Show Dog
Lauren Newton
Creative Writing in Fiction September 23, 2018
Show Dog
“You know we appreciate all of the work you’ve done with us, Alex. We... it’s just a hard time for us this year, you understand, right? With the, uh, economy, and all.”
Alex swatted away the words of consolation, assuaging his guilt with her beautiful smile.
“Robert, of course I understand. I’ll land on my feet. It was an absolute pleasure working with you... I hope our professional lives reconnect some day.”
She couldn’t have been more graceful. Not that Robert expected otherwise. She was Alex! To the outside world, she was perfect, effortless. Strawberry blonde hair trailed below her structured shoulders, her skin sprinkled with pale freckles that brought out her blue eyes. She seemed quite youthful for a 29 year old. She was shorter than she’d like to be, so she made herself tall with heels on any occasion. She graduated law school with apparent ease, her carefully articulated charm building her career with each new encounter. This is why Robert didn’t feel too horrible. She’d land a new job within a second. She was Alex. If you knew her, you’d probably hate her. Not hate her, but her perfect life would piss you off. Only Alex could leave a company with elegance after being fired. She must really be put together. It was damningly admirable.
“I’ll come back to the office, say, around six? To gather my things. Again, no hard feelings. I’m grateful for all that I’ve learned working with you.” Alex walked out of the building with a skip. She waved to the old man by the coffee shop, giving him a wink. She entertained her taxi driver to no end with stories of her travels, laughing genuinely at his shitty jokes, tipping him generously as she exited. “You look great today, Brenda!” she exclaimed to the woman at the front desk. “I need that top! See you soon!”
“WHAT THE FUCK! Are you fucking kidding me?! Go to hell you asshole!” Alex screamed once inside the comfort of her apartment. “Eight fucking years with that firm, are you fucking kidding me?! FUCK THIS!” I am Alex. I don’t fail. I don’t fail I don’t fail I don’t fail, she thought, staring at her diplomas. Oh my fucking god. What am I going to tell Samuel and my bullshit ‘friends?’ What the fuck am I going to do?
Alex was two people. Alex was her reputation, and then, she was herself. Her clothes were obnoxiously expensive, her job was dreadfully impressive, her body was mockingly perfect. Everyone wanted to be seen with her, nobody wanted to be her friend. Alex liked it this way. She kept people just close enough to envy her, far enough to only understand the surface. The fantasy could never come undone, or Alex would not be Alex. This is why she spent hours tucking in the tags on her clothes just right, lost sleep over a job she despised, and lived in,
ironically, all consuming hunger. She lived in fear of pity, in fear of that look. She shuddered, remembering its been years since she experienced it. She always left herself a hair away from completely falling apart, knowing that was the risk she had to take to maintain her image. How the fuck did she let the hair snap and break away?
****
“Lexie, sweetie... let’s stay home from school today! You work too hard for a 13 year
old girl. Have some fun with your mama.” Alex went by Lexie at the time. She swung open the thin, yellow door and stared at the forty four year old woman before her. She looked at her cracked, fake nails in disgust. It was so obvious that they were fake, she thought. Alex gritted her teeth in disapproval of her jean skirt matched with old, white tennis shoes. The shoes looked like those ones that nurses wore -- like the nurses in that show ER must wear, Alex assumed. She didn’t have much time for TV. It made no sense to wear those ER shoes with a jean skirt. Even if she were wearing appropriate shoes, even if she were wearing the nicest shoes in the world, the body beneath her clothes would draw the most attention. It couldn’t be hidden, not that her mama ever tried. The thick accent couldn’t be covered, either. That accent, oh my God. It sounded like she had a bowl full of off-brand peanut butter caught in her throat, which, to be honest, she did half of the time. Alex’s nostrils flared, her eyes widened and stared off into space every time she heard that gut-wrenching noise.
“No, mother. Why would I skip my classes to sit on the couch with you.” She watched her mama’s eyes sink into her cheeks. Her lips flinched downward for a half of a second, then twitched back up into a somber smile. She started to speak but had to pause, her mouth opening then closing. Alex noted the popping sound of her lipstick, thinking she would never wear that blood red shade. Alex liked pink. “I wish I could see you more. I love you, you know.” Alex didn’t even process the words. Instead, she focused on the fact that ‘more’ sounded like mower, and ‘I’ sounded like ahh, almost like a silent scream. The same perpetual scream drowning Alex’s mind every second she spent in that shit hole. Shit, she thought, wait, shit. She shouldn’t even know that word. It’s incredibly unladylike, she thought. She corrected her thoughts, changing shit hole to quaint abode. She smiled, thinking that her vocabulary quizzes were paying off. Abode, loquacious, exuberant, radiant... her thoughts drowned out her mother’s soft sniffles.
****
That night at 6:00, Alex was greeted and mocked by the bright pink door to her office. She knew it was flashy, obnoxious. She also knew that people strolled by it thinking, good for her, doing something different! She pulled the door open with a grunt, as she had specifically chosen the office with the heaviest door. She figured that way, maybe less people would come inside. Maybe, they’d get a glimpse just quick enough to admire her, fantasizing about the life of
the girl in the pink door. A fantasy that would end in uncomfortable disappointment had they pushed through and entered. The color of her door didn’t matter anymore, the time spent choosing the perfect office was now pointless. She was fired, she repeated to herself in utter shame.
Alex had two missed calls. She got excited for a moment, hoping to see a different name appear on the screen. Dumbass, she then thought. That’s not even possible. She looked at the true name on the screen, the photo of the man on her desk. To others, Mr. Perfect, to Alex, Samuel. They worked so perfectly together because they both operated the same way. They both laughed at the same jokes, both agreed on the same opinions, both leaned in for a kiss each time the other left the room. Perfect.
“Hi beautiful, just checking in on you. I miss you -- let me cook you a meal tonight.”
“Sorry. My coworkers asked me about you so I told them I’d call. Ignore that last message.”
Alex chuckled. Mr. Perfect meant nothing to her, she nothing to him. They had a mutual agreement -- a contract, almost. Their relationship consisted of parties and social gatherings. She’d wear his ‘favorite’ red dress, do a spin for his friends, then giddily run to her acquaintances, spewing “how did I get so lucky?” They always left the party early, claiming they just couldn’t wait to be alone together again. His hand robotically caresses her curved back as her fingers flirt with his scruff. The two dance into a cab, barely able to pull their attention elsewhere to wave goodbye. The second they enter the cab, silence.
Alex rarely dedicated her time to wondering what a real relationship might be like. Today, though, she felt her fingers deleting the second message, replaying the first. Hi beautiful. She closed her eyes. It was almost as if someone cared. Nobody had cared in a while.
*****
“Will you be a first generation college student?” the application read. Alex snarled. Yes, dumbass. Have you met my mother? S he clicked the box, growing angrier by the second.
Once she got to college, nobody would give her that look. That look when she won the middle school spelling bee, that look when her science project won first place. The parents of her competitors would approach her, asking, “You’re Wendy Bussey’s daughter, aren’t you?” Yes ma’am, she’d reply, smiling through gritted teeth. “Well, Lexie, you did great out there. We loved seeing you shine.” Even the kids who found themselves in second place had to congratulate her, patting her on the back, conceding, “you deserved this.” It was as if she were a paraplegic winning a damn marathon. Everyone is shocked and excited, leaving feeling as though anything must be possible. If Wendy Bussey’s daughter can succeed, anyone can!
Fuck that, she thought, as she continued clicking those tedious boxes. She had given up attempting to think ladylike a long time ago, realizing it doesn’t matter what she thinks, just what others think she thinks. It was around this time she realized she could laugh at jokes she
despised, could consume foods that disgusted her, could flirt with teachers to bump an A to an A+. It was also around this time she started going by Alex.
Knock knock knock.
Alex looked at the door, rolled her eyes, and continued working. Knock knock knock.
Silent still, Alex’s rage built up.
“Are you in there, sweetie?” a soft, tentative voice called.
No reply.
“I, ur, hope your college stuff is going good.”
Still nothing.
“I just wanted to say that I am proud of you. My little Lexie is making it to college...
And, um I wanted to give you something, just to show you how much I love you and all. Um, may I come in?”
May I? Thought Alex. Does she think that that makes her sound fancy or something? She probably scripted that whole speech, as shitty as it was. Although she mocked her, Alex knew why their interactions had to be so formal, so forced. Alex never gave that woman the time of day, so when she did, she had to make it count.
Alex grunted. The thin door swung open with a bit too much force, hitting and knocking down her porcelain pink rabbit, breaking off its ear. Her mom had given her the rabbit for her sixth birthday. Alex wouldn’t admit it, but it was the favorite thing she owned. She would later stay up all night gluing it’s ear back on in confused tears. It must have cost three dollars, she would think, so why do I give a shit?
Her mother didn’t notice the broken rabbit, though -- whatever gift was in her hand was clearly consuming her thoughts. She was sweating profusely and visibly shaking, hoping she could make Alex smile.
“What is it.” Alex asked, not looking up.
“Well, I know you’re gonna be pretty far away and not have much time for your mama next year, but you know, I thought maybe you’d wanna give me a call sometime. So, um, I got you this.”
Her mother awkwardly handed her an outdated flip phone, covered in individually glued pink rhinestones. Alex could almost feel her mother’s heartbeat throbbing; she was more nervous than she’d ever seen her.
Alex looked into her mother’s eyes and immediately looked away. She couldn’t bear it. Her mother must have been saving up for months, must have spent hours gluing. She felt a twinge of guilt, a glimmer of regret. She heaved those feelings deep down, telling herself it was pathetic that it took her mother so much effort to present this piece of shit.
“Okay. I’ll probably be too busy to call.” She was right. She never called.
******
“Hello?” bellowed the sexy voice of her ‘second half.’ Alex sat in the darkness of her
office, feeling suffocated. She had nowhere else to go. “Hey, Sam,” she replied, somehow nervous to speak with the man she’s dated for years. “Hello, beautiful! When can I see you next?” Alex sighed in a despair she’d become well acquainted with. Her lungs emptied. “Sam, I’m alone, don’t worry.” Tears swelled in her eyes as the discomfort of the silence grew palpable. “So, haha, why are you calling? Do you need something?”
Emptiness was nothing new to Alex. She often felt hollowed out, like she was a pencil without led. When she was just a girl, Alex was walking through the nice part of town and couldn’t help but stop at the window of Glamour Paws. She saw a gorgeous black show dog being groomed to perfection, the groomer trimming, fluffing, and accessorising a mournful schnauzer. She felt so terrible for it, thinking his owners must be so cruel to put such an innocent puppy through all of that work when all he wanted to do was play. She stood by the window, imagining bursting in and stealing the dog with one swift movement, taking him to a park, and setting him free. Why didn’t anyone want to steal her away from the cruelty, the emptiness of a life lived for show? The tears burned harder as she thought what she has known all along. Nobody could steal her away. She was holding her own leash.
“No, not necessarily. I just wanted someone to talk with, I suppose.”
“I’m pretty busy over here... call a friend, okay? This isn’t part of the arrangement,” he joked. Alex reciprocated the lighthearted laughter, her eyes dead and her cheeks limp. “Of course, see you at Saturday’s brunch.”
She thought she would never move again, but found her legs standing up and her arms sorting frantically. What the fuck am I even looking for? She kept searching, each second furrowing her brows further into her beautiful forehead, her pores dousing her beautiful clothes in sweat. The office that was once immaculate was now in disarray: boxes flung everywhere, cabinets emptied to the floor, the picture of Sam shattered.
The room was cleaner than it ever had been, she thought. In a room filled with darkness, Alex’s eye caught a pink glimmer. Her rabbit. She delicately gripped it, its cool exterior chilling her soul, warming her heart. She closed her eyes.
She held the rabbit until she was six again. Until mama’s voice sounded like honey instead of peanut butter. Until she loved those white nurse’s shoes, until her door was light enough to open with a breeze. Until she hadn’t yet thought momma was her enemy, until she was still her best friend. Until everyone liked her for her goofy giggle instead of her appearance.
What seemed like years later, Alex opened her eyes, located her boring, undecorated, and expensive iPhone. 592-493-4760. She could never forget that number. It’s been 10 years since she dialed it.
“Mama? It’s me, Lexie.”
