How Kyle Lost His Dog

Three friends and a dog play cards while they wait for the power to come back on. Rated T for language (and references to certain notorious serial murderers.)

Out the window the sky was that muted gray color you get when the television goes blank and there were little tiny specks of raindrops which clung to the windows like those magnets would stick to the metal underside of those chairs we used to sit on in elementary school.

I was sitting on the floor with Gunner and Kyle and Kyle’s dog Charles Manson. I don’t know if Charles Manson is his real name, but Kyle calls him Charles Manson because he’s all white except for this little black mark on his forehead that looks like, well, I think you know what it looks like.          

Like I was saying, the sky was the color of the dull metal on those chairs we had in school and the raindrops were sticking to the windows like the fibers of your hair stick to the television screen when you sit too close. The TV was all static on account of the color of the sky so we were all sat down in the middle of the carpet playing war. Kyle was sitting with his legs Indian style across the floor from Gunner, and I was off to the side scratching Charles Manson behind his ear because I’d already lost all my cards.

“That’s aces to aces,” said Kyle. “You put your three cards down.”

“You’re going to win anyways,” Gunner said, “Because you’re a damn cheat.”

“You can’t cheat at war,” Kyle said. He placed three cards on the carpet. Gunner sat and watched him do it with his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, then tossed three cards down all at once. The king of diamonds flipped over by accident. Kyle fixed it for him.

“You ready?” Kyle asked.

“You’re a goddamn cheat,” Gunner said again. Still, he reached into his deck and tossed another card into the mix. The four of spades. Kyle separated the top card from his deck and placed it on the floor. Me and Charles Manson stared at the card in silence, listening to the sound of rain like static on the roof.

Gunner flung his deck of cards onto the floor.

“You’re not quitting?” Kyle asked.

Gunner opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by a loud clap of thunder and a bright flash of light, which made Charles Manson run across the center of the room and scatter the deck of cards in all different directions.

“I guess the game’s over,” said Kyle.

“I hate you,” said Gunner. Charles Manson ran back towards me after the sound of another thunderclap, stepping on Gunner’s hand on the way over. Gunner started swearing as Charles Manson settled in beside me, nudging my hand with his wet nose. I put my palm between his ears and lowered his head into my lap.

“Your damn dog,” Gunner said. “Your damn dog and your damn card games.”

“I didn’t even want to play war,” Kyle said.

“Neither did I,” said Gunner. “But all the other games sucked worse and Mickey doesn’t know how to play f*****g anything.”

“You can play without me,” I said.

“No,” said Kyle. There was another clap of thunder and Charles Manson started barking again.

“Your damn dog,” Gunner said again, as his face was illuminated by white light, “I’m gonna kill your damn dog, Kyle.”

“It’s the air pressure from the rain,” Kyle said. “It hurts his ears.”

“I thought it was the thunder,” I said.

There was a silence.

“No,” Kyle said eventually. “I think it’s the air pressure.”

“You idiot,” Gunner chuckled. “Even Mickey knows you’re full of s**t.”

I could see Kyle’s face glowing red in the semi-darkness. “If you’d just leave Charles Manson out of this,” he said. “He can’t help it because his ears are affected by the thunder and the air press�"”

Suddenly, Charles Manson squirmed out from beneath my hand and bolted across the room. He put two paws up against the front door and started barking again, his short white tail a blur as it whipped back and forth.

 Gunner rolled his eyes. “There wasn’t even any thunder that time,” he said.

“It’s the air pressure,” said Kyle. “I told you it�"”

Charles Manson scratched at the door again howled.

Gunner laughed. “Your dog’s a retard,” he said. 

“You shut up,” Kyle said. He craned his neck towards the door. “C’mere, Charles Manson,” he called.

Charles Manson ignored him.

 “Maybe try using his real name,” I said.

“C’mere, Charles Manson!” Kyle shouted. He got to his feet and turned to face the door. “C’mere, boy!”

“I think he wants to go outside,” Gunner laughed. He fell over sideways on the floor and clutched his stomach, his eyes squeezed shut, with a wide, toothy smile stretched across his face. “Your retard dog wants to go outside.” Kyle stormed across the room, grabbed onto Charles Manson’s collar, and pulled. Charles Manson growled at Kyle, who withdrew his hand quickly. His face and neck and ears were bright red in the darkness and Gunner was lying on the floor in the pile of cards, just laughing and laughing and laughing.

Kyle’s hand shot out and the door swung open. Charles Manson flew out the door like a bullet just as another rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath the house.  Gunner stopped laughing. The sound of barking faded into the distance and was replaced by the sound of rain like static on the roof. Kyle closed the door slowly and stood there motionless with his hand on the doorknob.

            I said, “You shouldn’t have done that, Kyle.”

            Kyle stood at the door and said nothing.

            I said, “You should call him back, Kyle.”

            Kyle walked back to the center of the room and sat down in front of Gunner. He gathered the cards into a deck and began to shuffle. “Let’s play something else,” Kyle said. “Mickey can just watch.”

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[Lyn Anderson]

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