“Do you ever see him?”

Sara nods. “Yeah. He’s a good dad. A lot like yours.”

I somehow keep a straight face after that comment.

She’s got two good parents and a stepfather that seems to know her better than he knows his own daughter. I hope she doesn’t take that for granted.

Sara hasn’t been through a lot of hardship. I can tell by looking at her. She’s still full of hope. “What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” I ask her.

“My parents’ divorce was really hard for me,” she says.

“What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”

She grins. “Marcos.”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Since spring break.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, just a few months. But I would bet my life we’re gonna get married someday.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t marry him?” she asks, rolling onto her stomach.

“Don’t bet your life on it. You’ve only known him a few months.”

She grins. “Oh, I don’t mean anytime soon. We’ll wait until after college.” She’s still smiling dreamily when she says, “I’m transferring schools so I can be closer to him.”

“Is he in college, too?”

“Yeah, he’s a fashion major at U of H. Minoring in business.”

“He’s a fashion major?”

She nods. “He wants to start a clothing line called HisPanic.”

“That explains the shirts.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty clever. He was born in Chiapas, so he plans to donate some of the income to help fight poverty there, if his clothing line ever takes off. He already has five thousand followers on Instagram.”

“Is that good? I don’t know a lot about social media.”

“It’s better than not having five thousand followers.” She sits up on the bed and crosses her legs. She moves so much. I wish I had half her energy. “Can I ask you a question?”

I nod. “I’ve asked you about ten, so it’s only fair.”

“What makes you happy?” Her expression is full of genuine curiosity.

I have to look away before she sees that expression on my own face, because honestly…I don’t know what makes me happy. I’m kind of curious about it too. I’ve spent my whole life just trying to survive; I’ve never really thought about the things that lie beyond that.

Getting a meal used to make me happy. Nights when my mother didn’t bring home strange men used to make me happy. Paydays at McDonald’s used to make me happy.

I’m not sure why her question triggers so much in me, but I realize for the first time since I got here that the same things that used to make me happy aren’t even issues in my life anymore.

What does make me happy?

“I don’t know.” I look out the window at the water and feel a sense of calmness come over me. “The ocean, I guess.”

“Then you should enjoy the ocean while you have it. Don’t get a summer job. You have the rest of your life to work. Make this summer all about you. It sounds to me like you deserve to be a little selfish for once.”

I nod in agreement. “I do deserve it.”

She smiles. “I’m glad you realize that.” She pushes herself off the bed. “I promised Marcos I’d go with him to get his hair cut and grab a late lunch. You can come with us if you want.”

“No, I need to shower. I might go for a walk on the beach later.”

Sara backs out of my room. “Okay. We’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t eat dinner, we’re cooking out on the beach tonight.”

 

Sara mentioned how there’s a large part of Bolivar Peninsula referred to as Zoo Beach. Vehicles are allowed on the sand, as well as golf carts, so it’s constant traffic and a constant party.

The area where Sara lives still sees some of that traffic, but it isn’t nearly as busy as certain parts of the peninsula. But just a couple miles down from Sara’s house begins a whole different world. Not necessarily a better one. I guess that would depend on the mood you’re in, but my mood right now certainly isn’t loud music and toxic masculinity.

I turn around to walk back before I get too far into the crowded area. There are a couple of guys sitting on the back of their truck, coaxing a dog over with a hamburger.

The dog’s ribcage is visible through his fur. I watch as the dog slowly makes its way toward the two guys in the back of the truck, as if he knows there’s a price he’ll have to pay for the food he’s about to get.

I immediately empathize with the dog.

“That’s it,” one of the guys says, holding his hamburger out. “Just a little closer.”

When the dog is within reach of him, the guy pulls his food away and the other guy quickly steps over the dog and captures it between his knees. They’re laughing as he pulls a headband over the dog’s eyes and lets him loose. The dog begins to stumble around, unable to see.

I rush over to the dog as he tries to claw the headband off with his foot. I remove it from around his head and he looks up at me, scared, then scurries off.

“Come on!” one of the guys says. “We’re just having fun with him.”

I throw the headband at them. “Stupid fucks.” The dog is running away now. I walk over and grab the hamburger out of the guy’s hand and follow after the dog.

“Bitch,” I hear one of them mutter.

I walk back in the direction I came from, away from the crowd and toward the dog. The poor thing hides behind a blue trash can and hunkers down. I walk slowly toward him until I’m a few feet away and then I gently toss the burger in his direction.

The dog sniffs it for a second, and then begins eating it. I continue walking, angry now. I don’t understand humans sometimes. I hate it, because I find myself wishing that the entirety of humanity would suffer just a tiny amount more than they do. Maybe if everyone tasted a bit of what that dog has lived through, they would be more hesitant to be assholes.

I’m halfway home before I realize the dog has been following me. He must think I have more burgers.

I stop and the dog stops.

We stare each other down, sizing one another up.

“I don’t have any more food.”

I start walking again, and the dog continues to follow me. Every now and then he’ll get sidetracked by something, but then he’ll look up and find me and run to catch up with me. He’s still on my heels when I finally reach the house.

I’m positive I’m not allowed to take a dog this filthy inside with me, but I can at least get him some food. When I reach the bottom steps, I turn and point at him. “Stay.”

The dog sits right where I point. It surprises me. At least he listens well.

I grab some slices of turkey out of the refrigerator and make a bowl of water and take it down to the dog. I sit on the bottom step and rub his head while he eats. I don’t know if feeding him here at the house is a bad move. He’ll probably hang around now that I’ve fed him, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I could use the company of something that doesn’t judge me.