“Dude.”
“Sorry. Didn’t know if you wanted me to try to make you laugh or if you’re in a wallowing kind of mood.”
“Definitely wallowing,” I say, shoving my heads in my pockets.
“You should call Mom. She’s good at cheering up people in these situations. She was the reason I didn’t try to run away to the woods for a month to record a mopey folk record after my first breakup.”
I can tell Felix is still trying to make me laugh, even if I can’t find it in me to. At least it does help quiet my thoughts for a moment.
“Well, look at this way, at least you’ve had the experience of getting fired and getting dumped on the same day,” Felix barks.
“Why the hell did you make it sound like a good thing?”
Felix seems to be thinking for a second. “It’s like what Emma was saying. How when you experience it at least you know what it feels like. Silver linings.”
I don’t respond to this. I can’t imagine going through the rest of my life (or even the next few days/weeks/whatever) feeling rattled in my gut at the sound of her name. Just like that I’m back in the thought circuit, feeling like an asshole, feeling lost, feeling aimless, feeling the irreversibility of time, how it stupidly just marches onward in one direction.
We reach the Provecho end of Main Street and turn back around. There’s a crowd outside the door, hoping for early lunch availability.
“How did everything go to shit so quickly?” Maybe the tourists can hear me talking to the dog, or maybe there is no dog at all. I don’t really care either way.
“What can I say? Life’s a bitch.”
“Felix, shut up with the puns already.”
We pass by the bookstore, but I don’t want to look at it because it reminds me of Emma. We pass that upper-middle-class-white-people store where I bought my knife; we pass the diner, the bakery, The Crown.
How the hell do people in small towns ever get away from the places that remind them of their sadness? In Mexico City, at least I could easily avoid the fourteen taco stands from the Night of the Perfect Taco. Here, every corner I turn there’s something new to remind me of either Emma or the kitchen. We keep walking in loops. A few times Felix goes into a trot or disappears to chase after nearby birds. But he keeps coming back, each time with that near-grin dogs often have and Felix always had.
“Listen,” he says one of those times, “I hate to sound like Dad, but I’ve got an unsolicited speech to deliver. Is that okay? While we’re still moping?”
I grunt. I don’t really want hear whatever Felix is about to say, but it’d be more difficult to get into an argument, so I just keep walking.
“This isn’t going to help right away. I know that. But sometimes the things we hear when we’re not exactly open to hearing them sink in more than the advice we seek ever does.” He stares up meaningfully at me, which is a strange look for a chocolate Labrador. “Carlos, you are not dead yet. I know how your brain works. I know how you’ve been fighting to keep thoughts of death away. This time, it might help to keep it in mind.”
Strangely, that queasy existential feeling doesn’t sink in now. It’s still just gut-wrenching guilt and regret. The road turns darker as a cloud moves in front of the sun.
“This is part of life, brother. Not the best part, granted. But it’s part of it. The great thing is that it keeps going. Usually.” He offers another stupid Labrador grin, but I don’t bite. “Look, this is not the last good thing you will find and enjoy. I know you think I speak in clichés, so here’s a good one for you: there are other fish in the sea. There are more girls, more kitchens, more magical places in the world. There is more in store for you, as long as you’re alive.”
I’m exhausted, not from the walking but from thinking the same thoughts over and over again. I’m tired of the same fear and worry and regret and longing that are gripping my organs and shaking them.
“Remember what I said before you left Mexico? The world is a much bigger place than you realize. You’ve uncovered another beautiful corner of it. But there’s still more. You could go find it.”
“Fuck, man, is that your answer to everything?” I’m suddenly shouting. “Just run away?”
“I didn’t say ‘run away.’ I said move on to the next thing.”
“You know what, Felix, I think I get it now, why Dad was so pissed at you.” I stop walking. We’re at the edge of town, where few cars ever pass by. If it looks weird that I’m yelling at a dog, so be it. “You feel a little discomfort, and so you run. That’s your resolution, isn’t it? That’s why you kept moving from place to place? Just leave everything behind, wash your hands of it, move on to the next thing. There’s more joy out there, so if sadness comes along, why stick around? Didn’t you ever fight for anything?”
Felix sits down on the side of the road, panting. He doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.
“That was your entire life philosophy. Take things easy. Escape. Seek out the next adventure. Did you not care about anyone that you met on your travels? Was it really that easy to just leave Mom and Dad and me behind?” Tears build up in my throat, and I pause to catch my breath, wipe away spittle on my lips. “To leave home? How many other people did you leave in the same way, without another thought? If this is what you’re here to teach me, I get it now, thanks. You can move on.”
A cyclist is approaching, so I pause, waiting for her to speed down the hill out of earshot. When she turns the corner, I feel like I’ve run out of steam. I’m too tired to yell anymore. “It’s not that easy for me, Felix. I can’t just...forget. I can’t fathom the idea of leaving this place behind, and even less the idea that I could leave her behind.”
Felix keeps panting, looking up at me serenely. “It felt like I was so close,” I say. We look at each other, and for a second I’m sure it’s really been him this whole time. Not me, not my head. “Why am I still seeing you, man? Why do I have to go through this?”
No longer a dog, just himself now, Felix looks at me, leans back against the air like it’s a wall. He thinks for a long while, but it’s just us in the dark woods, nothing to track the passing of time. Finally, he holds his hands out in front of him, palms parallel with the floor, one hand above the other. “This is happiness,” he says, signaling the lower, left hand. “It’s good. But vulnerable, breakable.” Then he moves his right hand a little higher. “This is happy enough to survive all the things life will send your way.”
Then my phone rings out. I scramble for it, hoping it’s Emma. I answer before really looking at the screen. “Hello,” I say, eyes back up. It’s just me on the road.
“Carlos.” It’s Mom. She doesn’t sound okay.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“It’s your dad,” she says. Then she starts sobbing.