Novel Excerpt - Walk the Dog

The puppy looks up at me as I try to coax him up the sidewalk. I already carried him down the four flights of stairs from our apartment. Apparently, he's scared of everything. Another thing we have in common. He watches intently as a car passes by us, his legs frozen. He looks back up at me as if to say, "Get me out of here." I lean down and pet the top of his head. "It's okay, bud, you're okay. You're safe." He licks my hand in response and my heart swells. Shit. I'm already getting attached to this little thing.

"Come on, bud—just pee,” I mutter as I pull lightly on the leash. He grabs the base of the leash with his teeth and pulls back. Now it's a game. It's past 11 pm and I'd appreciate it if he would take care of business so we can head back inside. The air is still chilly for mid-March and I wore slippers instead of real shoes. I look up at the night sky, wishing I could see the stars. Only a few of the brightest stars peek through the mauve layer of city lights. I pull again on the leash and this time Phoenix runs ahead of me, his tail bouncing upright behind him. "Good boy. We're doing it. Look at us!" 

I think back to what Wells said earlier today–that the last few months have been a roller coaster ride. It's true. I’ve had the highest highs—both literal and emotional—and the lowest of lows. I have fallen in love and I've had my heart broken…with several panic attacks in between. I took a chance and followed my heart. I felt something. But–as my dad noticed–somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I couldn't get on the plane to Thailand. Thinking about that day is almost harder for me than thinking about the night Sullivan told me he met someone else. I know I need to figure out how to manage my anxiety. I know I need to figure out how to find my confidence again.  

A car door slams shuts ahead of us and Phoenix jumps into the air. He races back toward me and cowers between my legs. One step forward, two steps back. "It's okay, bud. I promise I won't let anything happen to you," I say as I pick him up and kiss him on the head. I can feel his heart pounding in his tiny rib cage. He wriggles to get back down. To try again. To try to be brave. I watch as he takes a step forward, his paw lingering in the air like he's pointing ahead. One leg in front of the other. Two steps forward, then three. Then suddenly he's running and the leash pulls taut between us. I quicken my pace to keep up with him and he looks back over his shoulder at me, his ears flopping as he runs. I swear he's smiling. 

I remember the first time I tried to run a mile on our land in Pennsylvania. I ran around the perimeter of the hay field on a misty morning when the sun was just peeking out over the emerald hills behind our house. A spider web stretched in front of me, the silk strings glistening with dew. I couldn't figure out where it ended, it just seemed suspended in mid-air. I remember I asked my dad about it later that day and was not surprised when he knew the answer. 

"The spider dangles one end of a thread of silk in the wind, and the wind carries it to something it can attach to," he had said. "The spider anchors the thread on the side where it sits, forming a bridge. The bridge then acts as a type of scaffolding to build the rest of the web. The web becomes stronger as the spider goes back and forth, creating a network of silk lines in all directions." 

"How do you know so much about spiders?" I had asked.

"I think I read an article in National Geographic," he had said with a shrug. That's my dad, though, retaining information that most people would let dissolve with the sands of time. 

I think about that spider web now as I jog along the sidewalk with Phoenix, my slippers hanging on for dear life. I'm ready to build a new web. I'm done with my web of lies and deceit. My new thread of silk is waiting for a gust of wind to pick it up–to start over. A new beginning, a new bridge to anchor myself.