Abe
18
The sun rose and everything fell. The heatwave that poured through the city left urbanites dragging themselves back into their apartments. Plants withered. Trees leaned over and touched the sidewalks. And Alex had been waiting outside the cafe for at least an hour.
It was one of those No-Animals-Were-Harmed, Would-You-Like-Some-Kale-Chips-With-That vegan places. Not Alex’s first choice, but Ginger wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere else.
He wasn’t surprised-- waiting on Ginger was typical-- but Alex’s patch of eczema threatened to malign into skin cancer in the summer sun. The chaffing from his collar wasn’t helping. He crossed his legs. He uncrossed them. Phone buzzed.
*B there in 5*
He swiped the message with his paw. Rolled his eyes. If this were a normal date he would get angry at her. Call her a bitch or something, to which she might retaliate by bringing up their difference in breeding. She was Uptown. He was not.
But this wasn’t a normal date, so when Ginger finally arrived at the cafe, Alex was particularly forgiving. He complimented her little boots (even though he hated when she wore clothes). He asked about her brothers (who were always mixed up in some fight). He even asked about Ginger’s mother (who, after meeting Alex, stuck her nose up higher than God and never looked down since). Suffice it to say that Ginger and Alex had plenty going against them. Today would make that balancing act even more complicated. If Alex wanted to keep Ginger, he could not screw the pooch.
“So,” Alex started, almost lapping up the water in front of him, ”what have you done today?”
Ginger’s lips tightened at the question.
“Excuse me?”
Alex panted for a moment, dissecting the previous for any cause of offense.
“I, uh, just wondered what you had done today.”
She stared at him for a moment. Held eye-contact as she leaned over, dipped her tongue in her drink. Every bad-relationship move he had ever made flashed through his mind. Alex had never cheated on Ginger, but he had an elaborate fantasy about being overpowered by a large female boxer. No way she could have known about this… unless--
“Have you been on my laptop?” He almost mumbled.
“What? No… why?”
“Nothing. What were we talking about?”
“You didn’t even notice my new haircut. I spend so much time grooming and you never say anything about it!”
Alex made a mental note to delete his browser history, and proceeded to give Ginger the whole, “I always think you’re beautiful. Your hair looks so good. Oh wow, so natural.” After a few minutes of this, she relaxed.
“Thank you. I know.”
Thankfully, at that moment, the waiter slithered out to their table.
“Ssso are you two ready to order sssomething? Sssome iccced coffee or sssome sssweet tea?”
Ginger proceeded to compliment the waiter on being, “So freakin adorable! Oh and you dress so snappy too-- I have this friend that you’d be perfect for!” to which he just stared back at her. After a moment of deeply awkward, stereotyped silence, she cleared her throat. Readjusted her collar.
“I’ll just have a Responsibly Farmed Iced Black Coffee and one of your Organic Never Physically-Touched salads.”
“Isn’t coffee incredibly unhealthy for us?” Alex asked.
“And chocolate, but that’s never stopped me before.”
Alex raised his eyebrows.
“I’ll just stay with the water, thanks.”
The waiter nodded and slithered back inside the cafe. Alex stared at the table, the truth turning over in his stomach.
“What’s wrong, Alex? You’re being weird.”
“I just-- it’s nothing.”
“No, you’re acting different. What’s going on?”
The question was less of a “What’s Going On” and more of a “Please Tell Me And Stop Making This Conversation About You.” Even so, Alex whimpered. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He knew the truth was going to come out at some point.
“What does it mean to be a wiener?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean,” his voice shook as the words slipped out, “What does it mean to be a wiener dog?”
She looked back at him. Ginger’s face was still.
“What are you talking about, Alex?”
“I just…”
And he told her. And as the truth slipped from his lips, Ginger’s face contorted between confusion, shame, and understanding. He told her everything. Every detail-- the snips, the cuts, the stitches. In his embarrassment, he left out nothing. When he was finished, the silence that hung over the table was whistle-pitch. The two canines sat across from each other, waiting for something to break the tension. Finally, the waiter slithered back out, carrying the iced coffee and salad on his back. Eyes down, he lisped at them.
“Isss there anything elssse I can get for you two?”
Any of Ginger’s previous (and poorly placed) enthusiasm was wiped clean away. She simply shook her head, collar jingling as she did so. The waiter slithered away immediately.
“So you’re a bitch now?” She stared into her super-gross-vegan salad.
“I don’t… I don’t think so. I mean, I still have--”
“But you lost your--”
“Yes. I lost them both. But that doesn’t mean I’m not--”
“We have to break up.”
“Please! I can fix this.”
“Apparently someone already did that for you.”
Alex’s mouth hung open.
“Just give me a chance. I promise I can make this work.”
The whining in his voice was devout and when Ginger finally looked up at him, Alex offered the largest, most sincere puppy-dog eyes that he could muster…
Two days later, Ginger and Alex sat in the Animal Clinic (yes, that sketchy one on the corner of 2nd and 8th). In sunglasses and a scarf, Ginger positioned herself behind an old copy of “Doggy Style.” Beside her, Alex shook in his chair (similarly to the tan, bug-eyed Chihuahua sitting across the waiting room-- potentially pregnant). His tail was frozen between his legs. He almost jumped out of his seat when his name was called.
“Alex?”
He looked at Ginger for a second, hoping for some support. When he found none-- she was too busy reading “The 10 Tips To Please Your Stud”-- Alex took a breath, pulled at his collar, and approached the window.
“You’re Alex?” The secretary purred. Instantly, there was something about her that Alex didn’t like. “Please sign these.”
He took the pen from her, fumbled with it a little, but eventually maneuvered it between his two paws. Scratched his name into the medical forms. Pushed the pen and paper back to her.
“And you are here for…?” She placed her claws awkwardly between the papers.
“Uh. Prosthetic, um, prosthetic implants.”
“Okay,” her whiskers twitched, “If you’ll just head through that door, Dr Equus will see you now.”
He nodded. After one last look at Ginger (who was now in the middle of “How To Keep A Leash On Your Guy”), he turned to face his future. Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.
