – but can you tell me something?”
Me (toweling my wet hair): “Sure, what is it.”
Chris (Sounding unhinged): “Ahhhm... I’m…I’m just…wondering…WHAT in HOLY HELL is the DEAL with these SHOES???”
Chris actually got these shoes from his older brother (yup, the groom of today’s wedding), who apparently had no use for these gleaming black patent leather beauties. So they’ve been up in our closet for a few months now, saved especially for this occasion. But the shoes are not the first thing I notice when I glance down at the floor – it’s the carpeting. The carpeting where Chris is standing is covered with stripes of what looks like thick, black melted tar. The toxic odor of petroleum fumes has begun to permeate the room.
I feel my eyes bulge in astonishment: “What the…?”
Chris: “What’s going on… Are these shoes exploding? What the FUCK??” He is staring ponderously at his own feet, pacing back and forth, his shoes making sucking, sticky sounds as the rug hastily gets blacker and blacker with each noxious goopy step. The heels and the soles are nearly completely flattened out so that these look like weird, shiny Male-Genie Shoes or some damn thing. Never mind what the hell the carpeting looks like. That shit’s just destroyed.
Me: “You can’t wear those. You can not wear those things for your brother’s wedding.”
Chris: “What?? What the hell am I supposed to wear? I don’t have time to find new shoes!”
Me: “We have no choice. Those things are self-destructing. If you walk into that big, fancy-ass church wearing those things it’ll look as if Satan himself has been dragging his heels all over the place.”
Chris: “Oh my GOD. Oh my GOD.”
Me: “We gotta move. We gotta find a shoe store quick.”
Miraculously, as often happens within the dynamics of a relationship, the tables have turned: One person has a melt-down while the other keeps the terrors at bay. Crazily enough, I have become (sort of) the voice of sanity in our little collaborative.
My cell phone, still laying where I winged it against the wall, starts ringing. I lurch for it. It’s Handy-Dude!
Handy-Dude: “Hello, is this Mrs. ..______ ?”
Me: “YES! HOW ARE MY DOGS? ARE MY DOGS ALRIGHT?”
Handy-Dude: “I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone…I can see you’ve been trying to get thru… But I’m alone here and I had cages to clean and morning snacks to give out…”
He sounds so upset. I feel horrible all the sudden.
Me: “Listen, I just want to know if Ellie and Herman are all right. This whole thing with MARY not being there this morning really threw me something awful…”
Handy-Dude: “I just spoke to Mary and she is so sorry about everything. Her elderly dog was very sick last night with a stomach blockage, and she has been at the animal hospital in town for the last 14 hours…”
Me: “Oh, my.” Reality check. “I’m so sorry.”
Handy-Dude: “But Ellie and Herman are fine. They’re a little confused. Ellie is barking mostly, not really Herman. But please don’t worry. They will be kept separated and they both ate their snacks…”
I look over at Chris, who is still pacing and sweating and making bold, black, gluey stripes all over the room.
Me: “Okay, okay. Thank you so much for calling me. I will touch base with you later. I hope Mary’s dog is alright.”
Handy-Dude: “Yes, she’s doing better now. Thank you.”
I hang up and hastily start dressing – my sense of purpose on God’s Green Earth renewed.
Me (Gang-Mollin’ it up): “Ok. You grab the bags and go out the back exit straight to the parking lot. I’ll check us out at the front desk and meet you at the car. We’ll find a shoe store real quick, don’t you worry honey. NOW LET’S ROLL.”
TO BE CONTINUED....
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