Something To Dream On Read Online Free PDF Page A

you.” You’re not supposed to scare a dog by looking it in the eyes, yet this one draws mine into her’s. Her eyes droop in a plea that reminds me of Rufus in his cage.
    Thankfully, her vitals check out as healthy. “She’s definitely still feeling the scare, but there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger.” The poor girl. Her teeth are rotting, and her coat is brittle and coarse while her skin is greasy and flaky. She is hurting from more than the accident. I grab the FRID scanner and search for a microchip. I get exactly what I expect. “No ID whatsoever. Have you seen this dog before?”
    Finally, I look up to the man. My words may have glided out, but now the blood pumping through my veins is stammering. A rush of adrenaline may have aided him in carrying the dog, but he’s not exactly out of shape. His tight, black T-shirt reveals he’s probably got a gym membership that he actually uses. He is tall with features that are dark; short, nearly onyx, hair, skin that has a permanent tan, and eyes so chocolate-brown that they make me want to dive in and slurp.
    Is he Indian? Like American Indian? I’ve no point of reference other than the ones I’ve seen on TV.
    Despite the fact that the rest of his skin is smooth and glowing, he has just enough stubble to look like I’ve woken up to him after a wild night of naked party games. And God, those cheek bones! They give him an air of strength that no amount of muscle could.
    Doggone it. I’m stooping, and my scrubs are covered in cat fur and dog slobber. I brush at them as if it will help.  
    Oh, noodles! I never fixed my hair. Why did this guy appear when my one model-worthy feature looks like a rat invaded a bird’s nest? Combing it with my fingers is useless, but I try anyway. God, I feel twelve years old and in the presence of a live issue of Tiger Beat .
    “No,” he says.
    No to what?
    Oh, yeah. I had asked if he had seen the dog before. An embarrassed giggle slips out. Criminy. Now I feel even lamer.
    “I live just up the road,” he continues. “This is the first I’ve seen her.”
    The dog looks up at the man who hasn’t stopped petting her and whimpers a request to ease her pain. My mind and heart go back to the beautiful creature—the dog, that is. “I need to get her x-rayed. Why don’t you take a seat in the lobby while you wait?”
    “But she's not my dog.”
    “Really? Because with the way she keeps nuzzling against you, nobody's told her that.” I give him a shy smile. I also fight another giggle. “Congratulations, you’re the proud father of a beautiful girl.”

    It’s okay.
    The dog is okay. I am okay.
    If I tell myself that enough, I’ll no longer feel the need to head for the nearest bar. Sure, seeing that dog on the side of the road set me back emotionally, but that doesn’t give me the excuse to blow months of sobriety. I tell myself it is all so easy—just decide to quit, let the universe guide you, give up all vices and crutches so it’s a lifestyle change—but every day has challenges of its own. Nearly facing death, again, is topping the list right now.
    Thank God that dog didn’t die. Hospitals freak me out—even pet ones. At least I didn’t exactly see Dad die, but last I saw him, he was so close to going that … Man, blood disease is creepy. The thought that it could just hit so hard and without warning …
    Granddad’s passing wasn’t much better.
    The way my leg bounces reminds me of a drummer in search of a beat. This room smells of antiseptic, and the sand-colored walls feel sterile, as if made of white-painted concrete. The aluminum framing on the windows reminds me of an institution. It can’t be that bad in here. It must be my state of mind. However, the fact that this chair could use a cushion is not making anything easier.
    A magazine. That’s what I need.
    In the corner sits a table with a few tabloids on it. Something cheesy, like Star , will help. I can’t think about watching things die.