by Valerie Savran

Created on: April 11, 2010

He trudged down the dirt lane on his way home from school, bright orange flowers rustling in the April wind, the tips of the grass covered in a sweet blanket of fresh dew sparkling under the majestic ball of a sun. His day had been depressing, just like the others, to the point where all of his days tended to blend together into one grey melange of sadness and isolation. Ninth grade was not easy for anyone, but it was especially difficult for young John, whose eyes long ago lost the mischieviousness of youth, and whose burdens only multiplied after the painful death of his father 6 years ago. He barely spoke with his mother, who worked four tiring jobs just to keep food on the table, and who could barely ask John about the events of his day before collapsing into one giant heap of exhaustion on the beige living room couch each night. John tried to push all sorrowful thoughts from his mind, about today, yesterday, and just life in general, as he slowly opened the door to his small home, to the place where he had lived for the duration of his short life.

After tossing his ratty blue backpack onto the floor beside the square kitchen table, John spotted his old dog, Rocky, lying placidly in the corner of the room, wagging his tail steadily after making eye contact with John. Rocky was getting old, and John walked over to pet his tired dog with the matted fur and sloppy grin. "Good boy, Rocky," John smoothly cooed. "I love you, man." John bent down to give the old dog a kiss on the head, and was pleased to find his affection reciprocated with a warm, non-judgemental tongue on his cheek.  Tears welled up in John's eyes, and he quickly pulled away, seemingly afraid that the tired old dog would find his swelling emotional release too feminine. John chuckled to himself, thinking "Like Rocky will whisper to the boys at school that I am a sissy..." As John briefly reflected upon his life, the dog sat patiently beside him, and John almost felt that the dog was reflecting upon its own life. "Why can't people be more like dogs," John mused aloud, causing Rocky to perk up his ears in curious attention. "I mean, it is so hard to talk to people about anything deep, like loss of a loved one, like pain, like unrequited love...I mean, they either pretend to listen and secretly mock you, or they just don't understand, or they try to understand but can't, leaving you ashamed of yourself and alone..." John glanced down at Rocky, who returned the gaze with a soft twinkle in his eye. John knew in his heart that Rocky was not simply a dog, but a best friend. Rocky was always there to listen, to cry on, to play with, and to love. John was young, but he was mature beyond his years, and he knew that his old dog had many times given him the strength to carry on after his father's death. "And I know you will always be there for me, Rocky, and I will always be there for you." Rocky licked John's hand playfully, and then ran off to get a drink from his nearby red bowl.

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