Jade
It happened the way it happened, and it was my fault. The leather on my criminal paw throbbed like a silk-soft carpet burn, my wedding ring hanging loose from a guilty digit. The scent of steam rose to break the spell of sadness, but my thoughts wouldn't allow it to work its magic. You fool! they scolded. You brute! How could you?
Just looking at that band on my finger made me cringe; all I could see was a circle of events blended and blurred together. The same words, the same acid, the same regret... but this! This sin was unforgivable. I would go to my grave, and my epitaph would read, "Here lies a fox who beat his wife," and the son she would soon bear would spit on the dirt and say, "Good riddance," and that's what I deserved.
The steam cooed, Relax, John, but I shooed it away. That comfort was for Elaine; I wasn't worthy of being soothed. But then there was a sound, an abrupt break in the monotony of running water, and there she was in the doorway, half-naked with swollen eyes and swollen belly.
"Oh, God, John... my stomach... I think..."
"Oh, God, now? Uhh, hold on, I'll call a-"
"No, John, now! I don't think I can wait much longer..."
I had no time to think. No time to think. No time to think.
"Uhhh, okay, just let me bring the car around. Don't worry. You'll be okay. Just... hold on, okay?"
My paws trembled, my stomach felt green, and then somehow we were speeding down the road.
Ten minutes passed.
"John, please hurry..."
Maybe two minutes.
"I'm going as fast as I can!"
She sighed feverishly, each breath harpooning my soul. My fur was on end, like some ethereal static force had possessed the air; I could feel my skin under it as it needled into my veins. A ball of fluff cowered away from my stone eyes in the rear view mirror, and I felt like a predator. I had to say something, before the tense guilt that spun in my lungs burst forth and killed us both.
My muzzle parted, and she screamed. Animal fright found my face, and suddenly I was staring into white oblivion. There was a sound and a swerve and they both felt foreign. Our vehicle swung toward a car to our right, and I realized there was nowhere to go.
Something was pulling me. I saw the truck ahead of me, and I looked at it, and like a spy taking cyanide I turned the wheel.
The next twenty minutes were filled with a tugging, a warmth, and screaming.
It was interminable.
Begin reel.
Scene.
The scent of wrapping paper.
"You need to settle in your britches, son. You've still got five hours until anything happens here," said the father, hanging his white coat on the back of the front door.
"Five, hours? Five hours? Awwr, come on!"
The cub jumped and shook impatiently, stomping his foot paw defiantly at time.
Five hours is forever when you're young.
Cut.
Scene.
The scent of sidewalk chalk.
"Five more minutes! Please?"
"Oh, alright, John, but only five minutes."
To the stern, loving mother, five minutes was one-twelfth of an hour, a fraction.
To young John, five minutes was enough time to do anything in the world.
Perhaps John was right. Five minutes may as well be forever. After all, you'd spend as much time dissecting five minutes into smaller units as you would five hours.
Maybe we've just fooled ourselves into believing that time is something we can understand, measure, and limit.
End reel.
There was no black, no white, just oblivion and sound... a pitter-patter, soft like a spring rain on a bed of leaves; a ringing, not like a bell, but like an electronic toy dying slowly; a dull buzz like a hot speaker.
Then there was scent... an earthy musk, dead, wet, and infected. Mud and dirt. Blood.
And finally a wave of feeling from my toes to my head... a wet, disgusting, stinging warmth under my tail; my fingers, sharp like shards of broken glass; my head, only pain.
All this, with no sight. Just sound and smell and feeling, biting, jabbing, stinging, buzzing, and fading away.
Begin reel.
Those significant moments in life are very strange, not for form, but because they are indeed significant.
Scene.
The scent of dander.
A young fox runs down a hallway. His ears perk and swivel with interest in distractions, eyes darting around a tunnel of world surrounding, moving, passing him. He clutches his possessions to his chest with a ferocious tenseness, his tail subdued and raised in natural fashion behind him. A locker door slams, he nearly jumps. Someone yells, he nearly screams. Fearful of tardiness, the fox is a red blur in a crowded hall.
In contrast, leaving her classroom long after the exit bell, a vixen of fine features laughs languidly in conversation with her favorite teacher. Oh, but she's a fine piece of art, with eyes of jade and silk fur of orange and white. Her muzzle is short and pointed, her head fur cut to suit her careless expression. And with this carelessness comes radiant warmth.
Before she can step a foot from the door, the male runs into her in his absent-mindedness, and their eyes meet, his full of shock and worry, hers registering surprise and amusement. He apologizes shortly and is on his way. She laughs, watching him for a moment, then strolls down an adjacent hall, smiling and thinking about something other than school.
This was the first encounter of John and Elaine.
This was four years ago.
And it was yesterday.
And it is now.
Cut.
Scene.
The scent of a clean table.
"You like it?"
"Oh, John, it's lovely."
"Really? It's not too... you know..."
"No, don't be silly. It's perfect!"
"Because, you know, I could, uh, go back and-"
"Nonsense!"
"Really! If you don't like it-"
"I love it, John. Thank you."
John nodded and blushed under his fur.
This was the first exchange of gifts between two vulpines.
This was three years and some months ago.
And it was yesterday.
And it is now.
Cut.
Scene.
The scent of ice cream.
"Well, if you didn't want it, why'd you gulp it down like that, goofball?"
John smiled and shrugged. He never had liked chocolate, but he didn't complain. John was not a fox for confrontation.
Elaine laughed and punched her boyfriend's arm. "Next time I get you something you don't like, tell me! A chocolate shake isn't worth the bad taste in your mouth!"
John nodded.
He also didn't like her paying for meals, but if she insisted, he wouldn't complain.
This was the fourth date.
This was three years and some months ago.
And it was yesterday.
And it is now.
Cut.
Scene.
The scent of musk.
The moment was intense. The yearning between two lovers buzzed over the air, electrifying every ounce of water it held. The room was hot, and scent was strong.
Two bodies mingled at close quarters.
There was a column of light through a crack in the door, but all else was darkness; the lighting was perfect. Now, the fox held his mate with the confidence of animal instinct in his backbone, and at the end of his muzzle his lover lingered, longingly attached to his mouth, savoring his sweat and breathing his breath and tonguing his teeth. Their fire spread against the cool of autumn window glass, bringing fog and warmth and moisture.
Two bodies joined in union for one glorious moment in time.
This was nine months ago.
And this was yesterday.
And this is now.
Cut.
Scene.
The scent of a foreign household.
"Do they know?"
"They know." Elaine sat next to John on the bed, paws falling into her lap.
"What did they say?"
"Well, Mom was kind of surprised you could pull off such a feat so early in the fall."
John bit his lip. "And your father?"
The vixen put a paw on the fox's knee. "I have to be honest with you, John. Dad's never really warmed up to you, and this might have broken the dam."
John's entire being sank. "W... What did he say?"
Elaine sighed. "He said you were irresponsible and flakey and that I was a fool for trusting a horndog like you."
"It was never about the sex. You know that."
"Of course. He just doesn't know you like I do," the vixen cooed, rubbing the tender spot behind John's ear.
"I dunno... That accusation aside, it sounds like he hit the head of the nail, to me."
"Look at me, John." He obeyed, and watched Elaine study him.
"When I look at you, do you know what I see?"
John shook his head.
"I see the fox who brought me soup when I was sick, and drove me home everyday in a car he was able to buy without his father's help."
John tried to interrupt, but Elaine ignored him.
"I see the fox who had the guts to ask me out, the one who stayed by my side for over three years, the one who won't run away from the mistake he's made. I see twice the man my dad ever was."
John's whiskers shook under his warming cheeks. "I... I just wanna do the right thing."
"But, most importantly," the vixen smiled, "I see a handsome fox who will do anything I tell him to do. It's so hard to get handsome and obedient. You're a rare find, John, and I'm no fool."
John grinned, ears lowered humbly. "I live to serve only you, my liege."
"That's what I like to hear."
"I just... I don't understand how it happened. It wasn't time. We were so careful to stay out of season..."
"Well, John, think of it as a sign. It obviously means that you were destined to be tied to me for the rest of your life."
"Heaven forbid!" John joked, taking Elaine's little paws into his.
"No backing out. Right, John?" she said, searching his eyes.
John made a promise to those intent pools of jade. "Never."
"Good. Come, peasant," Elaine teased. "We have preparations to make!"
The fox made a commitment.
This was eight months ago.
And this was yesterday.
And this is now.
Cut.
Scene.
The scent of starch.
A young bride smiles through her white veil at her gray-eyed groom, admiring his short-trimmed whiskers, the deep red of his pelt, the length of his body in his crisp tuxedo. His grin is laughing and wide, and the vixen knows he is deaf to the vows echoing through the cathedral in the monotone voice of a stuffy priest.
"Do you, John Webber, take Elaine Maxwell to be your wife - to live together in God's ordinance - in the holy estate of matrimony?"
John nods, his eyes never leaving his wife-to-be.
The priest continues, but the memory is lost.
This was three months ago.
And this was yesterday.
And this is now.
Cut.
In a state of unconsciousness, the past is the present. Memories flash in instants to be relived and relived and relived...
There was a baby shower. There was blue everywhere.
Elaine's lips tested the sound of "Tom."
"I've always loved that name," she said.
The scent of plastic.
There was an amusing argument in the car. It ended in laughter, and it was a relief from the tension that was beginning to build.
The scent of leather seats.
There was an empty bottle of beer sitting on the coffee table next to a pair of foot paws and a newspaper.
The scent of meat.
Scene.
The scent of linen.
"It was a party, for God's sake! I didn't get trashed!"
John began to pace anxiously, chewing on an untrimmed whisker.
"I just don't want to lose you to that drink again. Think of your son!"
"It was one drink!" He made sure his wife saw his index finger up close.
"That's all it takes!" she replied, returning the favor.
"You sound like a damned after-school special. It's making me nervous."
"What do you want from me, John?" Elaine yelled, throwing up her paws in exasperation.
"I want you to get off my case!"
"No!" Elaine stood from the bed, cutting John's path in two. "I'm not going to stand by and let you sit there in your chair and drink away your problems."
"God, Elaine, why can't you just trust me?"
"Because I'm afraid, John, don't you understand? There is a child inside me. I have a responsibility to-"
"I understand!" John turned from her, attempting to tear fur from his face.
"No, John, obviously you don't. You can't possibly understand what kind of stress I'm under!"
"Oh, I've got plenty of stress, Elaine," John shot back, digits ready to count. "Rent, car notes, keeping a steady job, it's not easy! I don't need you screaming at me on top of it!"
"Well, fox, you could keep a steady job if you wouldn't drink!" Elaine dared, locking eyes with her husband. "Or maybe if you'd get off your ass and use your backbone for once!"
"Stop it, Elaine."
"No, John, that's just what it is! The root of all our problems. You're a coward!"
And then there was a sound, an unnatural, muffled sound. Elaine stumbled to a seat on their bed. John stared at the claw marks on her face, then at his coarse paw, numb with fear and awe and sorrow. She looked up at him unbelievingly, watched his jaw drop open in lieu of an excuse...
"No, John, just go," she choked, trying to keep tears from welling in her eyes.
He didn't move at first... Then he obeyed, stalking off from the room, his wooden tail trailing behind him.
This was forty minutes ago.
And this is now.
Cut.
End reel.
I awoke to confusion, blinding light, tense and active sound, movement and rapid conversation. Out of the madness, I came to realize my being, and with that, pain, like thousands of small toffee hammers beating incessantly at every joint.
The light gave way to shadows, and the shadows yielded to forms, to beings, to life. My voice peeled through the chaos, reaching out to their blue, sterilized smocks, mugging their ears for attention.
"Help! Elaine!"
The world panicked. A plastic mask found my muzzle, and I inhaled. Air never tasted so sterile. It soothed me in the most disgusting way, and I feel asleep.
For a long time, my mind focused on the rhythmic beeping of machines, trying to categorize every whirl, buzz, and breath they made.
I willed my eyes open and found myself alone in a small, white room. At the end of the bed, my footpaws wiggled under thin sheets. My arms lay on top of the linen, wrapped in bandages, the fur in clumps of a deeper red. There were wires connecting my body to all the machines that kept me alive. Though I was in one piece, I knew that I was cheating death.
I stared out my window for a long time at a distant darkness, as if I sought some sort of refuge in it. I found none.
Where was Elaine? Where was my son?
My anxiety could only keep me awake for so long, and eventually, it gave way to nightmares.
Begin reel.
Time. It's funny, isn't it? The good memories go by so fast, but when you're in pain, the torture lasts forever.
Scene.
The scent of water.
At 11:15, John hit Elaine.
At 11:21, Elaine went into false labor.
At 11:24, John and Elaine Webber set out toward the hospital.
At 11:26, they reached the main highway.
At 11:26:21, John turned to apologize.
At 11:26:24:89, Elaine saw the car.
At 11:26:26:75, Elaine began screaming.
At 11:26:28:10, John turned around in time to see the car.
At 11:26:29:28, John hit his horn.
At 11:26:29:68, John made a sharp right swerve toward the correct lane.
At 11:26:30:32, John became aware of the car that had taken his place.
At 11:26:31:21, Elaine reached a paw out to her husband, still screaming.
At 11:26:31:73, Elaine's paw gripped John's shoulder and shook him.
At 11:26:33:02, John slammed on his brakes while making a violent left.
At 11:26:34:13, the car began to spin.
At 11:26:36:13, the oncoming car slammed into John's trunk, reversing the spin.
At 11:26:39:56, John's car crashed into a low guiding wall on the side of the road.
At 11:26:39:92, Elaine was thrown from the car.
At 11:26:40:26, the car began to compress upon itself.
At 11:26:41:10, John was tossed from the wreckage.
At 11:26:42:05, Elaine landed on her back among the trees opposite the guard.
At 11:26:44:32, John's body landed face down in a pile of leaves.
It was all of eighteen seconds.
An hour and a half later, John Webber lies in bed and relives this nightmare one thousand times. The ordeal is twenty minutes each time he lives it. He sleeps in pain for six hours.
End reel.
I felt dull, as if I was watching the movie of reality through the eyes of the dead. The blurry and bright figures above me focused and became creatures. A kangaroo headed the pack, assisted by a dingo of smaller stature, an oriental feline, and a familiar fox that I couldn't name. Their words were like globs of fat being poured into my ears, but they seemed to understand one another well enough. Even the machines around me sounded strange, like bees covered in honey and submarine pings resounding through water.
I made an effort to communicate, a whimper, and suddenly they were all staring at me. The kangaroo spoke his fat at me, and when I didn't respond, he returned to his colleagues. They seemed to come to an agreement before turning on me again, the fox grabbing my paw and patting it. I didn't feel anything, but he seemed to be consoling me, by the look of his movements.
That's it.
Begin reel.
The scent of Elaine.
John woke up in a cold heat, in his own home, in his own bed, with his wife next to him. He swallowed the sweat on his tongue, looking at the clock. 3:26.
It had all been a dream.
Elaine stirred, and the fox lowered his ears.
"Go back to bed, babe," he whispered.
"Mmm... What's wrong?" She mumbled.
"I just... I had a bad dream, is all. Go back to sleep."
"You alright?"
"I'm fine, I'm alright. Go on back to sleep."
"Goodnight, sweetie."
"Elaine?"
"Mmmm, yes, John?"
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know you do, John. Good night."
"Good night... Elaine?"
"I love you, too, John. Go back to sleep."
John settled back into his covers, turning on his side and wrapping his arms around his wife, pulling himself close to her body to take comfort in her scent. He heard her sigh, and he echoed. The ordeal had left him shaken up, but he felt easier knowing it had all been a dream.
Cut.
This, of course, never happened.
End reel.
The sun smiled through my window as I looked out at the city below. For a moment, I mused over the memory of an evening much like this, sitting in the park, playing with the fur on Elaine's cheek...
Elaine...
My hearing had been restored, but my scent was blinded. I moved from the bed uneasily, and suddenly all the liquid in my body moved into my bladder. As I turned on the light in the bathroom, a bruised, bandaged body yelped in the mirror before me. The reflection traced a claw over its lackluster pelt, catching mud and dried blood left in its path. Pink eyes inspected a dried, purpled nose, torn ears drooping at a disheartened moan. This isn't me! I wanted to cry. Instead, I did my business stoically and treated myself to a long, hot bath.
After I bathed, I nursed the few bandages that hadn't come undone in the water, taking unusual care with my tail as I dried it. God, I felt like a victim of a violent mugging, like a gang of jackals had surrounded me and cut all of the money from my body.
Though my clothes were muddy and ripped, I preferred them to the horrible hospital smock in which I'd been dressed. I wanted to feel normal, less like a patient, but the holes that lined up with the scars in my flesh told me I was lucky to be alive. Suddenly, everything was too real, and I had to find Elaine.
Even as a pup visiting my father, I'd never liked hospitals. I found the whole place overwhelming, full of motion and urgency and plastic. Now, as I wandered down the hall, my childhood anxiety returned. I kept to myself, ears lowered, eyes avoiding stares while watching everyone that passed. Each marked room down the corridor had a name and a different scenario to go with it. As I neared the end of the hall, I couldn't shake the feeling that with every step I drew closer to my own scene, and I didn't want to face it.
I picked up the pace and jumped onto an elevator right before the door snapped shut. As it sealed, my scent decided to return, and the tiny room became stuffy with foreign fur and judgment. The nurse next to me studied a clipboard, too busy to take notice, but I could feel the hot gaze of the tall equine behind me inspecting my wounds. Deciding the elevator was a bad idea, I jumped off at the first floor to which the door opened, into another hallway.
I stared at a plaque on the wall, not really seeking the directions it gave, but for some relief from my environment. All I wanted was to stand and stare without being looked at funny.
'Maternity Ward' caught my eye, and my heart skipped a beat. To the left. So I went.
I found myself staring at the newborns, paws and nose pressed to the protective glass like a child's eager face in a toy store window. I looked around for my lone spring fox...
"Junior?"
I turned with a start, and there stood my father grinning in his professional speaking stance, one paw revealed as if to receive a piece of candy, the other hidden behind his back. "Junior!" he repeated. "Feeling well already? You look good!"
"You're kidding, right?" I muttered in return, smiling in spite of myself.
"You look better than before. You were a bloody mess of fur before Tuck and I got a hold of you." He smelled of sterility and sadness, his white sleeves tucked into his latex gloves to keep his fur out of open bodies. When I was a cub, he came home smelling the same way, and I was strangely comforted by the familiar scent.
"Dad..." I could tell he knew what I was going to ask. "Where's Elaine?"
"Walk with me, John," he sighed, and I felt my entire body gulp at the sound of my own name.
I let him put his arm around my shoulder and lead me around the corner.
"I have to know what happened," my father began. "You're usually so careful..."
I didn't answer, my eyes searching the infant ward for a little fox named Tom Webber as he spoke. He sighed again.
"At any rate... it's been a long fight for you two, especially for Elaine. You came out relatively unharmed, but she with the baby and all... Hold on..." He murfled unnaturally, and I began to feel the tiny remains of my life slip away, watching as he pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number, waited...
"Tuck, it's John. Yes... oh, he seems fine." He eyed me for a moment, then turned away, ambling down the hall as he talked. "He's up and about, found him looking at the little ones on the... mm-hmm... yes, that would be good." His voice brightened, and he moved back toward me. "I think we should. Thank you so much, Tuck. It means the world... I know, it's going to be." He sighed. "But I'd better go, I just wanted to... yeah... thank you."
He snapped the phone shut and turned to face me.
"John," he began again, putting his paw on my shoulder while his other stayed tucked behind his back. "It's been three days. You're a quick recovery, you know..."
He paused, but I didn't brighten. I watched his gray eyes turn to stone.
"John, she's gone. We fought hard, but she didn't pull through."
The world left me. I was dead. My father had killed me.
"Dad, don't tell me that! Please don't tell me that!"
He had no words for me. My jaw parted as if I might challenge his silence, but it just hung agape as anguish poured freely from my lungs.
"Oh, God, no!" I choked, caving into myself, "I've killed her! Oh, my God... I've killed them... What have I done!" My legs lost feeling, and I hovered in the air like an apparition. "God, please, what have I done..."
"John, you can't blame yourself. Listen to me!" My father shook me, and I pulled away. I didn't want his sympathy! I didn't want any of it! "Listen to me, John..." His voice softened and demanded quiet, just like it used to when I was a child.
I heard paws walking behind me, shoes clicking solidly against the ground. Until then, I felt like my father and I had found our own little world in this hospital where no one else could go.
"John, we couldn't save Elaine, and I can't express my sorrow." His voice was sober, and I clenched my fist in weak anger at the sound of it. "But you've got to live, if not for yourself, for your son."
I felt my face ice over and melt under my fur, and as I met his coy smile, I felt it heat and pour from my burning eyes.
"We performed a C-section when Elaine came in," my father explained. "It's a miracle if I ever knew one that he lived through the impact. We kept him in the ICU for two days... He's a quick recovery." Dad's smile was becoming genuine through my tears.
"Turn around, Junior." I was shaking hard, but I managed to dry my eyes and turn. Tuck the kangaroo stood there with a quiet but alert little pup in his arms.
He was plump and perfect, with a blue wristband bearing the name of Webber. His ears were perked, his tail drawn up between his little legs like a cradle, and he stared up at me curiously, snug in Tuck's arms. I stared back at him and whispered, still in disbelief.
"Hey."
He seemed confused.
"Hey, Tom... How... how are you, huh?"
He seemed very confused. It made me smile, even choke a laugh.
And I started laughing and crying all at once. "Tom," I said aloud.
And I felt whole again, somehow.
I sniffled, wiped my running nose, and held out timid arms to Tuck, who carefully shifted the pup into my paws. Tom was heavier than I expected. He smelled of a secret softness I didn't understand, and radiated a warmth I'd never felt. I tried to hold him close, but he began to cry. Frightened, I held him away, and Tuck offered to take him. I felt ashamed.
Then everything hit me all at once.
Sleepless nights with a screaming child I couldn't comprehend... A restless uncertainty of my parental competence... A hungry pup crying for his mother's milk... A young cub asking why he only had a daddy... A rebellious teenager embarrassed by his father's timidity...
I knew I would live for this child. Every fiber of my being was in him, my life, my love, my hope...
But I was afraid.
She wasn't there. She wouldn't be there to tell me what a good man I'd become, or to tie Tom's shoes in the morning before school, or to support my weak backbone when I had to be a father.
Tuck took the boy around the corner to comfort him, and I was left with my father. "I can't do this," I choked, hanging my head. "Dad, I can't do this."
He took my head into his arms and held it, stroking my ears. I wrapped my arms around him and breathed in the comfort of his sterile scent, and like a child I was calm.
"Junior, you're gonna be fine, but you can't pussyfoot around this like you've done all your life." I flinched, and his grip tightened. "Your boy is going to need you to be strong for him. You're going to be his rock, and if you can't support him, he's going to fall." He pried me away from him, but held firm to my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes, gray like stone.
"You can do this, but you have to be strong. Do you understand?" Somehow, that wasn't what I wanted to hear. I looked away, but his firm gloved paw held my muzzle. "Look at me." His eyes were warm, but firm, and I suddenly longed to sit in them and curl up. "I'm not asking you to forget your pain or to hide it. But I'm asking you to face it, and grow from it. Tom needs you now, and you can't be selfish and mourn in the corner. You can't shirk away whenever he cries. You can't run when he asks about his mother. You have to face this. You have to be a father."
"But... what if I'm no good?" I sniffled.
"You can't worry about that, John. No one's perfect. But if you try to creep around this like you do with everything else, you're going to fail."
I sobbed, knowing I would fail.
"No, John, look at me." My eyes had shut. "You're not alone in this; I'm here for you... and I know you can do this. Please, John. If not for me, if not for Tom, for Elaine."
I shuddered, shaking my head in his paw. "My God, Elaine."
"You can do this." That was the last thing he said that night. He hugged me tight and straightened me up, wiped my eyes with his latex fingers, and walked away.
And even as he left, I felt like I was standing on his shoulders, just high enough to reach the edge of the cliff and climb onto the precipice and conquer the mountain, and I understood.
Tuck came back cooing with my pup. He held him proudly out to me. "S'a good little joey, 'ey?" Tom looked up at me with that same curiosity as before. "Go on, go to daddy," Tuck encouraged as I held out willing paws.
Tom came into my arms, and I held him. I smiled at him, and he looked up at me, and I saw Elaine in his little jade eyes.
"No backing out."
And I grinned, and he cooed. And that's the way it went.