21 tennis ball salute

2 missed calls from my parents can't be good when they know I'm at work. Shit shit. I hope nothing has happened to grammy. I call them back and dad answers...bad sign.

Hi honey, so..uh..today Angel wasn't doing so well and we took her to the...uh..vet. We had to put her down.

What?!?

Ya, I'm so sorry honey. It was pretty bad. And we didn't want to call you while you were walking home or on bart.

So you thought work was better?? Dad, I work with a bunch of boys who tell fart and sex jokes! I can't cry here! Now I have to fucking fake it til 5..which is only in 45 minutes. Does Carly know?

No, she has work and has clients.

And I don't have clients?? I'm sorry dad. I know that must have been hard for you guys, but shit. I just can't really deal with this right now.

I'm sorry...hold on. Mom wants to talk to you.

Alright alright. Fuck.

[crying] He..ello...oh it was awful, Candi.

I know. I'm sorry mom. I just can't deal with this right now. I work with boys and can't cry in front of them. [enter co-worker] Hold on..oh, hi ____, what's up? Hey, the server is back up for ____. Can you call and let 'em know? Okay great, sure sure, I'll call 'em. [exit co-worker] Sorry mom, I'm working. I just can't cry here. They will just make jokes about it.

Well I'm sorry, Candi. It's been a fucked day for us! And don't tell your sister yet; she has clients. We thought hearing it at work would be better for you. We really thought about it. We thought maybe if we told you while you were walking home, you might be too upset to pay attention and get hit by a car or someone might grab you.

I know, I know. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I know it must have been hard for you. I gotta wrap up my day. I'm sorry. I'll call you later. Love you. [click]

I finished an email and walked over to the bathroom. I hung on the counter and cried over our family dog. I have to do this in silence because the bathroom walls are so thin. The guys hear everything. Hence why I also never take a shit there. Crying hysterically in silence is difficult and not entirely satisfying. Slap white make up on my face and I'd look like a distressed pantomime. I hate crying at work, but have learned to master the miming. I splashed some cold water on my eyes and practiced my fake smile. Get over it, Candi. Everything dies.

My defense is to think about life shot on a time-lapse camera, like on the discovery channel where the life of a flower passes in 10 seconds. Everyone experiences death, and everything will end one day anyway. That's why I look at every mug as already broken and every girlfriend as an impending ex. I said goodbye to Angel last week when I left for my plane back to SF. I whispered, I love you, old girl. Be good. I kissed her head and walked out the door with my backpack. So hit me with ebb and flow, macro science, and evolution so I don't have to remember her soft eyes and requited goodbye said through that familiar whimper.

In high school, I proudly displayed her various 1st place trophies. She and I were a team. Flyball, obedience, agility. She was so smart, my friends and I used to joke that she was busy writing novels in her doghouse. Don't disturb Angel, she's busy on her sequel. Damn over achiever...

I've lost a lot of pets growing up, but Angel is a big one. Most of our past legacies are buried in the backyard. To me this was normal, but people always seem shocked and a tad disturbed when I tell them. What do you think of our neighbors, the Smiths? I don't know...but I saw Pat with a shovel and I haven't seen their cat in a couple days. I always thought that if there was a crazy flood, skeletons of rabbits, headless parakeets, dogs, cats, and hamsters would rise to the surface of our yard. It would be like that thunderstorm scene in Poltergeist where those graves slosh about in the mud and the family panics. Thank god Southern California 'storms' are less than memorable. And that I was not named Carol Anne growing up on sacred indian burial grounds.

Angel was special so she won't be dumped with the proles out back. My parents will pick up her ashes in 7-10 days. I asked my mom what she was going to do with them. She said she already picked out a spot on the mantle next to a picture. I wonder if it's that old one my dad gave me for christmas where Angel is super imposed in the clouds with a halo. I always knew one day that cheesy picture would become awkwardly appropriate...

I know my heart will rattle in my vans the next time I step in my old house, and she is not there to greet me with those stinky kisses I love. I won't be able to detach enough to rely on time-lapsed flowers or pantomimed emotions. But I kinda wish I could.