The Longest Minutes of a Lifetime
She hears the screams as she crosses the bridge, the large dog slowly walking by her side. “My boy! My baby! Someone help me!” The worst thing that can happen to a parent has happened to this mother. The distraught mother runs out to the road. She grabs the woman walking her dog. “Will that dog sniff a child? Will it help me find my boy?”
“Have you called the police?”
“Yes, they’re on their way, but help me.”
Oh, Lord, she thought. This was Gretchen, the stupidest dog she ever owned. Gretchen was sweet and tried so hard to figure out what you were saying but really only ever learned three words. She knew “go lay down” and she was so happy to do that for you. Gretchen was a foster dog, left with the woman “for just the weekend” by her sister who had moved to California, two years before. She called her the city dog. The first weekend in her new home, Gretchen, who had never seen water not coming out of a tap stepped off the rock on the riverbank like she was going to walk on water. The woman had to run down the riverbank calling the dog’s name and clapping her hands as the dog’s head went under again and again. Finally the dog came close enough for the woman to grab her and pull all of her wet one hundred pounds out of the water. It took weeks for the dog to learn that walking across the bridge in town was safe.
But the out-of-her mind mother doesn’t need to know all this. She just needs hope and help. So the woman walks the St. Bernard down the riverbank pretending that the dog is searching while her heart pounds with fear. She sees something white floating in the river. No, thank God, just a plastic bag.
With relief she hears the police sirens come closer, almost drowned out by the screams of the grandmother coming into the drive.
Gretchen could have redeemed herself by finding that child and becoming a hero for the rest of her life. She could have been in the paper and on the local news. That didn’t happen and Gretchen didn’t care. A happy ending is a happy ending. The little boy crawled out from under an overturned boat on the riverbank on his own, having finished his nap or been awaken by the screaming. He has no idea what all the excitement is about but is really glad to see the big doggie.
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Phew! A happy ending is a happy ending.
ReplyDeleteSo, where did this come from, do you think it sounds like you, do you have any comments about what it was like to write this way?
This was a totally true story from many years ago. Gretchen was not bright, but lived a good if short, life. The little boy grew up to be a wonderful man, husband and father. This was the one I thought was too much me. Hard to keep my thoughts out of it. In keeping it not about me,I kept my feelings out of it so I think it comes across as fluffy or light or something. I thought I did better on the second one.
ReplyDeleteNot fluffy or light, but because of the happy ending and ultimate absence of anything at stake--the boy never was in danger--necessarily less compelling. The other one is more intense and focused and literary in style; this, I'd say, is more imagined. It certainly sounds cindylouish in the last graf--that's very nicely handled, especially with that vignettish close.
ReplyDeleteSo, it wound up being easier than you expected?