A Spirit of The New Year

Seats in the back of the classroom were meant for people like me. I had little fear of getting called on because I had already taken the class, poor credit transferring bites us all. My concern the second time around was in finding a seat where I could ignore the lecture and get work done. I slipped into my English 101 class ten minutes too late to find there were no empty seats in the back. Embarrassment struck me only momentarily as I found everyone in the room was already scribbling madly with their heads hung over papers. Walking down with the books from my last class which I had not had time to shove into my bag I found the only row with empty seats. The teacher looked up from under his glasses and smiled. After allowing me the proper time to settle into my seat the man came strutting over with his hands in his pockets. Pulling a few crumpled pieces of lined papers from my bag I shot him a nervous glance,

“We’re all writing about something we have never told anyone. Don't worry I won’t be reading it,” his voice came out shaking, well worn and used but nonetheless clear. I nodded and quickly jabbed the tip of my pencil onto the page. This was not a prompt like college applications where I could begin knowing nothing and swirl into something that might make a person feel drawn to make poetic sense of it. He, whoever he was, wasn’t going to read this. He also wasn't asking me to write something I haven't told others, he was asking me to write something I have never told to myself. My head shifted in place looking over the crowd of people, were they confessing a lie, saying sorry? The pressure on my pencil almost cracked the tip when the memory of old cuts returned with a sting to the bottom of my feet. 

Assignment #1

9.3.20

English 101

Professor...?

December 31, 2019

            Jenkins had been sitting to my right in his new bed staring at me. It had been twenty minutes since I had put the crown on him, and he still hadn’t figured out how to get it off. I was trying not to look at him because I was eating, if I so much as glanced he would have started whining. A puddle of drool had collected on the floor. It’s not that I starved the poor guy, I could have fed him every minute of the day and he still would have been rail thin, it's something about Irish Wolfhound genetics. I couldn’t blame him though, my own appetite is a bit ambitious.

 I called to the dog, still trying my best not to look at him. His paws scratched at the linoleum as faint dog whimpers filled the room and my plate lowered to his height. Jenkins didn't like it when I threw the food directly on the floor for him, he refused to eat it, which was only one of his strange habits I came to know. I set the plate down on the floor, there was half a burger, a few loose grapes, and green beans. Though I wasn't finished with it I felt I owed the dog something. If it hadn't been for him, I would have been spending New Years alone, I probably would have been crying my eyes out already. The year before life without people and dogs had been my reality. My tears and mucus collecting on my pillows New Year's day had become a tradition. By the time I had met Jenkins, Gary was no longer worth my tears.

  What kind of name is Gary anyway? 

I will still dislike blonde women named Maria for the rest of my life, she couldn’t have looked any more different than me. That relationship had taught me I had poor judgment and, I don’t know why, but I somehow thought it escaped me when I took in the dog. Jenkins began devouring the food and every sound that left him was like an old cartoon. He was a weird dog, in retrospect it should have been obvious. Aside from the plate thing I had never once seen him use the bathroom when I took him out, he would go around a corner or run too far off for me to see. Worst was the staring, he never seemed to close his eyes. But his company had been better than being alone. One never truly realizes how much of an impact the absence of people has on your mental health until you're feeding your burger to a dog. I might have even called myself an introvert before moving, but that mentality only stretches so far. 

A week prior, I had been on the verge of moving back home, wrecking my finances and not going through with any of my plans. Moving to the woods sounded like a good idea until I had run out of toilet paper and remembered the closest store was at least a half hour away. It was a good plan, a good plan for a financially and emotionally stable person. New Year's resolutions also sound fun until the idea of building a camp in the Adirondacks on your own means you don't get to talk to anyone about it. Anyone but Jenkins that is. My worst day by far since moving was when I had gotten a fever with a temperature of 102. I didn’t have a lick of strength that might have helped me drive myself to the hospital. Echoes of advice people had given to me before the move struck me as ridiculous then. ‘You’ll be fine.’ ‘You can take care of yourself.’ I was not and could not but I certainly wanted to hear that I could. My eyes were blurred from the building pressure in my head. If I had gathered the strength to drive myself, I probably would have crashed before reaching the end of my driveway. Half conscious and feeling drunk I can vaguely remember slurring the lyrics to ‘Separate Lives’ By Phill Collins. Once I had finished whispering a shaky tune, I shot up a prayer, short, maybe even inaudible, ‘Send Help’. The prayer was the last thing I remembered before blacking out and waking up the next day almost entirely recovered aside from a mild headache. 

That was the same day I saw the wolf. 

I remember thinking I had hallucinated because I had been told wolves had all but left from the area. Apparently not, it was standing clearly by the big rock that oriented me whenever I had gone on a trek in the woods. It was hard to see, a little far out and its coat was entirely white. What had made it distinguishable from the scenery was the black nose and the amber colored eyes that sat above it. The house is almost entirely glass, all but the bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom. Although a good thirty feet and a four-inch-thick wall of glass separated the wolf from me, I had frozen. We stood there motionless for a while until I shot a disappointed look up thinking this must be a ‘no’ to my request from the night before. No help is coming and you’re going to be eaten by a wolf. The beast was calm though, no foam collected in its mouth, and when it did leave it let out a huff of breath, slowly turned itself around in a genteel strut into the woods. That interaction was the reason I almost didn't have Jenkins as a companion, he had come to me in much the same way. The dog's gray fur set its self apart in the winter snow much more then the wolfs had. His head poked out from behind dead branches that stretched out from the large rock I had seen the wolf standing by not two days prior. With coffee in hand, I remembered staring at him for only a moment before he met my eyes and began a slow descent towards the house. It was then that I realized Jenkins was a dog, not only was he a dog but the same breed I had been wishing for since I was a child. He came in worse shape than seven-year-old me had imagined, covered in mud and freshly open wounds. He practically fell into my doorway when I opened it to greet him. The following days were spent mending him back to health. I'd never been much of a nurse, but it was something to distract me from an otherwise mundane day filled with remote work meetings. 

And so, the dog stood next to my dinner table eating my burger. Call me a prick but I’m not a fan of chewing noises, never minded Grudge, the dog at home, but I couldn’t stand Jenkins munching and slurping. Trying my best not to disrupt the dog I left my seat and started my coffee machine up. When I remembered that the machine took ages to heat the water I made my way over to the living room. I stood next to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows staring out at the woods that were illuminated by the house lights. A little TV that was hardly working played the staticky images and sounds of the New York Times Square. I twisted a confetti popper in my hands as my focus shifted from the woods to my own reflection in the window. Tin foil crowns for new year’s were five for two at the dollar general and the one I wore fit my head nicely for only $2.50.

“We are coming up in five or so minutes here folks so stay tuned.” a voice call from the TV, I listened, it wasn't like I had much else to do. But then I did, as I examined the party horn in my mouth the distant pigment of red mixing with the snow distracted me. Near the stone, just at the base, was blood. It wasn’t fresh but it was obviously blood. The party horn fell from my mouth, not particularly because it was that shocking, things died in the woods all the time,

“Gasp,” I muttered to myself. Much like a preteen boy I had the overwhelming urge to go over and stare at it, possibly poke it with a stick. I had thought it was a squirrel and I still wish it had been. I reasoned that it could very well tell me something I should know, maybe about the wolf. Jenkins watched as I grabbed my ax and a flashlight from the small compartment near the door. When I began putting on a coat, he looked out of the window, then at me and trotted towards me. I wasn't too sure what I was going to do if a wolf had been there, I'm not an expert in ax use but I did know I wouldn't be able to stop it from going after the dog, so I pushed his nose in as I left the house. 

  You’d think after a few weeks I would have gotten used to the temperature difference outside, but I hadn’t. I jumped and shivered watching my own warm breath leave me before crunching my way over to the stone. I hadn't put on a hat because I didn't feel like detangling my hair from the crown, so my hair fell loosely around my face, blinding my peripherals. The ax swung lazily in my arm, perhaps too much. The closer I came the worse my nerves pulled my swinging to a stiff carry. My arm tensed, drawing the ax to a stop when I stood level with the stone. My pace had not been fast, but I felt a noticeable strain slow me as I began to see where the blood had come from. Pointing the flashlight at the unlit section of the stone the full carcass came into view.

“The wolf,” I whispered to myself , yet another habit I had adapted to fill the silence. Walking around the creature, blood still dripped out from multiple puncture wounds. The largest tear was above its shoulders where fur had been torn away. It was huge, larger than me for sure and close to half the size of a standard car. Looking at it made me heave, it was obviously dead. No part of its body was rising to get air, and it no longer twitched with the fading memory of well worn muscles. I didn't poke it with a stick. My tongue clicked as I stared over its dead body in fascination,

“Ah, poor thing.” A second thought struck me which should have happened sooner, what on Earth had killed it? Clutching my ax, I made a slow, nonchalant turn around that reached a steady jog once my front door was only a foot from me. I stepped inside and Jenkins was sitting in front of the door staring again. I hated that staring, it was not the way most dogs do where they wine or awkwardly glance away, he just stared,

“Weird.” I said, talking both about his staring and the dead wolf, “I should call someone right?” I said to him again, speaking my thoughts out loud. 

For one, the wolf had been large, larger than what I had understood was the standard. It was the kind of specimen that all sorts of environmental nerds would get giddy about. For another thing, it was dead, and I had wanted to know why. Even if it was another wolf, it would have been good for me to know. Jenkins didn't answer me. I shook off my coat and took my previously poured glass of sparkling cider to the living room. Setting my drink down I picked up the party horn, gave it a once over, wiped my shirt on it and stuck it back into my mouth. I took my usual seat in the chair closest to the TV and Jenkins settled into the couch behind my right shoulder. Before turning my attention back to the screen I looked out at the stone waiting for another large wolf to appear. Now that I think of it, getting killed by a car sized wolf was the kind of death you let people put on your gravestone. The TV image was clear, just in time for the one-minute mark. It was moments like that where I wondered why I even participated, no one was watching me, and I certainly didn't have the allure of a New Years Eve Kiss. The minute came to its end quickly, I had taken a few pre-sips of the drink and snickered to myself looking at my mother and fathers picture next to me. Mom was shaming me from all the way back home.

“Here we are folks, 15,14,13.” I held my breath as if something was going to happen, “12,11,10.” I found myself mumbling along with the crowds, “9,8,7,6,5,4.” I gained a little bounce in my seat, “3,2,1”, and then there was screaming, laughter and kisses all pouring from the screen. I lifted my cup to an absent crowd of people and drank the rest of the cider. I took in a deep breath, nothing happened, it was a new year and nothing had really changed,

“Happy New Year Jenkins.” I muttered from under the rim of my cup,

“Happy New year,” a voice answered. I paused with the cup resting on my teeth. A laugh almost bubbled from me as I expected to turn around and find the ghost of New Year's Present floating in my living room. I turned around and felt at once I had gone mad in my loneliness. Jenkins was smiling. I don't mean the dog smile that you see on little Christmas cards but smiling, with human teeth. His dog fur poured over the teeth like a beard. I had never seen Jenkins teeth or watched him in the few days he had been with me. A chill came over the room as his once dog-like eyes pierced into my gaze more human than any man I’d ever looked at. My ankles shivered and my feet curled onto the chair. He was sitting straight, like a man crossing his legs. I wanted to say ‘what', to urge him to repeat and make me feel I was sane. But I couldn't, it wouldn't leave my mouth, “Happy New Year.” he repeated, his grin widening as a human tongue poked out from his teeth. His eyes seemed to strain, the same way mine did when I was angry. It felt like if I took my eyes away from him, I might pass out, I might die. My chest heaved in rapid movement like never before. Any slight motion and he might haves stood from the seat and torn out my throat. My coffee machine dinged and the instincts I didn't know I had urged me to stand and run. Jenkins looked away at the noise, enough time for me to hurdle my chair and whip out of the house from the back door. I just ran. Pitch black greeted me momentarily until my eyes adjusted enough to utilize the starlight. For a time, I didn't look back, it was only when I heard the snapping twigs following me that I glanced over my shoulder. It was hard to describe what I saw; it was difficult to distinguish the creature from the shadows. From what I could see he wasn't much of a dog anymore. He was on his hind legs; the shape of his head was still canine, but his eyes and his teeth were entirely human. His paws had turned into an unnatural hybridization of dog paw and human hand. He was breathing like a person, huffing hot air out from between his still smiling teeth. Laughter boiled in his voice as I could hear him closing in behind me. The cold had numbed to a warmth around my body, the only real sensation of the winter was my water-soaked socks that had been making me slip in the snow.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR.” he repeated. The voice felt as though it was yelling into my ear rather than distantly calling. My face warmed as I began to cry, I don't why, I very well could have turned around, kicked it, something. Then the ‘Happy New Year’ call was cut off  with a yelp. I fell back onto a tree as my shaking legs gave out. A white shining smudge zipped past into the darkness and tugged the running creature from my view. It was then I learned I would not be good in any sort of combat situation because I just cried. I cried into the cold night as I folded my arms and pulled my freezing legs to my chest. I would have sat there for hours, let the cold steel my limbs or let the dog I had welcomed into my home tear my throat out. A lick then stirred me from my shock. I jumped, looking up to find a wolf licking my hair. It then began to lick my salty tears as I lifted my head. The confusion of the situation had totally dissolved all sense of reason and I hugged the animal. After a moment I opened my eyes to find this was not just a wolf but the wolf. Where my arms had wrapped around its shoulders sealed puncture wounds lacked white fur. There was no blood on its coat anywhere besides around its face. It lifted its head enough to show me its eyes, a bit of empathy stored there but they were entirely wild and inhuman. Shaking and wiping my tears and snot into my skin I pulled myself to stand against the tree. The warmth of the mucus on my forearms had quickly frozen over by the cold, a sensation that drew my attention to my feet which had gained several cuts. The wolf walked beside me as I tried to jog back and failed. We passed the dead Jenkins, New Years hat still on his head, staring, smiling. I puked, and aside from the blood it was the only warmth I left behind in the snow. The wolf led me straight to my car where my keys sat neatly on top of the snow. I picked up the keys, never saw the creature again, never went back, and never called anyone about the dead wolf I had found outside the house. The party horn sat on my passenger seat and when I turned on the radio it was just in time to hear the final cheers of the holiday fade and I blew along the best I could to the song ‘The Final Countdown’.