Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Unearthing whispers of the past

“Archie, get back here!

“C’mon boy! Don’t. Make. Me. Chase. You.”

Please, I don’t have time this morning to play these games.

The heaviness in my sigh rivaled the weighted mist that clung over the top of the great lake. It was still early. The sun’s heat wouldn’t evaporate this fogginess for a few more hours. My morning routine began in darkness. Deep sleep was elusive as of late.

“Archie!”

I heard him barking, incessantly barking until he bounded through the curtain of cloudiness and dropped his treasure at my feet.

His eyes glowed with pride and this glorious 70-pound golden retriever was properly soaked through. Head cocked to the side, he waited for my approval. Another muddy branch for the collection, I supposed. I bent down to grab it so I could throw it towards the house.

He growled.

The scruff of his neck raised and was on high alert.

I recoiled. The unexpected slimy texture and smooth shape startled me.

The undeniable humanness of this find revealed itself not to be a branch.

Oh, Archie, what have you done?

The workday dragged on interminably long, even for a Friday. There was so much to do back home. My planning mode was in overdrive and all over the board.

Distracted by the morning event, my head swirled throughout the day. I was greeted quite a few times with raised voices to pull me back to the present. Promptly at 5 p.m. I scooped up my jacket and purse and never looked back.

A nagging feeling of doom awaited me.

I had chosen this very home, carefully, on this particular lake, for its private setting. Nature and solitude were my desire. Even as a child, I had easily blended in the background. I learned early on to be like wallpaper. Most people never remembered that my parents had four children. My three siblings overachieved in both academics and sports. They made names for themselves.

In a weird twist of irony, being treated as an afterthought worked in my favor later in life.

I was the last born and considered the runt.

They underestimated me.

I was unplanned and paid the price for my existence. At 18, I broke free from my imagined confines and applauded how I saved myself. Years later, I realized they had never thought twice about my welfare. A significant chunk of time elapsed before they noticed I had left.

My thoughts don’t do well in the dark recesses of my psyche. I avoided traveling down that rabbit hole and barricaded the door to painful memories.

What some call delusional, I call survival.

Archie’s curiosity teased open the door to my darkness.

I held on to my sanity and the bone and slammed that door shut again.

Washing the bone well, I caressed it under the piping hot sink water before boiling it in bleach.

It took forever on the counter to thoroughly dry.

Now, what?

I sunk down on the couch, tucked in my favorite, worn corner where the springs gave way a couple of years back. Archie curled at my feet and snored with contentment. I held the bone up to let the moonlight catch it. It was beautiful in an archaic yet spiritual sense. It turned and rolled between my fingers. Back and forth and back and forth, I came to love this bone and all it represented.

I decided to keep it.

I nestled it under my pillow.

That night, I positioned my head to rest on it. I slid my hand under to make full contact. I stroked it lovingly.

It was my bone. Mine.

“Becca!”

I jerked awake, and my eyes flew open in fear.

Laying very still, I waited to hear the call again. It didn’t come. I jump-started my breathing and talked myself down from the fear. Of course, it wasn’t my mom screaming my name, she didn’t know where I lived, and she’s been gone for a couple of years now. So, there’s that.

Get it together. You’re not making sense.

My name echoed through the stillness of the night. It boomed for that instant as if she was in the next room. My heart raced. I knew what I heard.

I eased my hand under my head to find comfort in my treasure. My fingers met with emptiness. Where the hell is it? My bone?

Mine!

Did I put it somewhere else?

My mind raced. I replayed every step of my day and came up with nothing.

I jumped from my covers and paced. I squinted in the early morning darkness and tried to focus. It had to be close. Maybe Archie took it. Fumbling through the soft blanket and comforter tucked all around him, as he still snored softly at the foot of my bed, yielded nothing.

I threw on every light I could reach as I passed by switches and lamps.

There it was, propped up by the front door.

It appeared to be attempting to leave.

Archie was the culprit. He had to be.

It went back under my pillow.

“Becccccaaaaa.” The hissing in my ear was warm. Warm. I spun my head to see nothing. What the hell?

Leave me alone!

Please stop calling me.

What do you want?

Please. Stop. Calling. Me.

Night after night, her voice would startle me. The bone would be found at the door. I tried to witness this but could never catch Archie in the act. My sleep was broken, and my spirit was unsettled.

The rabbit hole beckoned to me, and I refused to abide by its call.

Whispers in the night.

Becca. Becca. Becca.

I desperately needed sleep and can’t remember the last thing, or time, that I ate anything. Had I looked in the mirror, I would have been met with a pale and gaunt version of an aged woman. Sunken eyes and blackened circles added to the ghastly form I became.

I grabbed Archie’s leash and wiped the sweat out of my eyes with a shaky hand. I disregarded the tremble. Dragging the kayak to the edge of the lake, I let Archie climb aboard. We would end this together.

After all, he started it.

I paddled out to the center.

I could just make out the roofline across the lake where my childhood home had been. Only one delicious memory drew me here, to live on the other side.

I tossed the bone with herculean strength. It arced up high and sailed to its final drop. It splashed with meaning and signified closure to me. Done. I brushed my hands off, rubbing them back and forth, and took my first true deep breath in a while.

The bone was back where it belonged.

I let the kayak drift and circle with my thoughts. As the sun brought oppressive heat, Archie whined his complaints.

It was time to move on.

Bye, Mom.

Join the rest of the family again.

C’mon Archie, let’s go.

You wanna eat, boy? I am starved.

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