MADELEINE
I try not to panic, but I can feel the worry rising up in my throat like bile.
He cannot run away.
He’s my Mouse.
He’s the one constant in my life.
He depends on me, and I depend on him.
I go back to my apartment to confirm that I’m not crazy, that he isn’t just asleep on the couch. I harbor a false sense of hope that he’s been there the whole time, that he would never leave me. Too bad it’s not the case. I run back outside.
“MOUSE!” I shout once more before running back to my car and broadening my search. I turn right out onto the street. I want to be a math wizard, want to calculate how far he could have gone if he left my apartment five minutes ago, ten minutes, fifteen.
I stick to the right lane and creep along, shouting his name into the fading light of the day.
Cars honk and swerve by me, annoyed at my snail’s pace.
I hardly notice them over my shouting and shouting and shouting.
I check the YMCA parking lot. It’s far, but he has a motive for being there.
Class is over and the parking lot is empty. I loop around and check for Mouse’s black and brown fur, trying to spot the little white patch near his eye. Another bolt of lightning lights up the sky followed by an ominous BOOM. The thunder is loud, too loud. Mouse has to be scared out here all by himself.
I give in to a wrecked sob, but just one—it won’t help if I lose it.
I have to keep it together. I have to find my dog.
I loop around the surrounding neighborhoods then check outside Daisy and Lucas’ house. I glance across the street, at Lucas’ old rental house, but the lights are off and there’s no dog sitting on the front porch. I put my car in drive and continue. There’s no rhyme or reason to my search other than to check the spots I’ve frequented with Mouse in the past. There’s Hamilton Brew; they have a dog-friendly patio out front, but he isn’t there. I stare at their dog bowl getting pelted by rain and I remember not long ago when Mouse and I walked to the coffee shop early one Saturday morning. He waited while I went in to order a coffee, then we sat there together for hours. I read and he people-watched at my feet, accepting any free head pats or ear scratches that came his way. But now, the water bowl is overflowing from the rain and I need to keep going.
Next, I drive out to the dog park I’ve taken him to a few times. The rain is coming down in sheets, so hard that I have to squint to detect any movement outside. He’s not in the fenced-in area. He’s not roaming around outside. I pinch my eyes closed and try to think. He’s out here in the storm, scared and alone. He could be anywhere. Terrible images of him cowering beneath a bridge or hiding in a ditch bring out another sob. Don’t think like that, I remind myself. He’s Mouse, he’s probably having the time of his life getting wet and muddy. I just need to find him before the fun is over.
I take a deep breath, and because it feels so good, I force another.
I will find him, and I’ll bring him home.
I put the car in reverse with plans to head back and check to see if he’s returned to my apartment, but the car doesn’t move. My tires spin in the mud, digging themselves deeper and deeper.
SHIT.
I bang my hands on my steering wheel.
SHIT SHIT SHIT.
My whole body is shaking. Panic is starting to creep up within me, overtaking logic and reason. I quell the sensation and assess the situation: I’m at the town’s dog park, which is a couple miles away from my apartment. There is a raging monsoon taking place outside and now, my car is stuck in the mud.
I glance down and my heart lurches in my chest.
When I ran out of my apartment earlier, I was panicked. I assumed I would find Mouse within a few minutes. I didn’t think to slip on shoes. No purse. No phone. I’m wearing sleep shorts and a tank top.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say to myself, trying to calm down.
My shaking hands clench the steering wheel and I let myself have three seconds to despair in my complete ineptitude. I have no phone. I have no phone, which means I can’t call someone for help. I have no phone, which means I’m stuck out here until I can get my car out of the mud. My lungs won’t inflate. I can’t breathe. I think I’m having a panic attack, but there’s no one around to confirm or deny that for me. I’m by myself, lost without Mouse.