Elizabeth Massie - Naked, on the Edge

I haven’t held a job for two years, since I was twenty three. Am I insane? I don’t understand insanity, or if I am insane. But I know now that I have a purpose. If sanity is purpose, then I’m sane. My purpose is dreadful, but it is as sure as the beauty of the Man I Love.

The Man I Love is sane and good. He walks with his chin up and he stretches out to the sun and sea before settling down on the rolls of beach sand. He smiles even when no one is looking at him.

I watched him from my shadows under the boardwalk, but Sunshine trotted across the hot sand and sniffed at the Man’s crotch. The Man laughed and pushed Sunshine back a little, then petted him on the head.

“What a good dog,” he said.

Sunshine wagged his tail and didn’t growl.

“If you were a little healthier,” said the Man. “I’d take you home with me. Go on, now, boy.” He petted the dog again, and Sunshine just stood and wagged his tail until the Man shed his shirt and went for a swim in the waves.

Sunshine came back to me. I sat in the shadows, my bloated foot resting on a mound of sand I’d made, and rubbed the dog’s head. The dog’s nose was wet and probing, first on my hand and then back to my foot. What a wonder to pet something the Man had pet.

As I ran my rough fingers through the dog’s fur, I began to understand my purpose. I began to realize why I existed.

My heart hammered, and the painful rhythm echoed in my foot.

I slept restlessly and feverishly that night. A barb was in my chest, cutting with each breath and making it feel as though blood were seeping out to my stomach. I was nauseous, but swallowed it down as I stroked Sunshine.

The next day was Sunday. A lot of people come out on Sunday, even more than Saturday. The sun, in its purpose, was bright and hot. The moon held its position at a distance. It was white and faint.

I moved along the boardwalk. My good foot was bare. My bad foot was wrapped in a rag that had once been a beach towel left behind on the sand by a careless family. Pain sang with each step, hitting high notes when the weight was on the ball of my bad foot. I sweated hard, as the heat of the infection climbed around inside me. Sunshine trotted along, hoping, I suppose, to be given more french fries or to have the chance at my foot again.

The Dairy Queen was busy. Gaily striped inflated floats were propped up against bike stands. Customers ate inside in the air conditioning and outside at the umbrella-shaded tables. I stood beyond the low chain fence, watching the people eat. Dusty sparrows fared better than I; they flew freely among the tables to gather the scraps. Vacationers watched them with smiles. But I was gawked at by those who noticed me. Their stares held me back behind the chain fence.

To the rear of the restaurant was the Dumpster. I limped around and waited until a pock-faced boy had emptied a container, then I dug inside. Sunshine sat at my feet and waited, chin up. I found some ketchup-covered buns for him. For me, there were chunks of cheeseburger and a third of an apple pie.

I went to a small tree and slid down to eat. I studied the beef beneath the bright orange varnish of cheese. A cow had its purpose. If the cow knew it, would she be distressed? Or in knowing, did a cow embrace life for what it was? The meat was cold.

As I licked grease from my fingers and Sunshine nosed into the towel to get at the fluid from my foot, I saw a flash of open white shirt. My head turned, and there, not ten feet from me, was the Man I Love. He was fumbling in his shorts pocket for his wallet. Seeing his nipples, my own grew hard. I wished I could have licked them like Sunshine licked my foot. I wanted to give them a love bite, and not have the Man push me away because of my smell.

Sunshine ran to the Man. The Man didn’t see the dog coming, and when Sunshine jumped up and wagged his tail, the Man stumbled back. Sunshine dropped down and the tail-wagging increased.

“Hey, boy, you’re back?” he said.

Sunshine’s whole body wagged. I thought, if I was the dog, could I make the man like me enough to take me home? I sucked my fingers and scratched at a sweat-inspired tickle on my stomach.

“You ugly old thing,” he said. He rubbed Sunshine vigorously beneath the gangly, whiskered chin. “What do you want from me? You’re a mess, now get away.”

Sunshine’s claws clattered on the concrete of the sidewalk, a happy dog’s dance.

“I can’t take home an old, skinny dog. Sorry, pup. Vet bills aren’t something I want to get into.”

The Man I Love squatted down and played with Sunshine’s ears. My own ears tingled, imagining the sensation. “Now get. You made my hands stink.” He laughed, sniffing his hands. Sunshine’s body wiggled with joy.

The Man left, wiping his hands on his shorts, certain to wash them once he was inside the Dairy Queen. But certain not to think the dog was bad because he had a smell.

Sunshine came back to me, sat on his haunches, and dipped his tongue to my foot. I pushed him aside and went back to the Dumpster. Beneath mangled Styrofoam, I found a half a fish sandwich. I took it to the tree, slid down, and worked my fingernail into the gash in my foot. It hurt, but the sharp, rough edge of the nail tore the gash into a substantial hole. Sunshine watched. I stuck a small piece of the meat into the hole.

“Sunshine,” I said. I pushed his nose to the hole. He sniffed, licked, and then gave my foot a bite. It was gentle at first. I gathered handsful of grass to each side of me. “Sunshine,” I said.

Sunshine licked, then bit again, this time harder. A pain that was not the pain of infection drove up through my ankle into the calf of my leg. I sucked air through my teeth. The grass in my fingers ripped from the ground. “Sunshine,” I whispered.

The dog began to chew, working for the fish in my foot. Blood and clear liquid oozed out between Sunshine’s working jaws. Bright stars prickled the edges of my vision.

Not here, I thought.

My foot jerked away from Sunshine. He whined softly, and then reached for the running wound again.

“Not here,” I said. I put the rest of the fish sandwich down the front of my tee-shirt and tucked the shirt into the waist of my shorts. Then I pushed up from the ground, holding low, thin branches of the tree for balance. My weight was on my good foot, and I was afraid to shift.

A young couple, arm-in-arm, walked by me. The girl wrinkled her nose and nudged her boyfriend. He frowned in my direction and said, “This place wants tourists, they should keep the trash out of public view.”

I wobbled; my bad foot caught the brunt of my weight.

A groan scrabbled up my throat and whistled through my lips.

It took me a very long time to walk back to the boardwalk.

The railings of the steps to the beach were hot and welcomed. They eased the burden on the bad foot and allowed me to slide down to the sand. Sunshine kept by my side. His tail didn’t wag. He was all business. That was as it should be. I crawled beneath the lip of the boardwalk, then under the steps where the sand was wet and dark and white ghost crabs scuttled about as if it were night.

I eased down onto my butt. My lips were dry and my throat full of the sand of my soul. I wedged my good foot against the back of the bottom step to hold me in place when the real pain came. I pet Sunshine on his gaunt, fur-covered dog skull, and then pulled the fish sandwich from my shirt.

Dogs, I’d heard once, had germ-killing saliva. That was why they could lick their own wounds and not get ill. That, I supposed, was why the dogs who licked Lazarus’ sores didn’t die. That was why I knew I could feed Sunshine and make him healthy, and then the Man I Love would take the dog home with him.

Through the slats of the steps, the vacationers cannot see me, but I can see them. I can see the hairy legs of the men and the shapely legs of the women as they descend to their temporary paradise by the ocean.