which doesn't necessarily mean it's not true
pretty sure this group counseling was a bad idea. it definitely was. I just can’t get that supertramp song out of my head. humming, whistling, singing under my breath…
goodbye stranger it’s been nice
let’s go through each stage (says counselor who is trying impossibly hard to look smarter and older than she is. only young dumb people wear smart clothes and smart spectacles and put their hair in a smart goddamn bun)
how about you go first (says dumb counselor to me) – you are probably in shock
hope you find your paradise
I’m not in shock, as a doctor you should know that (says me, knowing perfectly well dumb counselor is not a doctor and wanting it to sting)
I’m not a doctor (says dumb counselor defensively, as if my comment stung)
tried to see your point of view
well if you were a doctor you would know that medically speaking, shock is when the organs and tissues of the body are not receiving an adequate flow of blood (says me, like a smartass)
jesus christ! must you always be so literal! (says sister, exasperated)
do not take the name of the Lord in vain! (says father, perpetually offended)
hope your dreams will all come true
ok, let’s just start over (says dumb counselor, striving for professionalism) I might not be a doctor, but I am qualified to speak about grief. I too had a brother who died! (said nearly triumphantly)
oh, yeah? (says brother) - was your brother a selfish prick, too?
goodbye Mary, goodbye Jane
maybe you meant denial (says me, quickly, starting to feel a bit sorry for dumb counselor), but I am neither shocked, surprised, nor in denial. he tried to die a hundred times, only this time it took.
yeah, no shit, we believe it, he’s dead (says brother) - like she said (pointing at me), he has been on the brink of dying since, like, forever. the only thing shocking is that it didn’t happen before now. can we move on to anger? isn’t that a stage? (says brother breathlessly, clearly having already moved on to anger)
will we ever meet again
jesus christ! quit singing! (says sister to me)
do not take the name of the lord in vain! (says father)
I just can’t get that tune out of my head (says me)
do you want to talk about the song (says dumb counselor)
feel no sorrow, feel no shame
yeah, let’s talk about the infinite wisdom found in a goddamn supertramp song (says brother)
I will not warn you again about the name of our lord! (says father)
let’s skip to the bargaining stage (says me) - dad will give anything for us to stop cursing and sis will do anything for me to stop singing and I will do anything to have this session be over
come tomorrow, feel no pain
can we come tomorrow, I don’t think we are ready to start processing this yet (says sister)
or never (says brother, already at the door)
sure, come tomorrow (says relieved counselor, who gets paid either way)
sweet devotion, it’s not for me
just give me motion and set me free
I don’t remember the exact day when Wolf showed up on the edge of your property, sniffing around and looking at us from a distance,
warily.
his eyes were wild but not scared, like a child recently escaped from digging blood diamonds who assumes everyone he encounters would like to kill him or at least take one of his arms -
cautious and free.
your old man said he was half husky, half grey wolf. a whole litter of them had been born on the wind river reservation, and were now roaming about wyoming or dead, probably.
we were warned to be careful and avoid him.
but, come on.
after coaxing him in with a piece of raw elk steak we stole from the freezer and thawed out in the microwave, he asked if he could stay by curling up with his head on my lap.
for a few minutes he was happy to rest and be cuddled, and I fell in love.
(which is probably why he stood up, shook himself off, and ran full speed back into the tree line without a backwards glance)
it’s illegal to own a wolf anyway, even if he’s just half
(you always knew all the rules for things I thought there should be no rules for, like loving an animal and wanting to protect it.)
he came back, of course. I started calling him Wolf instead of giving him a proper name, because I was afraid if I named him someone would realize I loved him and decide he was too dangerous.
he never growled, snarled, bit, or did anything but eat, snuggle, wrestle playfully, and then run off.
I don't know why you like that dog. he's rude. I hate that he never stays the night, and will barely come inside, don’t you?
(you liked to manage things, and Wolf was unmanageable)
nah…I like that he’s wild.
I was secretly in love with his refusal to be tamed.
he came to hang out with me even when I didn’t have anything for him to eat, but on those days his ears would stand up higher and flick back and forth and he sniffed at the air constantly.
that wolfdog better not get inside the wrong fence or mess with any livestock. nobody around here has any problem shooting a wolf.
your dad said it with kindness over dinner, knowing where my heart was and not wanting me to forget reality, as everyone knew I was prone to do.
Wolf changed, though, and we all got comfortable. he stuck around a lot more and started sleeping on the porch. in a few years, we had almost forgotten he was wild. he went for walks and would even sit on command.
we were helping your father load his truck the day Wolf remembered his purpose.
a whiny scuffle and whoosh made me turn to see grey flying across the field with impossible grace and whisper-quiet fluidity.
he effortlessly cleared a low barbed-wire fence and leapt on the back of a small mule deer munching leaves who had noticed the attack a few seconds too late.
I heard your dad laugh and felt his heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing it appreciatively.
attaboy!
he said in awe.
fuck, yeah.
I flushed with simultaneous pride and revulsion at Wolf’s skill and savagery.
attaboy, I whispered, too.
but then we heard the gunshot.