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.  

The Cloud

As I walked up to my classroom trailer, I saw a Praying Mantis on the rail of the porch-ramp thing.   I immediately texted Alec, trying to find out what it meant.  Some people said it was a good omen, others, a sign of death.

I used to have the voicemails from Lola's vets saved on my phone.  The ones that said she was cancer-free.  I saved them for years, just to reassure myself that she was okay.  In August, they were followed by one that said something was very wrong with Lola.  Sometime in the last two months, I deleted all of the messages.  I'm not sure when.  Things are just not in a linear order for me right now.  

During pre-planning, I dropped a framed picture I have of Alec and Lola that I keep at my desk.  Some bejeweled pieces fell off the frame.  I remember being horrified and tried to glue them back on.  Now I see it as an omen.  

"Okay, good people."  I announced, while handing out ring pops.
"Eat these now or put them in your pocket to save for home because, you know, we aren't really supposed to have candy in school."  

"Yeah, but we don't really follow the rules."  Albinus responded, a little blue-toothed smile on his face.  I burst out laughing.  It's true he has never really been much of a rule-follower.  

For the last few years, I have been growing big Mexican marigolds from seed.  They always seem to come into their full glory around the first of November, coinciding with Day of the Dead.   This year, one bloomed early.  It bloomed on the day that Lola died.  

My memories of Lola feel like sharp shards of glass.  Certain music makes me think of her, music that sounds like it's from outer space, music that sounds alienating.  And the little sharp shards cut really deep.  

I entered the classroom to pick up my second-graders while they were finishing some kind of spelling test.

"Use 'burn' in a sentence."  the teacher instructed.  

I glanced down at Adrien's paper.  

"Burn the house down."  was written on it.  

For such an angelic looking kid, I did like his contrary sensibility.  

There is a picture of Lola that I can't find.  It's a picture of her face when she first woke up one morning.  Her dog sitter took it, one of the few times we went out of town without her.  Lola was gazing at the dog sitter, her face full of love.  I can't find the picture anywhere, no matter how many times I search.  

We made an appointment with Lola's vet for Temple.  We thought it would be a good idea, just to make sure she hadn't missed anything she needed while in the shelter.  As the appointment grew closer, I realized I was dreading it.  By the afternoon of the appointment, I found myself sitting in my fourth graders' classroom, thinking about how much I did not want to go into that vet's office again.  The last time I was there, I took Lola from them to transfer her to the overnight animal hospital.  They thought it was just a precaution.  Hours later, the animal hospital told me she had end-stage lung cancer and offered to put her asleep.  I kept thinking Lola's vet would find something wrong with Temple.  In my mind's eye, I kept imagining the vet saying I'm sorry, Hilary.  This dog does not have long to live.  

I got near the end of my kindergarten read-aloud of "Lizzy and the Cloud".  Lizzy let the cloud go, she was trying to do the right thing, the cloud needed the sky, a big space to live in.  But when it rained, she missed him.  

"and if she every spotted a particularly fluffy cloud,"  I read.

"she would wave...."  

I realized my voice was catching in my throat.  I turned my head, trying to stop the tears I could tell were forming. 

"Just in case...."  I finished, crying.

Just in case it was him.  Just in case she might maybe see him one more time.  

The Pouring Sun

We pulled into the driveway and I took Temple into the backyard.  She immediately rolled on her back with her legs in the air with an expression I can only call a dog smile on her face.  Then, she stood up and hugged me.  She wrapped her arms around my waist and stood there for a very long time.  Then, she started running and jumping around the yard, launching herself off of retaining walls that Lola wouldn't even think about.  

I realized that though the shelter thought she was two years old, this dog was definitely a puppy.  A really pretty, soft puppy.  I couldn't believe that she was just one in a million at the shelter.  I looked at her little ankles.  They didn't have radiation scars like Lola's did.  They were silky and pristine.  Her body shape reminded me of Lola, but she was literally less than half the size of my baby.  It was odd, she felt different.  

That night, she jumped on our bed.  We set up the bed the shelter gave us, but she launched onto the memory foam that is honestly, intoxicating.  Alec and I had already discussed the sleeping arrangements.  Lola was our dog and she slept in our bed with us.  If the new dog wanted in, we weren't going to say no, but we weren't encouraging it.  Temple made a quick decision and it was that night, around two in the morning, when I woke up with her sitting upright between Alec and me, just sitting there, straight up.  

I woke up again later.  It was odd looking at this little dog, laying in such a similar position as Lola, but so small.  She had her little blanket pulled up on her and she laid with her legs straight out, like a square.  But so little, and self-possessed.  

October is my favorite month of the year.  The cooling temperatures, Halloween, changing leaves.  Lola loved it, too.  As soon as the air got cooler, she would get very wily but also, reflective, on her Coolaroo in the backyard.  We took Temple on walks.  I liked walking with this dog, and walking with Alec.  I noticed him smiling, charmed by her.  

I woke up the next night and Temple's head was laying on the pillows between Alec's and mine.  I had a three day weekend, when I figured I could try to acclimate her to our house.  I kept feeling guilty about how excited I was to be near her.  Then, one day I just felt guilty and cried all day.   The little dog laid with me on the bed, the way Lola used to when things weren't going well.  

"Do you think we should adopt her?"  Alec asked.
"I think I'm there."  I responded.
"I mean, how would we feel if someone just applied and took her from us?  Could we trust it?  What if they abandoned her a couple of years later?"  he continued. 
"I know.  And we know that would never be us.  But where does this all lead?"  I asked, starting to cry.
"Laying on the floor with another dog that dies."  I whispered.  

I still just keep crying.   I went to Los Angeles a month ago.  It was a trip that was planned before we knew Lola was passing.  My sister and I would arrive on the eve of the Grito, Mexican Independence Day, hang out in a city I like though everyone tells me I shouldn't, and see the closing night of The Pixies tour at the Hollywood Bowl, with Modest Mouse and Catpower opening.  It was overcast the whole time we were there.  It sort of fit my mood.  We stayed downtown, between Olvera Street and Chinatown, any area that I don't think is very popular with tourists.  One day, we walked miles to go to a Mexican vegan place.  We crossed over the bridge where the Grease race scene and parts of Repo Man were filmed.  We walked forever, under the gray sky, dodging unhoused people and human feces.  It was my favorite part of the trip.  I keep listening to Frank Black's first album and everytime I hear "Los Angeles", I cry and think of Lola.  

I filled out the application to adopt Temple on October 9th, two months to the day that we lost Lola.  I found Temple on February 9th.  We were approved later that afternoon and now Temple is ours.  

She is our dog. 

Temple

I woke up in the night.  Temple was sitting straight up, solemnly, right between Alec's and my shoulders.  She looked very serious. 

I filled out an application a little over a week ago to try to foster the dog I found last February running through the bus lane at work.  I wanted to just volunteer and check on her, but the process took such a long time that I just filled out the foster application.  Alec and I knew we weren't ready, but decided that us at half-mast was better than the dog living in the shelter.  I kept getting notices about death-row dogs, dogs that were about to be put down, and I still felt like I had an obligation to the dog I found eight months ago, before all the others.  I felt bad thinking of the new dog.  She deserves someone who loves her like we love Lola, but we still decided it was better if she was out of the shelter.   I have been following her for eight months on the shelter's website and have felt awful every day when I drive past that place on the way home from work. 

 

"You know that once people foster dogs, they never get rid of them."  Alec mentioned.
"Yeah.  I know.  We'll walk her around with the little 'adopt me' thing on her, but I know."  I answered.

Our application was approved quickly.  I realized I was excited about bringing her home and then, felt guilty.  We put all of Lola's things in the Bird Room, because we didn't know how we would feel if a random dog laid on Lola's things or chewed them up.  I left work fifteen minutes early and drove to the shelter.  They brought her out and she looked almost the same as she did eight months ago.  A skinny PitBull, noticeably smaller than Lola, less than half her size.  It felt perfuntiary, the dog dragged me around on the leash for a while and I said I was taking her home.  There weren't really decisions to be made, we had already made them.  The dog could have bit me, but we still had already made up our minds.   
"How do you think she will do in a crate for a few hours tomorrow?  We have to work and then our dog walker will come in the afternoon."  I asked.
"Oh, she'll be fine.  She's been in a crate for eight months.  She really hasn't left here."  the coordinator answered.  

"She's not in one of those big kennel rooms?"  I asked.  

"No.  We don't have room.  She's in a crate like those."  she indicated, pointing at a stack of wire crates.  

The people at the shelter were really happy and clapping for the dog they called Temple.  They loaded up the car with a huge bed, food, toys and all kinds of things.  I secured the dog with one of Lola's carabiners in the back seat and we took off.  As I drove away, I watched Temple look out of the window, almost like a person who had never been outside before.  She sat while she looked.  We left behind the Dollar Trees and Auto Zones and derelict buildings and hit the highway.  

She had a little Halloween collar on, and a tag that said she belonged to the shelter, not us.  We drove very fast.  

My Best Girl

I had a dream.  Lola was on the bed with me, curled up, asleep.  A light dust of green moss coated her.  It was like if you had left a jacket outside for a few days in the rain.

I woke myself up saying no, no no.  No.  

I wake up on Saturdays and throw up and cry.  Then, I go back to bed.  

I know it is crazy.  I know it is bad.  I am in a heavy depression.  I try my best at work and home but this is awful.  My baby should not have gone this way.  And, it kills me.  Kills us.  

We had our twenty-seventh anniversary recently.  I bought fancy booze,  even though we said "no gifts".  He bought me pretty earrings, even though we said "no gifts".  And then, we just sat there at the kitchen table, going over what we could have done to make Lola not die.  

That's all I have.  I miss my baby.  My big, warm girl.  My hot furnace snuggler.   I still think, over and over, of the time I carried her as a puppy.  I laid under the oak trees in Grant Park and put her on my chest,  She slept, pushing her nose to my neck. 

All I could think was, ten more minutes, please give me ten more, any more, any more minutes.  I could have laid there forever.  

September Girls

I walked down the hill by the school after dropping my walkers off at the corner.  The hill I walked down when I found out Lola was really sick.  One of the school buses was pulled off to the side and the driver was screaming at the kids to stop whatever they were doing. Whatever they were doing can really be anything:  fighting, sexually harassing each other, watching porn on their phones, vaping, I can continue if you want.  Just about anything bad you can think of happens on the bus.  The driver got the kids to sit down and turned to walk to the front of the bus.
"Fuck you, asshole."  one of the fourth graders hissed, the minute the man turned around.  

I kept walking down the hill.

I am not feeling this school year.  

Little snippets from the last month jump into my head at random times.  Putting my hand on the side of the euthanasia doctor's hearse-like SUV before she drove away with my baby.  Covering her head with the blanket, kissing her nose.  How pale her gums were the last day.  The fact that we thought palliative care was an option, how unbelievable it was to be told our dog had hours to live when we thought everything was fine.  

This kid in one of my classes tried to recruit me to be a Jehovah's Witness.  It has happened before.  I am actually a little flattered, but not interested.

"Jehovah tells us if we believe in him, the world will be better."  he informed me, before telling me the website where I could get more fun facts.  I still have the JW card with the website in my wallet with Baby Gustavo's mom's number on it.  

"You know, that's a nice sentiment."  I responded.

"Thank you for telling me that."

He smiled brightly.  

I've been having to work with Arecely a lot this year.  All of my nice, newcomer kids went to middle school and I am stuck with the prickly one.  The mean one.  I am sort of okay with it.  She's sour as hell, refuses to speak English even though she can and has a permanent scowl on her face.  She's mean to me, mean to everyone.  We are together a lot, me walking through the school with this giant block of salt.  We sat in the trailer one morning when her journey came up.  How her "uncle" brought her in a vehicle with blacked out windows that didn't open, all the way from Nicaragua.  How she entered through Texas and was separated from this person and put in one of the centers, alone.  

"Why weren't you with your parents?"  I asked.

"They were already here."  she answered.  

"Where is your uncle now, did they deport him?"

"He's working....somewhere."  she answered.

"Were you afraid all by yourself in that center?"

"No." she answered defiantly.

"No."

I'm okay with being with the prickly one.  Your heart gets broken by warm, furry things.  And before you lecture me, yes, I understand why she's acting the way she is.    

I left work late, right when the middle school bus was letting off at the corner by my work.  I saw Eduardo walking home. I wanted to yell out at him, but there were kids everywhere and I didn't want to embarrass him.  The rest joked and pushed each other.  He stopped and tied his shoe and walked away, very alone.  

I am remembering the feel of Lola less.  The absence though is growing.  It is deafening.  It is what is normal now.  When I walk to the trailer behind the school where I work, I have a recurring image of Lola, behind the fence that encircles the school.  Sometimes she is a puppy, but most of the time she is an adult.  She is sitting, watching me.  And I feel like screaming, screaming because this is a place I never wanted her to be.  In that neighborhood, trapped behind a fence, where I can't reach her. Unsafe.  

*Title, Big Star