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You are Mine

Sleet stung my face every time the breeze blew it under the overhang. I leaned back against the wall and slid down to sit on the tiny patch of dry concrete that ran along its length. I watched the pellets of ice bounce off the concrete before melting, my legs trembling -or was that shivering? Regardless, my world had just been shaken, and my mind was still struggling to make sense of everything. -And I do mean everything. My life was a wreck.

I knew music was moving, there is no secret there to anyone who pays even the slightest attention to what catches their ear. A person who sits in a quiet parking lot and listens to a good song or recording of Beethoven or Tchaikovsky and doesn't feel emotion is without soul, or pulse, or both.

The difference between a live performance and a recording, however, is like comparing Lake Michigan to a mud puddle. I expected to watch people make the same vibrations I heard through speakers in headphones or my car. I never expected those frequencies to carry meaning and feeling, hitting me one hundred amps strong and at thirty thousand volts. Power = Current x Voltage; the laws of physics followed through with the metaphor and the power had knocked me off my figurative feet.

"You alright, man?"

I looked up. Maxwell stood over me, a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

He cocked his head to the side. A habit he had carried over from... before.

"Well you don't look like it."

I shot him a weak smile as he sat down heavily beside me.

"You know," I said, "when you asked me to come with you I almost told you no."

"You weren't keen on the idea; I'm sorry if I pushed-"

I waved him off.

"Not at all. I'm glad I took you up on it. Thank you for taking me."

"Oh. You're welcome. Then what's..."

"I was just caught unaware, that's all. I've never been to a live concert before and it's, just, well..."

"Different, ain't it?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Holy shit, yeah."

"This was just a talent showcase. You should go see something like Handel's Messiah. It was the first concert I went to since I could walk on two legs. It blew my mind."

"Let me recover from this one first."

"We could go for a drink."

"Nah," I said. "I'm high enough as it is, and I'm enjoying it. I think."

He broke into a smile, visibly relieved.

"That's good. You had me worried when you broke down during Capella's performance. I've never seen you do that before. I remember when your wife told you she was going to transition into becoming a man. You acted like it happened all the time. Nothing out of you. Not even a damp eyelash."

"Hah! Yeah. I had just gotten home from saying goodbye to my grandmother for the last time. First night I was back, as we lay in bed she said those words. I guess I was just too numb from everything for it to hit me all at once."

"Uh-huh, sure. You didn't cry about grandma either."

"How could I? Mom had nobody else; she was pretty distraught, even though the woman really kicked her around most of her life."

"And then you were homeless for three weeks, sleeping in your bombed out husk of a jeep. Nothing then, either."

"-but I've be there before!"

"You mooched a hotel room off another vet for a month. That's different."

"Bah."

"And the three, count them with me, the three herniated disks. And you still went to work, you twisted-"

"What about it, Max?" I snapped. "I didn't have a choice and you know that."

"I've never seen you curl up and start sobbing like that during any of those times."

"How the hell do you know that? It's not like you were next to me every-"

"I was your dog until six months ago, Ivan. I know."

We sat in silence for a few minutes as the concert replayed through my head. The song he referred to had been written around Isaiah 43, and it had found a spot I never knew hadn't scabbed over yet. -But wasn't the first time I had received a message like that.

Not too long after I had found a place to live and stopped sleeping in my Jeep everything started going wrong. A pagan couple I met said it was likely Loki who wanted to be acknowledged. They suggested I pour out a little wine for him and he'd leave me alone. Once home I opened a bottle and went to pour it when I experienced what had been the strangest thing of my life until I woke up with a two legged max snoring where a four legged one had lay down.

Imagine if emotions could articulate concepts as defined, physical, and real as spoken language. Now imagine if that emotion was love, and it wasn't from you but appeared within you and said "No, you belong to me." I have felt like I was loved from nowhere during the darkest times in my life, but that claim of me was the most powerful and concrete proof of God that I have ever experienced. I wept here because I remembered, not because I hurt.

The breeze kept cutting through my jacket, and I started to shiver a little. Max scooted over until he was pressed up against me. I got a lot of looks hanging around with someone that appeared like he was out of a bad science fiction movie; some were good, many not so good. I know some of them are from how close and friendly we tend to be. To an outsider I'm sure it seems weird at the very least, but to someone who has ever owned and thought about the relationship they had with their dog, then pictured that dog as a suddenly not-so-gender-neutral person it might appear otherwise.

Max, along with his fellow 'enlightened' canines find no reason to stop that affection along with their blindness to personal space. I resisted and tried to explain it to him for a week. After that I gave up and acknowledged that his whole life I had taught him that I expressed my affection one way, and he was more than excited to finally be able to express it back in 'my way.' Now that winter was coming and I had yet to find a decent coat I was quickly moving from 'putting up with' to 'accepting' bring treated like, well, like I treated Max as a dog. There were benefits to being best friends with someone covered in a thick fur coat, and this was one of them.

He didn't say anything, and eventually a question popped into my head.

"I wonder why two soloists can both perform, and one makes beautiful noise while standing awkwardly on the stage and another delivers music that grabs your chin and holds on. Like 'That's pretty' verses 'Ah, this is what the composer was trying to say'. Nobody sang or performed the same thing twice, so I couldn't compare. Your hearing is better than mine though; is there a different sound or is that just how it was composed?"

Max looked in thought for a moment.

"Well," he said, "there are differences in composers, that I know of. I pawed through your old textbook last month -which is what inspired me to buy tickets -and it said that most of the composers before 1800, Beethoven really, wrote music to entertain and make people feel good, not express anything internal-"

I opened my mouth to speak but he held up his hand.

"That being said, I think a lot of it has to do with the performer getting into it."

"And that makes it sound different?"

"I noticed subtle things, what you might not hear if you don't know what to listen for, but it would be enough. Take an extreme example: ever heard someone play the violin while not moving?"

"Ugh. Neighbor did that. It sounded horrible. Like he knew how to play but every song was just bad."

"Exactly. They don't even have to move though. Could you see the facial expressions of people?"

"Of course." It's not like the balcony was that far away.

"Good. Some of us can't see detail that far. Think about some of the songs they sung -the ones they weren't trying to break the pit lift by dancing around on it. How did they look?"

I thought for a moment as sleet pelted off my face.

"Expressive, yes?" He asked. "I know you missed looking while they sang 'Do Not Be Afraid' by Stopford, but they really got into it. Think of "Dark Night of the Soul". Now think about chorals where everyone looked British."

"Mm. I guess that's why everyone loved the Gospel Choir."

"Maybe, better expression seems to give voices a better tone color, but that isn't synonymous with emotion. Don't confuse musical expression with emotional expression. The former is what makes you feel good while listening to Bach or Mozart."

I nodded in agreement.

"Beethoven was a great thing for music. I don't know if I'd enjoy it if it were simply there to make one feel good. Good is fine, but there's a lot to life that doesn't feel good and listening to feel-good always made me feel like it was mocking me during those times."

"And your angry metal is hard on the ears."

"Sorry. I didn't know."

"It's ok. I knew you didn't. There were parts of this I found hard on the ears too."

"That was the mic feeding back through the speakers," I explained. "That's not part of the-"

He elbowed me in the ribs.

"I know that. I'm talking about when the musicians messed up and the, well, flow seemed to crash into it's self."

"You know some of that is supposed to sound like that, right?"

"What?! You're joking."

"Nope. It's called dissonance, and the composer will put that into the music intentionally."

"WHY?!"

"Because it makes it sound good."

Max was quiet for a moment.

"You know, maybe that's why you can close your eyes in a concert hall and still have a different experience than simply sitting at home. I always thought they were mistakes that made it feel personal. Especially with the soloists."

"Well to give people credit it's difficult to get up there alone and play the guitar or sing. There's nothing for anyone to look at but you, and if you make a mistake it's spot lighted with everything else. In an orchestra the conductor might cringe at you, but chances are most of your blunder will be lost with everyone else."

"Hah. I beg to differ. Think of that one guy who's marching out of step in a formation. He can lie to himself, but every one sees him. You should know that though -Aaron's been telling me stories."

"Great. Man's worst fear: the one person he trusted with all of his darkest fears and secrets will learn conversation. His second worst fear must be that person becoming drinking pals with the vets from his unit."

"I've lost the desire to eat crap off the floor, not my loyalty. They think I don't remember much from before my change."

We watched the sleet blow around. I thought about standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people who knew me, who would see and talk to and about me tomorrow, the darkness swallowing them into ambiguity as I was blinded by halogens that left nothing to imagination.

"There's still the rest of the platoon to look at," I said.

"That's true. Performing must be something you'd better be humble going into because if you're not and mess up you'll be both humble and embarrassed coming out of it."

"Hah! I'd come out to most humble man alive if I tried something like that. It would be a train wreck! ...It's impressive it doesn't happen more often with the choirs and orchestras. Thats a lot of moving parts to fit together. For whatever reason I never appreciated that watching videos online. Now I wonder how they read music and watch the conductor at the same time."

"Maybe the don't," chuffed Max.

"I could see that: all a decoration. Something to make stage crew earn their paychecks."

Max snorted.

"Or keep track of the number of music stands they have since that's the only time they bring them out. Who knows, there's a number of quirky traditions I've noticed. Like what's the deal with the first violinist? Why do choirs dress like televangelist preachers? Why do pop singers make horrible life choices?"

"Who knows. You could take a course on it, I'm sure."

"I'd never get in. Not here."

"You're IQ is through the roof, Max. You're a hell of a lot smarter than-"

"Nothing to do with it. In case you haven't noticed there's been a lot of animosity ever since they showed up and 'liberated and enlightened canine kind'."

He had said the last part in a faux British accent.

"We've depended on each other for the past ten thousand years," I said, "and in less than a week six months ago that was all thrown out. We were ripped from our best friends and our-"

"-slaves."

I sighed. This again.

"I won't argue against that. I only worked you because you enjoyed it. You were in a bad situation and I wanted to take you out of that because it was the right thing to do. I only had so many options in society, and owning you was the best one. Scent work was something for you to do that you enjoyed."

"I know. I remember nothing in my life but being in that cage in someone's back yard and getting fed twice a day until that nasty wet morning you came with the guy that brought food, opened the door, and tried to get me out. I've never been so terrified in my life."

"I believe it. It took me a month before you wouldn't try to bite me if I tried to get your paw unstuck from a sidewalk grate or put your leash on to go for a walk and another six until you finally concluded the world was going to eat you at every turn."

"I remember. You'd play classical music for me to keep me calm while you were at work. It was those long hours laying there in that cage and listening that it grew on me. I didn't understand it then, but now I know you refused to live someplace if it meant giving me up, and that some of those times I got to eat your food it was because you had nothing else. And I remember how worried you were every time I was sick or hurt and I know you had problems paying the vet. I remember when..."

His face grew dark.

"... I remember when you had me neutered."

"I'm sorry Max! I wouldn't have if I could have explained-"

His hand patted my thigh.

"I know why. I forgive you. If they hadn't grown back with the change it would be a lot harder, but I forgive you. They actually asked if I wanted to return the uh, 'favor', to you to help with overpopulation."

"I take it you said no and I don't have to look over my shoulder for an alien with a pair of pruning shears."

"They had you out cold and were going to do it then and there. I said no."

"Thank you."

"No problem. I'm a dog, or was, we do forgiveness well. We didn't have a Jesus to follow either."

"Heh. You didn't need him."

I sighed and pressed myself into him a little more. I was getting wet, and that wind was getting pretty damn cold.

"We should probably get going soon," I added.

"Yeah," he made to get up. "There's a Beethoven concert the night they leave. We could see it before I have to go. It's fitting: It starts with his Fifth and my fate knocks."

He mimicked knocking on a door. I was starting to climb to my feet, but the realization that my closest friend of the past seven years was leaving the planet fell onto me like a second pallet of marble.

"Oh lord," I curled up and put my head between my knees. "Go ahead," I told him, "I need to do some mourning."

"Mourning?"

"I thought I had another two or three years with you before you'd be gone. Died of old age or whatever. Not a few months. Not a few days from now."

"I... didn't know we didn't live that long."

"You don't. Or didn't. Pretty sure you live longer now."

"Was told about ninety years. -but... I asked them if you could come with me. They said you could, and I've been waiting to ask you at a time I knew you'd say yes."

"Oh." I eyed him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"And that's why I was waiting. You wouldn't have any rights. Well, other than against neglect, but that's it. Heh. I would call your name, and you would be mine."

"Hah, yeah, I don't think so. I'll take my loneliness here and wallow in this dark night of the soul."

"Ooo, I liked that one. One last concert with me then? Radar, Shelby, Snickers and her mas- er, housemate, what's his- Don! He's another human, he's coming with us too."

What the hell. One last evening with who used to be my dog.

"Yeah. I'll go," I said, climbing to my feet.

"Excellent," he said. "We're grabbing a bite and a beer at Patty Mac's afterwards, which will give Snickers and I an opportunity to..."

I raised an eyebrow.

"-er, raise a lot of toasts." He finished.

"Ah. Toasts. I see. I'll be the designated driver, let the rest of you be merry and care free your last night here."

"Shelby already asked for it. Sorry."

"I was afraid of that."

We started for the car, and as we walked I could hear him humming 'Ode to Joy'. If ever there were a composition I could picture Max humming, that would be it.