Arthur

          The ground I sat on was damp and I could feel the moisture of the grass seep into my jeans ever so slightly. I brushed my hand over the top of the grass which was spiky and it tickled the tips of my fingers as I did so. I could hear children in the distance playing together, screaming and laughing, “Pass the ball!” squealed a high pitched voice.

I’d never played any real sports. I’d never felt the sweat on my face as I sprinted carelessly and recklessly, immensed in a game of ball. I’d never heard someone tell me to ‘pass’ or root me on to go for a winning shot. I sighed. It was another world to me, alien and out of my reach. It didn’t bother me. Not this any way.

Arthur and I sat abreast, his warm furry body leaned against my leg as he took in our surroundings. The sound of his breath evident in the open space. Healthy and obedient, Arthur wagged his tail contently. I stroked his soft head slowly, showing my affection to him in a way I knew he understood.

I breathed in the clean air, enjoying the feeling of being outside in its serenity. The warm sun, gently settling itself on my skin. I felt like I could have sat there for hours. I took out a harmonica from my coat pocket, capturing it in my hands as I played a little tune quietly to myself. The music came out colourful and bright to match the atmosphere of the park.  It seemed almost as if to lead me home, as we meandered along our usual route.

As I sat down at the dinner table that night, my parents chattered to one another about work while I zoned out. Instead, I listened to the music on the radio. Running my hand along the table, I traced designs on the tablecloth with my finger which I was unfamiliar with.  I turned to my Mother, “New tablecloth?” I asked. “It is indeed. I thought the other one was getting a bit old.” She answered cheerfully, apparently delighted that someone noticed. She then put down our plates, “Here you are.”

The smell of hot pasta and tomato sauce reached my nose and I thanked God that my Mother was a cook. My Father whistled in appreciation and we all tucked in less than a second later. It tasted incredible. Green olives, button mushrooms and chicken coated in a thick tomato sauce complimented the long, slippery spaghetti so well. Arthur sat by my chair. I could feel his eyes watching me as I ate and the weight of his head as he rested it on my leg. I completely devoured the food in front of me, much to Arthur’s dismay.

Arthur and I then made our way to my bedroom, he lay at the bottom of my double bed. Clearly sulking at the fact that I hadn’t saved him any leftovers today. I rubbed his back to let him know I was sorry. “I’ll get you something later ok?” I then pulled my acoustic guitar from it’s corner in my room and settled back down onto my bed. My fingers traced the curves of it’s body and the hard, metallic strings which were taut and strong.

I wiped the bits of dust which had formed like a thin coat around it’s exterior. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still in tune as I let my fingers slide along each string. I began to play a soothing combination of sounds to which  Arthur’s breath became steady as he lay by my feet, his body twitching every so often telling me that he was fast asleep. Dreaming most likely of my Mother’s food which he never got to taste.

The continuous string of notes formed together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle subconsciously in my mind. The notes seemed to be alive, dancing in harmony together like partners in a grand ball. I envisioned notes dressed in flamboyant ball gowns and exquisite tuxedos as they glided around as one. Lulling me into their strange world of swirls and jumps. I could feel my eyelids droop as my body became heavy and the bed seemed to sink deeper and deeper until I gradually lost consciousness altogether.

I awoke suddenly, jolting at the noise of the guitar hitting the floor. Disorientated and a little dazed, I sat up. I listened but no noise in the house was to be heard. Except from Arthur, who too, was now awake. He pushed himself up, stretching out his legs and yawning quietly, before sinking back down again. Taking a second to collect my thoughts, I climbed off my bed and as I did so, I felt Arthur moving to do the same.

The floorboards creaked in response as we made our way past my parents room and into the kitchen. The slight hum of the refrigerator was the only noise and I noticed that the air was colder and stiller than when I’d fallen asleep. I made my way to Arthur’s cupboard, pulling it open to search for a hard bone for Arthur. After grabbing one, I went and felt for my puffy coat amongst all the others high up on our coat rack. Slipping it on,we headed out. Not a soul stirred as we left.

I shivered a little at the brisk air as we reached the beach not far from my house. I could hear the seagulls squawk above us as they circled in unison and the pungent smell of fresh seaweed filled my nostrils. Arthur guided me slowly down onto the sand and as he did so the sound of the waves became clearer. The waves, like the mouth of the great sea, inhaled and exhaled in a thunderous cycle.

As I crouched down, I pinched some of the wet sand from the beach. Feeling the coarse, gritty texture of the grains as they rolled in-between my fingers and thumb. The air, although fiercely cold, was still. The wind was non-existent and it seemed as if the whole world had turned quiet to listen to the sounds of the sea.

          Arthur came to sit beside me. His strong body, not touching me, but close enough that I could almost feel the quickness of his heart. He panted happily and I ruffled my hands through his fur. I took out his bone, holding it in front of him to which he leaned forward cautiously, taking it from me ever so gently between his teeth. He lay down and the sound of him chewing into it brought a smile to my face.

          Arthur had always been such a good boy. We had an irreplaceable bond. Everywhere I went so did Arthur and everything I experienced so did he. We were partners. Not only physically but also mentally. He understood me in ways nobody else could. People say “A dog is a man’s best friend.” But Arthur’s more than that to me. He’s a part of me. Not having him there would be like chopping off my own leg or arm.

I could feel a tear roll down my face and yet at the same time, I was oblivious to the fact that it was my own. Every year, as I went to blow out the candles on my birthday, I’d had the same wish. I’d wished with all my might. With all my strength. With every ounce of my being. That, if only for a split second. I could see his face.