Duffle Bag

A fragmented story I wrote last year for a creative writing class.

As we get closer I can make out the name on the sign, which indicates we are in the right spot. Hopefully we are early enough because I hear that they are strict on curfew here. I pull down the sleeve of my faded zip up jacket and expose the hole on the elbow that arose from constantly sleeping on the sidewalk. I continue to walk and I check the zipper on my duffle bag to make sure it is securely shut. Being so, I proceed to the door and with my right hand I push my gritty hair back behind my ears in hopes of looking a tad more appealing. With my left hand I push the door open and head towards a woman seated behind a window. I tell her my name is Jeff Domely and she hands me a clipboard to sign. Passing it back to her, she quickly glances down to make sure everything is good to go. With a pleased look she presses a button that signals the door to unlock itself. As I take the first step towards the door I hear her voice behind me, “Welcome to A Little Bit of Heaven”. I smile at her and walk through the doorway, I immediately hear the door meet the frame and lock itself.

**

            The lights twinkle and the festive music is pooling the room with its sweet melodies. Laura harmonizes with “Silent Night” and the scent of the sausage and cheese combination fills the air as the breakfast casserole reaches it prime temperature in the oven. There is sound that I don’t quite find familiar but it is fairly muted and disappears quickly. Mine and Laura’s toes find their place at the base of the tree skirt. The carpet soon becomes a collage of the different colored holiday paper as everything is unwrapped. Excitedly, Laura kisses my cheek and tells me that she has one last gift for me and disappeared into our sunroom. She reappears with the answer to my recent confusion. Again, I hear the unfamiliar sound, although now it is not as muted and I recognize it as a whimper. The box is about two by two feet and remains unwrapped with little holes all along the sides. She motions for me to come over and I follow her instructions. I lift the lid and standing below me on tiny little legs is the best gift that I have ever received. With smooth white and black fur and soft pointed ears, my wife has never done anything more right then on this day when she brought this tiny mutt into our world. The little heartbreaker won me over with his big brown eyes and white tipped paws. My little buddy. Max.

**

            With each passing hour, more and more buckets of vomit are filled to their capacity. As we reached the sixth hour we knew that home was very close in sight. Max peacefully rests at Laura’s feet, calming her during such a miserable moment. Removing the needle from her arm the oncologist reviewed our next steps and proceeded to say that he will see us in a few days. Max and I walked our weakened third member to the car, which I pulled up next to the Rush University Medical Center sign. Sitting in the passenger seat Laura looks like death, this long day has exhausted all of her energy. Max reestablishes his regular place at her feet as she doses off on the twenty-minute car ride home. I brake the tires in our driveway and I wake Laura as I open the door for her. My white angel of a wife looks as she typically does after these visits and I wish I could somehow make her feel even a little better. I get her situated in bed and set Max at her feet as they both wish. Her little guardian.

**

I push open the door of the tiny room and am thankful to only see one mattress, securing our safety. I grab Max’s towel from my bag and shut it in the door so that it covers the thin window that could ultimately expose our secret. Max can tell that we are alone. I set my tattered green duffle bag on the floor so his feet can touch the ground. As I unzip it, a tiny moistened black nose shoves its way through the opening, helping to unzip it the rest of the way. Max climbs out of the bag and sniffs around the room investigating every scent that this overused room has acquired. I flick the light switch and the room blackens, shielding my eyes from the stained non-sheeted mattress that I will spend the night on. If only I could afford a simple bed sheet because this is the one thing that I don’t think I will ever be able to get used to.  Shuffling my feet toward the center of the room I hit the semi-soft edge of the bacteria infested rectangle that I am forced to sleep on. As my head hits the grotesque material I feel Max’s warmth at my ankles. “Goodnight Buddy”.

**

            I hear shrieking beyond the regular sound a dog should make. This unusual event alarms me and I rush up the bedroom to find Max circling the lifeless angel on the bed. Scooping Max into my arms I feel the one thing that I have left rest against my shattered heart. The next thing I know we are both at the feet of my wife who will never breathe again, lying in pools of saltwater.

**

            As we walk around the Chicago streets, Max tends to make new friends very easily. His playful personality and tiny figure tends to attract a lot of attention from little kids and families. As the small hands reach down to pet him, the reluctant parents reach for their kids in attempt to stop them from petting my mutt. After encouraging the parents that it is all right, we get to talking. Surprisingly I have found the Chicago families to be quiet genuine, and they usually give us money without me asking. After thanking them for their sincere kindness, we usually head toward the Panera Bread on Marshfield Avenue and buy a bagel to share. I tie Max outside, close to the large window at the front of the store. The workers know us by name and are kind enough to bring Max a bowl of water while I order our food. Surprisingly the workers seem to have accepted Max and I, which is unusual because I had gotten used to the ridicule from other businesses.

I receive our food from the Panera employee and walk outside to meet Max. I untie him from the post and we walk to our usual table. Max thankfully accepts his half and scarfs it down, appreciative of his first meal since yesterday morning. I finish my half of the bagel, place the plate on top of the garbage can and Max and I continue on our walk.

 It’s nice to be a few miles from the shelter so I don’t have to worry about being spotted with Max. God only knows what would happen if the workers at the refuge learned about him. I surely wouldn’t be able to carry on. I am thankful for not having to worry about that at this moment. Max and I walk in the summer heat, no worries, just me, my dog, my open duffle bag and the beautiful afternoon weather.

**

            I see her eyes light up as they reflect my own. I’m sent back to my first sighting of those bright blue eyes a few years back. I spotted her in the produce section of Jewel Osco. She was picking up different pineapples and lifting them to her nose. When I approached her she silenced me and held the same prickly fruit to my face. As the sweet scent flowed into my nostrils she looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and I knew I needed her in my life.

            As I stand here gazing at the gorgeous angel of a woman walking down that flowered isle, I’m counting the seconds until she reaches me. Her father kisses her cheek and finds his seat. I feel the butterflies in my stomach flap with excitement when her eyes meet mine. Happiness. We join hands and I look at the face of my bride. I admire the two oceans that accentuate her beauty and the long black lashes that emphasize them. I look to her small nose and soft pink lips. She is so beautiful, and with two simple “I do’s”, she is forever mine.

**

            Approaching the gate our nostrils become consumed in the aroma of the tons of flowers. We approach the big Virgin Mary statue and take the road to the left and follow it down a ways. The abstractness of the green and grey Picassoed grounds is always something that amazes me; an unexpected art. We walk up the hill and start to read the stones decorated by beautiful gifts from loved ones. Name after name, we’ve come to recognize them all. We reach our destination as we read “Our Angel Laura Domely” on the inscribed grey stone in the ground. I set the bouquet that we have gathered along the walk and place it at the top of her name. It doesn’t bother me to know that her stone isn’t as beautiful as the others that are decorated with store bought roses because the woman below, was more beautiful than any flower could ever do justice. I follow Max to the bottom of the grave, and once again we find ourselves at the foot of our angel.