Friends

By Don Cummings

I haven’t seen Jim since college in—it must be—twenty years; Meryl, nineteen or twenty; Gabe, 

sixteen; Robyn—Jesus—the same.

Jim lives in Burlington, Vermont—the last time I checked. Meryl—Connecticut. Gabe moved, 

somebody said, to St. Louis from Ann Arbor…. And Robyn’s somewhere—Laguna Hills? Laguna 

Beach? in Southern California.

Burlington’s near the border. Connecticut’s near New York. St. Louis is in the middle. And 

California’s three thousand miles—a safe distance—from here….

Although Robyn and I had a fight—a big one—the last time.

But K. and I have to go somewhere.

I thought the blood was from a cut—something that happened before she dropped the Frisbee 

and chased that black Lab over the hill, into the woods…. I had no idea until Mrs. What’s-her-

name? that old lady two houses down, called and, between sobs, told me that K. had charged 

into her backyard and attacked, “mauled,” her little Shih Tzu. She also said that when she 

contacted the police, they had assured her that the animal control officer would be there 

shortly—to take my dog away.

I’ve already finished packing my things—and her leash, treats, water dish, toys….

We have enough gas, I guess.

“C’mon, K.—let’s go!”

Don Cummings is currently a schoolteacher in Massachusetts. He previously taught English in Japan for many years. He now lives with his wife and two dogs in a suburb of Boston.