Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas by Rothbart Davy

Author:Rothbart, Davy [Rothbart, Davy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2005-08-02T05:00:00+00:00

FOR A FEW MINUTES I sat there waiting for the next thing to happen—some passed-out girl left behind by her friends to wake up and creep from the tub; a gunfight between the teenage Cuban and Mexican gangs cruising Fullerton; sounds of fucking from one or both of the bedrooms. But the world was as cavernous and lonely and still as a baseball stadium in December. A great sudden sadness broke open in my chest. I winced at the pain and slid off the sofa to the floor, my heart mashed with jealousy and bitterness and longing. Orange light from the street flooded over me. Wind rattled the glass. I felt utterly lost and directionless. For years I’d been running from one place to the next—Chicago to D.C. to Maine, back to Michigan, a stretch in Tennessee, a mad dash out west to the Bay, then back to Chicago for a while. When would it stop? Why was I even going to California? I grew full of self-pity. I’d always figured that if I found the right girl, that would be enough to anchor me. The whole two weeks with Nicole, I’d allowed myself to imagine that I’d found a resting place. Jay was right—the situation was completely fucked up; I should never have gotten involved with Nicole; it was a sucker’s bet.

I stood and wobbled to the window and looked out at the street. Snow billowed down in sparkling swirls—it was absolutely beautiful, and its beauty quadrupled my misery and made me ache for Nicole. She was twenty-five feet away and yet she might as well have been in a separate galaxy. I felt terribly sad. I felt betrayed by myself. I felt like the butt of a joke.

Just then, on the sidewalk outside, a black dog appeared, trotting and sniffing the air. It stopped right in front of the building, turned to look back, sniffed the air once more, then peered up at me. Could it see me through the window? I waved my arms around but it didn’t seem to react. It was a big dog, a rottweiler or an Akita, the kind of powerfully built, no-fucking-around beast that all the drug dealers in the neighborhood kept on hand for status and protection. Around its neck was a collar and tags, so I knew it wasn’t a stray, but it looked clearly lost—curled up, nibbling at its own paws, trying in vain to extract ice from between its toes. Periodically, it raised its head and looked around. Again it stared at the window where I stood, though it still didn’t seem like it could see me. I looked around for my boots; I figured I’d go outside and help the dog find its way home. Then I had another thought. Maybe I could take the dog with me! I felt a great urge to rescue the sad critter, not only from the cold but also from an owner that would kick it outside on a night like this.

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