Alone

Alone

By Dana Wagner

It happens all the time. I should be used to it by now, but I don’t think I ever will be. The adults leave me here for hours on end, perhaps even days. How would I know? I don’t know how to tell time. You have to go to school to learn things like that. I’m not allowed to go to school.

They keep me locked up in this tiny room instead. I should be thankful that I at least have a bed and a blanket. I don’t even mind that the blanket has a hole or two. It’s soft and cozy. I’m even allowed a few toys, though some are broken. My parents tell me it’s my fault the toys are broken, that I should be more careful with them. What can I say, sometimes I get frustrated. You would, too, if you had to entertain yourself all the time.

They keep the windows locked and covered, so I can’t even look outside. Mom says it is for my safety. Dad says it will keep me out of trouble. I think they just don’t want me to see or be seen. They can’t stop me from listening, though. I like to listen to the birds sing in the morning and the crickets chirp at night. I hear kids outside as they pass by on their way to and from school. They’re laughing and shouting, sometimes I hear their feet pounding on the ground as they run. How lucky they are to be free!

I lay on my bed and think about how I miss the warm sunshine on my face; the smell of flowers on the breeze. I wish I could look up in the leafy trees and watch the busy squirrels hopping from branch to branch as they chatter with one another. Maybe I could be lucky enough to spy a bird’s nest with a mama robin feeding her chirping babies. Then, I could watch her take flight, spreading her wings to push herself high into the sky. If only I had wings so I could fly.

My feet long for the sensation of the cool grass, still damp from morning dew. I miss the warmth of the hard dirt beneath my toes in the places where grass doesn’t grow. I used to love to watch the sky. I love how the puffy clouds shift and change as they move along. I could see shapes in them sometimes. Things like cars, cats, or houses. At night the sky sparkled with twinkling stars and little flashing bugs. I like to look for shapes in the stars, too. The bugs were fun to chase. Sometimes, I could even catch them. Dad laughed at me when I did that, he told me I was silly. I wonder if he’ll ever take me outside to play again.

I sigh and give my ball a little kick. It rolls as far as it can before it is stopped by the border of my prison. I slowly walk over and retrieve it. It isn’t much fun to play with alone, so I let it drop on the floor beside my bed. It bounces a little and rolls a few inches.

I pick up my stuffed bear instead. One of its ears is worn thin, but I don’t mind. It’s my favorite. It has been for as long as I can remember. I carry it to bed and lay down with it. I rub my face into the familiar fur that isn’t quite as soft as it once was. I inhale deeply and smell its familiar scent. Sometimes mom says it stinks and she takes it away to wash it. Then it smells different, fresh with chemicals. After a few days the soapy smell fades and the scent I’m used to starts to return. I like it better that way. It feels safe; makes me feel safe.

I think about when I was little and I used to curl up on the couch in Mom’s lap. She would call me her sweet boy and hold me close until we dozed off together. I miss those days. I know I’m bigger now, but it sure would be nice to have just one more moment like that. Instead, I snuggle close to my bear and let my memories lull me to sleep.

I’m awakened by the crunch of gravel in the driveway. I hear the car door slam shut right after the engine stops. The footsteps are light, not heavy like dad’s work boots. Mom must be home. I sit up on my bed, clutching my bear and hoping she comes to see me. I feel wiggly inside because I’ve been good. Maybe I can go outside. Maybe. I hope so. I hear the key click in the front door and the faint squeak of hinges as it opens. The door closes. I hear keys drop on the counter followed by the thunk of her purse landing beside them. I hear her sigh and toss her shoes aside, first one, then the other.

Even though her feet are bare and her steps are light, I can hear her walking in my direction. My heart starts pounding and I really want to call out to her, but sometimes she gets upset if I’m noisy, so I hold it in. I have to behave. She’s close now. The doorknob to the room is turning. I’m trying so hard to stay calm, but I call out. I can’t help it. I missed her. I always miss my parents.

The door opens and I look up at her expectantly, trying not to bounce on my bed.

“Hello, Sam, did you miss me?”

I lock eyes with her and she walks closer. She slides the two thin metal bars away that lock me in.

“Have you been a good boy today?” She asks as she opens the cage door wide.

I rush at her licking her hands to tell her I’m happy to see her and what a good boy I am.

“I bet you want to go outside. C’mon.” She says.

I trot happily beside her, wagging my tail as we go. She lets me into the backyard. Finally, I’m free! Well, as free as a dog in a fenced in yard can be, at least. I run around the yard and find a spot to do my business. I dash back to mom and sit in front of her to wait for pets. She scratches behind my ears and I roll belly up, so she can scratch there, too. I guess maybe my life isn’t so bad after all.