10 East

I was roped into it. It’s not that I was forcefully yanked into anything, but I didn’t give the correct reply for me. I gave the correct reply for them. Which wasn’t wrong. Going along does endear you with whomever you are conversing, but you do sever a piece of yourself. Your agency wavers. Autonomy is not gone, but you do not identify with it because you do not identify with yourself. You are reflecting someone’s perception of the world back onto themselves, simple as that. Rory and I were not close, but we were related, my cousin from whom I couldn’t say. The thickness of blood compared to water bound me to servitude, held captive by a cliche.

Rory lived in the city, one of those quaint neighborhoods sprawled amongst the many throughways of the metropolis. Stores boasted the most delicious sandwiches with their signs, but you never knew if the kitchen was open, or existed until you entered. Children galavanted on their bikes and scooters, blissfully frolicking in their ignorance while the youth huddled together speaking of a future where they were in charge. The endless array of stoops was a backdrop to this pleasant life, their shade welcoming the weary traveller.

This was where I nodded and affirmed Rory in their qualms, a task I had not done for years. They summoned their strife from the decrepit past and presented it to me with their own dramatic flare, and in five minutes I found myself in the drivers seat of this tin can. I was not as much driving as I was steering. The mini-van was hitched to the back of Rory’s truck by a single rope. I could not tell you the quality of the twine or tie, but both held as we rolled down the street.

Rory had halted without warning. The cautionary red lights poked out through the grunge splattered on the plastic. I slammed on the brakes. In the taillight I could see a spider swaddle its prey. And we were off! We turned down a lively street. I did not know where we were going. I assumed we were headed to a mechanic, but they never actually told me for sure. As I slithered down the road gently cracking in Rory’s wake, another thought bubbled to the surface. My index finger and thumb grasped the key in the ignition, turning it. The car jumped to life. I didn’t dare take it out of neutral. I killed the engine and sat back perplexed. Where were we going?

The last time I saw Rory, we were at the park. It was a family affair about a hundred of us in attendance. Pop-pop had passed months before so my uncle Rogerick stepped up as grill master, and I have to say while I miss Pop-pop, I won’t miss his charred burgers. My aunt Gail gobbled my ear with her fanciful insights. I affirmed her with thoughtful grunts, but my attention was elsewhere.

An indigent person not twenty feet from me sat planted in the grass absorbing the day, a dog rested easily by their side. A few bills inhabited a flipped hat. Gail droned on endlessly, regurgitating words that were not her own, when a jogger briskly bounced down the path. They looked back at the dog and paused. Their head wagged back and forth shedding a notion and sauntered on until they stopped again. With a firm resolve they turned and stormed back toward the dog and its owner.

“When’s the last time he ate?”

“She?”

The speed walker abruptly corrected themselves. “She… when’s the last time she ate?”

“What’s it matter to you?”

“You know, if you can’t take care of her, you should find her someone who can.”

“Pardon?”

“She deserves to be properly taken care of. At least take her to a shelter.”

“So they can kill her when she’s not adopted.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you. Stop accosting me.”

Flabbergasted, “Accosting? I’m not accosting you, if anything…” the runner swallows their words.

“If anything what?”

“Nothing?”

“If anything, I’m accosting you?”

The runner shook their head nervously and mumbled flitted words of frustration. Then with an unconvincing chuckle they spun on their heel and trotted in the other direction. Gail had not skipped a beat and resuscitated her monologue. Fortunately her momentum was decimated by the runner who had since turned round and sprinted for the dog. They scooped it up before the owner could protest, and were twenty paces away before they could fully rise and make chase.

The jogger — or thief, for that is truly what they were in the moment — was almost to the street. Upon crossing it they would be lost in the noise of the city. However they never made it to the street. Rory rocketed toward them and brought them to ground while also managing to snatch the pup from their grasp and safely cradle it. Rory seized control of the situation and the jogger whose tear ducts burst forth ultimately convincing Rory to unhand them, but not without chastisement. Once again the jogger sprinted, but merely in retreat.

In the end the owner begged Rory to take their dog, that what transpired made them realize they could not take care of their comrade. With an inquisitive glance Rory panned from the pup to its owner. A manically jovial laugh erupted from their core, “What do I need a dog for?” My phone rang.

“You good?” It was Rory.

“Yeah.” I lied. “Where are we going?”

“How do you feel about highways?”

“What?”

“The highway, it’s coming up. We take that, cuts our trip in half. No need to weave in and out all these streets. It’s a straight shot.”

Instead we will be weaving through high speed traffic. “Sure, where are we going?” I caved.

“You’ll see.” They hung up, leaving me to helm a vehicle I did not own going somewhere I did not know.