Long Long Time

I finally watched The Last of Us.  I am like that about everything.  In high school, I resisted listening to The Smiths until after everyone got refunds for the concert they cancelled before they broke up.  And then, I loved them.  I just have to think about things everyone loves before I try it out.  Because if everyone loves it, it is probably crap.  

I was working with kindergarten, while trying to juggle my third segment of Intensive English at the same time.  I have a lot of new students this year, not even counting my Intensive English kids.  I have been so distracted I haven't even mentioned it.  My kindergarten is huge, six girls and wildly diverse.  We hit every continent and I am excited about them.  Sajani stood out from the beginning.  Only four years old, wildly social and distracted, twirking in the hallways with a bindi on her forehead.  In trouble all the time.  Some of the Intensive English kids thought I was mean to her, which frustrated me, when I would make her sit at a different table when she was too distracting.  In January, she randomly grabbed my hand in class, looking serious.
"My dogs are in heaven."  she said.
I looked into her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sajani.  My dog is in heaven too."  I responded.  We looked at each other for a long time.  After that day, everything seemed easier with her.  She also had made it through half of kindergarten and turned five.  

Cause I've done everything I know 

To try and make you mine

And I think I'm going to love you 

For a long long time....

My baby died six months ago today.  I think back on the last day and the days before, when we knew.  I wonder if I could have petted her more.  She seems so far away now and I would do anything just to know her presence again.  

And I think I'm going to love you 

For a long long time.  

Long Long Time, Gary B. Wright, popular by Linda Ronstandt 

January

"So,"  Berenice announced.

"When I'm sixteen, I'm going to have long nails and a wig."

I looked at all seven years of her and smiled.  She plucked at the skin on my hands.

"Why is it so...loose?"  she asked.

"Don't make me get you."  I responded. 

The day that Lola died, I sang "You are the One" to her.  I am not a singer, but I always sang it to her when she was a baby.  I sang it to her on the last day, too.  Three days earlier, on the Sunday night when everything went wrong, when we saw the red spot on her eye that indicated that her blood wasn't clotting, I did something selfish.  That afternoon was the day before the first day of school.  I went out with my sister and brother in-law.  We went to foot acupressure and Vietnamese lunch.  It started storming horribly, and I didn't rush home.  Normally I did, because Lola hated storms.  They scared her to death.  I didn't rush home that day.  I let her stay at home, afraid.  

"TEACHERS:  do not walk your students in front of the school until further notice."  the announcement called.

My kids and I were walking through the interior front of the school when we saw a giant racoon walking around out front.  Casually.  In the light of the day.  I took pictures of it and texted my sister.

"Poor thing is probably hungry."  she responded.  

I took my kids to the trailer.  My mind started going in circles while they practiced their phonics.  I took out some cherry tomatoes and almonds that I had packed with my lunch and put them on a paper plate.  

"Keep doing what you're doing."  I said to the kids and ran around the side of the building.  I placed the plate by the dumpsters.  I didn't want to encounter a rabid racoon, but was hoping maybe he would drift away from the front of the school and snack a little.    While I ran back, I saw all of my kids on the patio of the trailer, watching and waving. 

The day my baby died, we gave her her favorite treat, these big breath bones that we gave her to keep her fresh.  She didn't eat them.  She walked around, burying them in the yard.  She used to do that with things that she really loved.  We were so scared, so unsure of what to do that day, but every part of what she did told us that something was very wrong.  Sometimes I have dreams that I made a mistake, that I killed my dog unnecessarily, but at least, when I wake up, I know it's not true.  Two nights ago, while I slept, I woke up because I heard Lola's toenails clicking, the noise she would make when she walked around the house.  Temple was in bed with us and either way, I knew it wasn't her.  The sound was different.  I miss my baby.  

I sat at my desk, reading our weekly Monday teacher announcements.

"TEACHERS:  do not feed wild or stray animals for the safety and security of our students and staff."

I felt my face get a little red, even though no one else was there.  

And then, I thought it might be the best thing to be called out for, picturing myself as Snow White with birds on my shoulders.  I was also glad they hadn't seen the new lizard that had moved into Steve's old moss-floored box in my trailer.  

2024

New year, new me.  Maybe, maybe not.  I hosted Christmas and New Year's Day at my house.  Put up the tree, cleaned everything.  I even put bright vintage lights outside on the porch.  I bought Alec, Temple and myself matching pajamas.  It was great getting half of December, off.  

For some reason, I feel uncomfortable saying that I miss Lola.  I feel like I am not allowed, because we have Temple now.  But, I miss her terribly.  I miss her face in the mornings.  I miss the way she waited for me in the window when I would come home from work.  I miss how she took over my half of the bed, pushing against me.  I miss her chill, when we would go outside and she would lay on her outside bed and I'd sit beside her.  I miss her smell.  

I worry that it sounds like I don't love Temple, but I do.  I feel guilty when I think of Lola while I look at Temple.  I am also not sure how to refer to my dogs.  I don't like calling Lola my "old dog", as if she doesn't exist any more.  Or calling Temple my "new dog", as if she is a replacement.  I speak vaguely of "my dog" when others speak of theirs, and I know they think I'm talking about Lola, because it was too painful for me to say that she died.  I need a term for it, but there isn't one.  

Work is busy.  I lost Rafael and Arecely, and they were replaced by five other kids.  I teach seven classes a day now with only thirty minutes of planning. I have a little extra time after my afternoon duty and I try to maximize it.  I want my lessons to be good, especially Intensive English.  

It got so cold here after the MLK holiday that we got an extra day off.  But, the Wednesday after, it was twelve degrees when I left for work and they made us come in anyway, around seven in the morning.  In the south, where people don't own winter clothing.  Where poor kids stand in the dark on unlit roads in hoodies, waiting a half an hour for the school bus.  I didn't agree with it, but obviously went in to work.  I signed in, then ran to my trailer to heat it up.   My morning phonics kids didn't even come to school, so I sat in the trailer, figuring out my day.  I heard a knock at the door.

"Eduardo!"  I exclaimed, grabbing him into the trailer.
He was all bundled up.  
"I am the only one who has to go to school today!"  he howled.  His mom was letting his little sisters stay home, because it was too cold.  We talked.  How was middle school.  How were the other kids from last year.  How was he.  I showed him pictures of Temple, still thinking of the last time he stopped by when I burst into tears because Lola had just died.  

"You look happy."  he told me, and smiled.  

Miss Universe

"So, we have to leave our apartment, you know, because of that thing I told you about."  
I looked at Rafael.
"When?"
"By the end of the year."  he answered.
Kids say that all the time, and then they don't move.  He was gone two days later.  I had screamed at him in class a matter of days before, something I don't usually do.  Now, I will always regret it, more than I would anyway. 

Antonio arrived a day after Rafael left.  And then, came Joya and Cati, straight from Mexico with no English.  The county has decided that they don't deal with Intensive English anymore and that we have to do it at our schools, whether there is time in our schedules or not.  Whether they actually provide us the materials or not.  Multi-million dollar budget, but you get what you get.   I want to do anything I can for these kids, but here are only so many hours in the day, and I want to do it right.  It took weeks to get these girls scheduled correctly and I still don't have the promised materials.  I am down to thirty minutes a day of planning and teaching seven classes a day.  I am running, running, running. 

I sort of like it.  Though I am done with the county not giving me a damn thing to do my job, I love these kids.  I am off most of my duty assignments and doing what I actually like, teaching.  I have to hustle to plan, but it's okay.  And, it keeps my mind off of Lola.  My baby.  My baby I lost.  

"We're moving."  Arecely announced.

"No," I responded, thinking she didn't know what she was talking about.  They usually don't.  And, my salt block, my child of salt, those are the ones that usually stay.  I included her and Flave-o-Flave in the Intensive English class I formed.  Flave and Joya weren't eligible because of their grade and Arecely had timed out of IE because the county did her wrong.  I figured if I was doing it, might as well include all of the kids that really should be in it. Even if my salt block was hard, a hard child, that often made other kids feel bad.  On purpose.  

"Miss Nicaragua won Miss Universe."  Arecley announced, a huge smile on her face.

"And then, they arrested her for treason.  That's why we had to go.  It wasn't safe for us anymore with Ortega."  

She never told us anything before.  That's when I knew she was really going.  

Christmas festivities took over the school.  I waited with my walking crew on the last day before our break.  The bus riders filed out and I saw Arecely, in tears, walking out of the door.  My hard girl.  My salt block.

I grabbed her and hugged her, hard, crying myself.

"Please take care of yourself."  I said over and over, knowing she was the only one that would.  

You're a Dream to Me

"You poo poo cha cha"  Eduardo's sister announced, shooting out of the kindergarten classroom. 

I keep thinking of all the things our vet told us when we took Temple in for her initial meeting.  You have to brush her teeth once a week.  They make a combo for heartworm and flea prevention that is actually good, you don't have to seperate them anymore to be effective.  They didn't say any of this shit to us before.  They are acting like my dog died ten years ago, but it's only been four months.  It's like she is being shoved into yesteryear.  I submitted Temple's DNA test, just out of curiosity.  It came back, um, pure Pit Bull.  I looked at the rest of my account with the company and Lola's results wouldn't appear.  Why?  Why not?  It kept saying there was an error.  I sat, looking at the printed results I have I of Lola's DNA.  I touched the paper, the picture of her.  

I watched the trailer for the new Nicolas Cage movie while I waited to see Priscilla.   That Cranberries song kept playing, loud.  I've never really been a fan, I'm neutral, didn't hate them, didn't love them.  Over and over again, I kept hearing 'you're a dream to me...' and I'd cry.  I'd picture Lola and cry.  In the car.  At work.  Wherever.   

Temple needs us, and I love her.  She follows me wherever I go, even into the bathroom.   I've stepped on her feet by accident, stumbled over her because she is always right next to us.  I've left her alone for a matter of minutes and came back in, only to find her heart beating out of her chest and her eyes, urgent.  She jumps up and hugs me, tries to climb right up me.  I want her to know that we will always be here, that she is safe.  At night though, when she sleeps in our bed, she doesn't push up next to me.  She sleeps alone, in a little ball at the foot of the bed.  And, she can't bark.  I wrap her up in the velvety blanket that is similar to the one Lola had, but in a different color.  

Papi and I went to see Liz Phair.  It was at the ASO site and she played the whole Guyville.  It was good, but another illuminating look at how old we are and how old everyone else is, too.  The songs seemed different, much different than when we tore that tape up nearly thirty years ago.  

It's Christmas Eve
in the drunk tank
you won't see another one
an old man said to me
.........
I turned my face away
and dreamed about you

I dreamed about you, Lola.  I dreamed about you.  

*Lyrics, Shane MacGowan, Fairytale in New York.  And Lola, I love you baby.   

The Moon

There are differences between Lola and Temple.  Temple's ears are a little thicker than Lola's were.  Her tail is, too.  Her fur is silkier and her eyes a little closer together than Lola's.  When she first came, I noticed every little difference but now, Temple is starting to feel 'normal'.  I am afraid that Lola is going farther away, it's like I'm always losing her more.  I think of when Lola and I drove back from Mexico together.  I hear people call their dogs their best friend or their companion or a variety of other things.  I don't know what I would call Lola.  I usually just called her the love of my life, kind of as a joke but actually en serio.  Sometimes I have this mental vision when I walk Temple, it's strange and I don't know where it comes from. We are walking through some sort of hellscape and she is with me, beside me and we are on a mission to destroy, enveloped in scorched-earth grief.  She's like my post apocalyptic companion. 

 

"You a toilet." Eduardo's sister stated as we walked up the hill during dismissal.
"You're a bathtub."  I answered.  

She giggled furiously.
"You a sink."  she responded.

"You're a toilet paper roll."

She shrieked.

It's a little thing we do, all the way up the hill.  She insists on holding my hand.  

"It's weird.  I'll think I'm doing okay and suddenly something will trigger me and I feel awful.  Once it was the moon.  THE MOON.  I didn't think that would be a trigger, but I was looking at it when I found out he died."
I wanted so badly to agree with my co-worker's sentiment.  It described my experience with Lola's death so precisely.  I will realize I am actually not feeling bad and then a dagger-like memory comes to me.  I can't walk down the hill at work in the afternoon without thinking of getting that phone call.  The hill is a trigger, or a book about a cloud, it can be things that are so random.  But I didn't say anything.  No one wants you to compare your dog's death to the death of a family member.  

"You a chicken nugget."

"You're a chicken thigh."

"You a bush."

"You're a tree."

She lets out crystalline giggles, all the way up the hill.  

I had to administer a standardized test to a particularly difficult kid this week.  He is not one of my students.  Three mornings in a row, sitting in my trailer with this kid whining and complaining, fake crying, being rude.  Dismissing me when I came to get him for testing, telling me he'd be ready in thirty more minutes.  Like I was his fucking servant.  Wasting my time.  I received two Intensive English kids that I am trying to prepare for but instead, my schedule was being dictated by a fucking brat.  Telling me he would hurry and finish his test so that he wouldn't have to hear my voice anymore when I wasn't even talking.  All I could think was yes, please hurry and get the fuck out of my face.  I understand this kid has a documented condition, but it didn't stop me from thinking some pretty dark thoughts.  

"You a house."
"You're a garage."
"You a apartment."
"You're a trailer."

More giggles.  

I actually start to think I might be the most hilarious person ever.  

An unpleasant neighbor of mine got sentenced to ten years in prison.  It was a nice little pick me up. 

I walked down the hall at the beginning of dismissal, collecting my walkers.  Eduardo's sister shot out of her classroom .
"You a chicken wing pig."  she announced, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the hall.  

Days of the Dead

I had one of those dreams that is happening right until you wake yourself up.  I was opening the gate to take Temple on a walk and suddenly, Lola was right behind us.  But, she was a ghost and she couldn't come.  She couldn't come on the walk.  But she wanted to.  

The day I picked up her ashes was bizarre.  I arrived at the pet crematory, a place that I don't even like to glance at when I drive past, even on a good day.  I told them my name.  They had texted me earlier, and asked if I wanted Lola cremated with her furry purple blanket.  Originally I said yes, then asked them if it was possible to save it for us.   

The lady at the desk looked at me and asked me exuberantly how the first week of school was.  I glanced down at my work t-shirt, realizing how she knew I was a teacher.
"Awful."  I responded.
She snorted at me with disapproval.  
"My dog died."  I responded, staring at her right in the face and starting to cry.  Hence my presence here, idiot.  

She sprinted around the desk and forcibly started hugging me.  I was actively pulling away and she actively decided that she was going to hug me.  It would have been funny if it wasn't so ridiculous.  I guess it is funny because it's ridiculous.  

"So, were they able to save the blanket?"  I asked, gripping the desk in an attempt to remove myself from her fucking rape hug.  She removed herself quickly from my body and ran back around the desk.

"I don't have any record of this."  she said coolly.

Suddenly, someone was all business.  

"Look, I can show you the text, I just wanted to know....."  I responded.  

Another lady burst out from the back and handed me the blanket in a plastic bag with Lola's name on it.  And, she handed me the box of Lola's ashes.  Apparently, I bought a rosewood box.  I could feel her ashes slide around inside while I carried it.  It was unsettling.  Is unsettling.   

It's been almost three months.