Mike ruined everything when he referred to us as the ship of
fools.
I put my early fear aside and laughed with the others. Bob
Seger was in the room, so there was a
slight possibility that the deeper significance might not settle anywhere.
Still, I wanted him to take it back and never again suggest a name for that
puppy; we couldn’t keep it and I wasn’t ready to let it go. Not even close.
The laughter stopped short, too soon for legitimate
replacement emotions, too late to pretend nothing had happened. Mike slouched
back in the chair and braided his fingers around his beer bottle. The four of
us locked in a silent group stare at nothing. My hope sank as I watched him
roll the rounded edge of the bottle on the table, aware that the others
couldn’t look away either, and frightened by what that meant.
The name settled in hearts that would break now, when our puppy walked away. Determined to ride
out every last second, I dared not be the first to move and end it all. I
willed my bladder into submission, swallowed a sneeze, controlled my breathing,
and snuggled up to the warmth of our fraying connection.
Collective passion for separate, sometimes conflicting
dreams had united us, even when scattered to opposite corners in crowded
places. Appreciation of the unspoken hunger we shared had bound us, like the
rope that secures toddlers on a field trip. Only, our tie had been invisible,
even to us.
Until Mike named it.
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