Where’s My Dog?
A young woman rescues her stolen dog from the last person she ever wants to see again.
Trope – Self Love
“To whom it may concern (AKA Trisha),
I have your dog. If you ever want to see Hopscotch again, meet me at noon this Saturday at the playground where we had our first kiss. Come alone. (I mean it! Don’t bring your crazy friend, Brianna.)
P.S. Bring my electric razor.”
She crumples up the soiled napkin/letter. The nerve of that man. She knew she should’ve asked for her key back.
Trisha jumps in her car and zips across town to the shitty residential complex on Bleeker. She marches right up to apartment #4 in block A, and bangs on the door.
“I’m coming! I’m coming! Hold your horses.” A distant shout muffled by the door is followed by a few yips. The yips are silenced by a door closing somewhere inside, moments before the front door cracks open revealing a disheveled Darryl. “Oh! Trisha!? What are you doing here?”
She pushes the door open and stomps past him, looking around at the various chew toys and ripped socks scattered around the living room. “What do you think I’m doing here, Dipshit? Gimme my dog!”
He crosses his arms over his bare torso and smirks. His usual 5 o’clock shadow is more like a midnight sky at this point. “He’s not here. Guess you’ll have to wait until our date to see him.”
“Oh, really?” She’s crossing her arms now, matching his cocky stance.
She stares him down for a minute. He doesn’t budge. Then, raising her voice, she says, “Hopscotch?”
A puny bark comes down the hallway from a closed door to her right. She glances down the hall then back at Darryl with her eyebrows raised, “Gimme my damn dog.”
Darryl releases a breath through his nose. This is not going to plan. Things rarely do for him. Boo-freaking-hoo. “Not until you give me a second chance, Trish.” He holds his hands in prayer, looking down at her with puppy dog eyes.
“Don’t you mean an 8th chance?”
He ignores her, as usual. “You should wait until Saturday. I got it all planned. I’m gonna get you flowers and chocolate, and I’m gonna get a picnic blanket and bring your favorite Barefoot wine. The nasty moss one that’s too sweet?”
“Right!” He leans forward in excitement. He thinks he’s gonna reel her in with the promise of cheap wine and chocolate. “You can run your fingers through my hair. We can catch the sunset then go back to yours.” He’s wiggling his eyebrows like a worm on a hook.
She sighs. What did she ever see in this guy? “Darryl, bring me my fucking dog or I’ll call the cops.”
“Whoa!” He recoils like she just hit him on the nose with her shoe. Whop! “You don’t gotta be a bitch about it. I’ll give you the damn dog. I don’t want him anyway. He peed on my fucking carpet!” He takes two steps down the hall before turning to her again. “Don’t you miss me? Or you already found some other guy and don’t give a fuck about me anymore?”
There’s no way to answer that without hurting his feelings. She doesn’t even try. “No, there’s no one else.” Trisha takes a deep breath and sighs on the exhale. “Being alone is still better than being with you.”
She hurries along before he can get defensive. “You’re unreliable. You’d rather play with your PS5 than go to my sister’s baby shower. Leaving me sitting there like a fool, lying to my family, saying you’re working overtime. As if you have a real job.
When I was sick last month, instead of offering to help me—or I don’t know, buy me some soup—, you avoided me like I had the plague cause you didn’t want to catch anything before the Lakers championship game. ‘Just in case’, it was bad luck. You don’t play for the Lakers, dummy! They don’t care if you get sick! But I did!
I was there for you when you got pneumonia last year. I nursed you back to health, bought your groceries, and paid your bills for a month. A whole month! And what did I get for my birthday? A keychain. A keychain with your face printed on it so you could always be with me.
Well, I’m done. I don’t need a keychain. I need a partner who’s actually with me, who supports me. Right now, that’s me, myself, and I. And we are doing great, thanks for asking. Now, get my dog and give me the spare key to my apartment. This better be the last time I see your face.”
Darryl took his ass with his tail between his legs down the hall and came back with Hopscotch and the spare key. With nothing left to say, Trisha left and that sure as hell was the last time she ever saw that Scrub’s face.