When I walked into the local police precinct to meet with a detective about the scope of my rights, I was thinking about Rocco, the adored dog of a long-ago life. Detective Mijon said, “Based on these emails, the hatred is clearly defined. The NYPD views too much love or hate as verboten harassment. We take neither extreme lightly. We can nab this bastard for aggravated assault. If that's what you want.” Arrest and jail time for an ex I barely recalled. The skidding clouds tagged the sun; the wind stuttered in gusts. The New York atmosphere was heightened, freighted, weighted, and raucous, though, perhaps, that was my insides. I could not picture his face. I remembered no husbandly actions. Bed memories had evaporated long before the ancient dissolution. Conjuring him, I saw a storm cloud of hate and rain: a weather system fueled by bastardized jealousy. Detective Mijon said, “A night in jail might ice those fingers spewing keyboard hatred into the great beyond.” “Hell,” the detective said, “If his finances are fucked, could be two days or more before he is sprung.” I listened to Detective Mijon outline my options and thought: X ought to picture Rocco when next he triggered ‘send' on another venomous cyber-epistle. We married at thirty and soon bought a dog. The marriage was impetuous; the purchase of Rocco was not. His breed was researched, his personality dissected. Deficient as a show dog, he was bought for a song. He smiled and peed when I entered the front door that, upon a sunnier time, X and I once walked through together. Rocco was large, but imagined himself tiny, cushioned in the palm of my hand. Soon, he kissed my cheeks and licked the tears I shed in the bedroom. We owned him but a few months when a cross-country move was demanded; another fresh start. Released back to his breeder, Rocco was freed for pigeon runs and lilac-scented dirt rolls. Though we willingly walked into the cell, we left him free from a Manhattan imprisonment. When I walked into the precinct, I remembered that twelve-year-old day when X, on the sly, shipped Rocco to JFK, like cargo; in his twisted way hoping furry love would save us. By then I knew, as I should have known long before, we stood no chance. Later, I learned of the purchase of food, bowls, toys and more, stashed in a closet. Much later, I learned Rocco smelled my scent and stood guard at my side of our frigid bed. In those lifeless rooms we called our home, for a single hour Rocco ate dry food and stretched out on the flimsy blackberry couch, shedding his white hair and a few yellow strands. Rocco's big body presence frightened X into yet another act that was wrong. That night, when we met for drinks and pasta, he was pasty. Suddenly loving, filled with detailed plans for our make-believe future, unnaturally acquiescing to all my suggestions, I knew something was more than merely awry. Another night filled with a fight. At dawn, our past thoroughly excavated, he admitted what he had done: too big to keep in our small place, in the early afternoon he settled Rocco into a palatial home with owners honed to care for a pure-breed who knew how to love. Much, much later, I learned it was another one of his lies. He shipped Rocco three thousand miles for a long walk to Carl Schultz Park. I can imagine Rocco, a grin around his wagging tongue, tethered to a new leash buckled round his neck, a new collar engraved with his name. On the promenade, X tied Rocco to an iron bar with a view of the river. KGB-secretive by nature, his get-away was observed. A man out for a run tracked and trailed him forty blocks. A note, left with the doorman, was addressed to The Fucking Dog Abandoner. Sleepless and shaken by the previous night's cascade of X's excuses, about everything, I left to earn my salary; which X sneered at, despite his love of draining the bank for his personal pleasures. The doorman handed over the envelope. Inside, the jogger's note simply stated: You don't deserve to live. Remembering all that, as I should have, I said to Detective Mijon, “Just one more email from him, like all these others, and I will happily, at long last, send him to jail.”
12
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This is the fifth piece in my Things I Should Have Done series.
#1, #2, #3, and #4 are all up here.
The single paragraph is intentional.
Off-topic, but I have a black and white "tuxedo" cat named Rocco. I think at some point the breed crossed with dogs--he picks up sticks in his mouth and does other things cats don't usually do.
X the ex's motivation is unclear, but then so is Iago's in Othello.
Con, that's funny about your own Rocco.
Thank you for reading and for the fav.
Thanks for going to Iago; for me, the underlying motivation wasn't essential.
The cop's dialogue is so interesting here. The guy who tracks the dog back to the building is a keeper! A winner! This is grislier than the other installments, but it feels as though it belongs with them, too.
*
Great series, Cherise. I like the direct approach here - "Sleepless and shaken by the previous night's cascade of X's excuses, about everything, I left to earn my salary; sneered at, despite his love of draining the bank for his personal pleasures. The doorman handed over the envelope."
Good work.
Ann! Thank you!! It is a bit grislier, you're right, and that's a great word for it, but I am pleased they all still fit together for you. Thank you for continuing to read and for the fav!
Thank you Sam! It makes me really pleased the series is working for you! Thanks for the star too! Great way to start a Friday.
I think what i like best about your writing is that you have a very authentic voice, something most writers never find. Its distinctive without ever being gimmicky (anyone wants to know what i mean by gimmicky, pick a jonathan safran foer novel).
I meant to fave this entire series but always forgot. i'll start now.
J. Stephen,
Thank you for that incredibly high praise! It means a lot to me. Thanks for the fav and for reading the rest of the series (thus far).
The voice is powerful here. The use of passive creates a feeling of noir that never goes over the top. Great story!
Jane, so appreciate your reading and wonderful comments. I love that you see this as a bit noir-ish! Thank you for the fav as well!
What a dog profile. I love dog profiles. Rocco is real. I have to admit I lost my grip on the people a bit while bonding with Rocco. Mea culpa.
Enjoyed.
Love that you loved the dog profile! Thanks so much for reading Larry!
Love it. Another great entry in the series.
Excellent! I love the tone of this.
Robert, thank you!
Christian, thank you! I'm glad you liked the tone, and thank you for the fav!
Good story. I like Rocco.
Love the story, but, for me anyway, the lack of paragraph breaks still makes for unnecessary confusion. I know, I said that before. Just that I love your writing style and the breaks would make it damned near perfect.
Thank you so much James! I know, the lack of paragraphing bothers a few of readers, but, for some unknown reason, not based in reason, or literary convention, this series of mine refuses to be paragraphed conventionally.
But, hell, I will keep trying for that "damned near perfect" anyway!
While the single paragraph style was initially intimidating (like I don't know when to pause and take a breath on my own!) it was perfectly in sync with the mood of the story, the pace, the flying and walking and not stopping until the final decision is made. Nicely written story here.
Susan, thank you. I think part of this series, for me, is how to take the breath away from the reader, to make them syncopate to my breath. The breathing I do when I write, and revise, these stories, is on a huge inhalation. I think perhaps your comment is helping me to define why I keep to a single paragraph. I want the reader along for this ride, this narrator's ride!
Cherise, brilliant writing, technique, and form. The single paragraph works to control the pace, forcing the reader to take it in one big gulp, and the quality of your writing sustains the intensity necessary to engage the reader to the end. Your narrating character is intelligent, sophisticated, and fun to be with. Good dog profile (I agree with Larry). Send X to jail.
"our past thoroughly excavated," a divine line I wish I'd written. The dog as leaving, breathing barometer of their failing relationship is beautifully done. That he'd nailed his allegiances to the absent one, standing her side of the bed. I love that.
Marc,
Thank you for reading and your lovely comments! Thrilled to have written a "divine line"!
Cherise, another fav. This series just gets better and better. this is dark and weird and completely unique. I love all that bad weather at the beginning. The tone and mood here is really really good.
Keep 'em coming!
Hey, meant to add: * and that makes ten!
Thank you Michelle for your great words! And for the 10th fav on this one!
I like this one too.
Why not name the ex? A name (any name) is so much more tangible than a letter.
Thanks Bill, glad you liked this one too!
I debated a name for quite a while, but for this narrator, this long-ago husband has been relegated to a nameless being from the past, and X, for me, worked that way. She doesn't want any attachment left, despite what he is doing to her now, with his hate-filled emails. X keeps him at a distance.
Exes are almost always relegated to nameless voids if our psyches are successful.
The lack of para breaks was at first distracting, but I just ignored it and enjoyed the read.
Kudos to you for getting over 10 favs!