[Critique Group 1] November submission?

[Marcia Wick]

Sally,

I sent this early because I went out of town for almost two weeks, but I am
back. Here you go.

Marcia

 

Buddy

Marcia J. Wick, The Write Sisters

Copyright November 2017

Word Count:  1282

 

 

 

Like most people, I suppose, I have done some pretty stupid things in my
day. One of the stupidest (is that a word?) things that I did as a teenager
was to accept an invitation to a party with a couple of guys I barely knew.

 

I was a waitress at an ice cream parlor the summer after my senior year ,
heading off to college in the fall. Pushing the envelope, I picked up a
couple of guy customers who promised to introduce me to a fun group of
friends.

 

I am sure I told my parents some kind of lie about hanging out with a
girlfriends. I was excited to be meeting new and interesting young people
after attending parochial school with the same boring crew of kids for 12
years.

 

The party was already at capacity when we arrived.  Despite being blind as a
bat at night, I entered the house with confidence, wanting to fit in with
all the cool kids there. Within one minute, I was swallowed up by a pulsing
mob of highly intoxicated, high-flying characters poised for action. A group
of girls blocked my way. Yelling over the din, they fired questions at me.

 

"What's your name? Who'd you come with? How do you know those guys?"

 

I laughed, admitting that I hardly knew the two guys who brought me. The
girls continued their questioning. I sensed their animosity.  Exactly how
and where had I met "their" friends? Was I going out with one of them? Did I
realize that the bitch standing nose-to-nose in front of me was his "former"
girlfriend?

 

"Really," I stuttered, "I barely know the guy. You can have him. I was only
looking for a party." My face was warm with my secret; the shorter fellow
had held my hand in the car on the way to the party.

 

"So, what's wrong with him? He isn't good enough for you?" 

 

I couldn't believe the chick was coming to the defense of the jerk who had
jilted her. I backed up three giant steps and rotated to find my way
outside. The swell of bodies closed in behind me, buying me time I hoped. As
new partygoers entered the living room, I was spit out the front door like a
watermelon seed. I staggered down the two steps leading up to the house and
followed the edge of the pavement to the sidewalk, taking a hard right. I
wanted to get out of sight before anyone from inside that crazy house could
pursue me.

 

Hearing laughter, screams and cries, I figured it wouldn't be long before
one of the neighbors summoned the police to check things out. The fear of
cops calling my parents to come get me pushed me ahead. The noise of the
party was thrumming in my ears as if the crowd was following behind me.

 

I pitched off the curb at the corner, catching myself to keep from crossing
the street in front of an oncoming car. I lurched back up onto the sidewalk
and hunted with my foot for the right hand turn, heading west toward home.

 

Sounds from the party were still too close for comfort. I could hear the two
guys who brought me calling my name, 

 

"Marcia," the short guy called. "Marcia," his friend echoed. They were
begging me to come back. They called out apologies, promising to drive me
home.

 

Not on your life, I thought, suspecting, like everyone else there, they were
under the influence of something heavy duty, way past my limited experience
with pot and cheap wine. I figured I was safer walking, even with night
blindness, than getting into a car with those guys.

 

I reached the end of another block. It was then that I noticed a dog
standing beside me, waiting it seemed to see which way I would go. The calls
of the guys were fading, replaced by new voices hollering a different name.

 

"Buddy, Oh Buddy," they yelled.

 

"Buddy?" I asked. "Is that you? Go home before you get lost," I suggested to
the dog.

 

Despite my directive, Buddy followed me as I crossed the street. Not one
comfortable with strange dogs, I was reluctant to reach out to him. I did,
however, speak to him again on the opposite corner, urging him to "stay" and
"go home." He remained by my side, silent and observant, waiting for me to
indicate my direction, although someone continued calling his name. With a
sigh, I resumed my walk.

 

The voices grew fainter and my heart slowed as I strode, trying to convince
myself that ambling through the dark on a warm summer night with a dog at my
side was not anything out of the ordinary. I heard a far off train whistle
carried easily through the midnight quiet, reassuring me at least that I was
headed in the right direction. The neighborhood beyond the party house was
resting peacefully; an occasional porch light or the headlamps from a
lonesome car helped point the way. The sidewalks being newer on that side of
town were straight and clear of cracks so that I was able to progress with
confidence. 

 

At each corner, a lamplight silhouetted my new buddy, always silent, gazing
up at me, staying with me despite my commands to "sit" and "stay." I decided
I didn't mind his company and left him to use his own wits since he insisted
on following me. Who was I to tell this independent soul what to do?

 

The night air grew cool. The road began dropping down a hill, one I thought
I recognized from riding in a car. If I was correct, an intersection with a
stoplight was coming up. The road would then jig and jag, continuing
downhill for about five miles until it would intersect with Wood Avenue, my
family's street. I still had a long walk ahead, but I relaxed knowing that
the route was familiar.

 

Did the dog sense my relief, or had he reached the outside limits of his
boundary. Under the lamplight, instead of gazing up at me, his head twisted
toward his home. I couldn't fault him for parting ways after helping secure
my escape. But I was indeed sad to see him go.

 

I spent the remainder of the trek castigating myself. Why had I put myself
in such a dangerous situation? Why would I pick new friends so casually?
What would my parents do if something were to happen to me? Why was I
attracted to boys who were bad for me? How was I going to manage by myself
away from home at college?

 

I walked and walked. Approaching our older neighborhood, I began tripping
over cracks in the aging concrete. Low-hanging tree branches swatted my face
and overgrown bushes scratched my arms as I made my way. I started praying.
The streets were deserted and the houses were dark. The sound of my guilty
footsteps echoed loudly.

 

It was two in the morning when I entered the house, two hours too late even
for an angry mother to greet me at the door. I didn't care by then whether
or not I got caught in the act of coming home late. I had a story about my
friend running out of gas at the ready, but, since no one was awake to greet
me,  I didn't have to pull the lie out of my back pocket. I crept upstairs
to my room and chided myself some more for putting myself needlessly into
harm's way. As my head sunk into the pillow and my eyes closed, I saw the
silhouette of a dog gazing up at me.

 

 

From: Sally Rosenthal [mailto:sanford.rosenthal at comcast.net] 
Sent: Sunday, November 26, 2017 7:21 PM
To: 'Marcia Wick' <marciajwick at gmail.com>
Subject: November submission?

 

Marcia,

Did you send a November submission for the critique group 1 this coming
Wednesday? If so, I didn't get it. Could you please re-send it? Many thanks.

Sally 

Email: Sanford.rosenthal at comcast.net <mailto:Sanford.rosenthal at comcast.net> 

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