Whiskey, Dogs, and Other Forms of Love

"I must have a thing for misery," I mutter to the floppy-eared mutt that has just joined me on the corner. She gazes up at me with no recognition in her eyes and flops down at my feet. It has just started to snow and it's painfully cold outside. I myself am wearing jeans and a tank top, and find myself furiously rubbing my arms to try and retain some warmth. I'm frustrated. "Shit!" The dog jumps up and stares at me warily. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Come here, dog." Staying her distance, the dog follows me to the steps of a closed-down restaurant which is located underneath a tarp.

My eyes flick up and down the street for what is probably the ten millionth time in the last hour, but Josh is still nowhere to be seen. He told me to be here an hour and a half ago. I've been waiting ever since. Unfortunately for me, Josh knows that I'll stay here until I can't anymore. I get scared to leave, scared that he'll all of a sudden show up and be mad that I wasn't there. So I sit and wait and pass the time cleaning my cheeks with my tears.

The dog decides that I'm safe and butts my hand with her head. I half-heartedly scratch behind her ears and she settles at my feet. She has no collar. For a moment, I'm almost happy that someone is as lost as I am. Then, whatever happiness I had was blown away with a new gust of frigid wind.

He does this a lot, Josh does. He's never on time. Always inviting me out on dates but never showing up when he says he will. Once or twice, he's just not shown up at all. Of course, he can never find the time to call or text me and I'm often left waiting until the sun goes down or I'm crying too hard to be seen in public. Sometimes he'll text me the next day and apologize, citing "excessive alcohol use" or "other stuff, shit, don't worry about it" as his reasoning for blowing me off.

"Just the two of us, I guess," I tell the dog. She looks up at me and I swear I see the hint of a smile on her face. I'm alone and she's alone. It's like we've rescued each other.

But just like that, Josh crashes into the building and the dog takes off running. I watch her disappear into the softly falling snow, worrying that she won't make it safely to her next destination, wherever she may be. "What the hell?" Josh slurs. "Since when do you have a...a...?" He falls over, hiccupping. He's drunk. I can smell the alcohol on him, not to mention from the cup he holds clasped in his right hand. "Whiskey," he says with a grin, offering it up.

I take the cup and, as Josh struggles to his feet, slowly pour it into the snow next to me. "You're late," I mention, as though he'll care.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," he laughs. "You know how it gets, babe. Just some d-d-drinking..." Hiccup "and times passes you right by."

He leans against the building and reaches into his pocket, removing an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. Ignoring the fact that we're in public, and he's underage, he takes a huge swig. Then he drops the bottle, pulls me to my feet, and attempts to kiss me in what I assume he believes is a "romantic way." I push him off.

"Aw babe, don't be like that," he mutters, pressing back up against me. "You know I love you."

I push him off again. "What you love is sex, Josh, not me." He stares at me with such a dejected look that I can't help but feel sorry for him. I give him a quick peck on the lips and offer to walk him home, given that the restaurant is closed and there's no chance of getting dinner at this point. Once again a goofy grin spreads across his face; he truly believes that after all of this, he's still getting some tonight.

We walk into the snow and I shiver. Josh notices but fails to offer me his jacket. Once again, typical. "So, where's that dog?" he asks. I shrug. "Good riddance, dumb old mutt. I hate dogs." When I remind him that he has a dog of his own at home, he shrugs me off, mumbling something about only hating stupid street dogs.

It takes a good fifteen minutes to trek to his house, a little white house across from the grocery store. Judging from the lights emanating from upstairs, his roommates are home. I help him up the stairs onto the porch and once again he attempts to kiss me. "I love you, I don't want to do anything with my roommates inside," he pushes. "I have some class, babe." I shake my head and he takes another swill of Jack Daniels.

We don't see his roommates when we go in the house. After all, Josh lives in the solitary bedroom on the first floor. He stumbles onto the bed, fumbles with the buttons on his jacket. "Come on," he urges. I help him with his buttons, take off his jacket and his shirt, and then tuck him under the blankets. He lies there and puts his head on the pillow with a sigh of satisfaction. Rather than joining him, I busy myself around the room, cleaning up clothes, straightening papers and books, and end by grabbing a water bottle from his mini fridge and plunking it on the nightstand next to his bed.

"Goodnight, Josh." Disappointment tinges my voice. Just once, I'd like for a night with Josh to be perfect. For him to show up on time, take me to a restaurant, pay for my meal, maybe buy me a flower. I'd like to be able to stay in his house, in his bed, without the expectation of sex. I'd like for the night to end with us snuggling under the covers, his hand brushing the hair from my face, his voice whispering in my ear that I'm beautiful. "I'll see you some other time."

I flick the light-switch off and open the door to his room. Right before it closes, his muffled voice begs, "Babe, wait."

"Yeah?"

His hand reaches out from under the covers, finds mine, and squeezes. "I really do love you."

"I know, Josh." I pull away, shut the door, and make my way into the night. In the distance, a dog is barking. Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around myself and head off into the cold, wondering what love is and how it could possibly mean so many different things.