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When I was 20, I was staying in a small condo with the girl I was dating at the time. One day in the small parking lot outside of the front gate, I found a dog named Tiny wandering around. Tiny was HUGE, black and white, fluffy with huge eyes and soft ears.
I have always had a bit of a thing about dogs since I had always wanted one and when I finally did get one when I was about 8 (a golden retriever puppy, I named Ruff Ruff) she was promptly given away by my grandmother while I was at school one day. I was scarred and desperately wanted a new dog every day after that.
I got the phone number from his tag and called Tiny's owners. The man I talked to was at work and hadn't even realized that Tiny was gone. I kept Tiny for the day, feeding him raw hot dogs and taking him for walks with a piece of rope tied around his collar.
When I returned Tiny, the owners thanked me and explained the gate was broken. The kids were happy to have Tiny back. I was the hero.
The second time Tiny showed up at my place, the same scene went down. This time I urged Tiny's family to fix the gate. It became routine. Every few days Tiny would come spend the day with me and I'd take him home in the evening, urging them to fix the gate.
After several times, I was going out to check the mail and it was no surprise for me to see Tiny on his way to my front gate, only this time Tiny was limping. He had been hit by a car and he fell down at my feet and died in my arms.
I'm 29 now and it seems I'm still taking in strays. I woke up from a nap on a Tuesday evening with a message on my phone from Tyrone (names changed to protect the innocent) inviting me out for some drinks. Since he was buying I rushed to the bar. Tyrone, Gorton and Garth were waiting on the patio along with a girl I didn't know.
It turned out that Tyrone had met her before anyone else arrived when she offered to share her ashtray. She lived in Glendale and had taken a $50 cab ride to get there. It soon became evident that she was a drinker to compete with and more than just a little crazy. She got drunker and drunker as we skipped from bar to bar passing out in each can ride but always pulling it together to an incredibly sober like state walking into each bar until we got to the Bikini Lounge.
For those of you not from Phoenix, the Bikini is a bar with a tiki theme and a history and reputation in Phoenix as the dive of all dives. We walked in and she promptly passed out in my lap after telling Brook what beautiful hair she has and running her hands through it. My wounded bird syndrome kicked in and I was now her protector but even a protector needs a piss and a smoke now and again so after awhile I asked Dylan (who had met up with us at some point in the night) to keep an eye on her.
After explaining to two guys in the bathroom that, "No, that girl isn't giving me oral sex under the table." "No, I didn't know her before tonight." and "No, you can't take her home." and having a cigarette, I came back to the booth and found only a guy I didn't know sitting there. I rushed outside and found her, wide awake and soaking wet. The bartender had seen her asleep in the booth and splashed her with cold water.
We were drunk enough to be convinced that she had sobered up enough for another beer and stopped at Sidebar and by the time we were done, she was passed out on the side walk out front. I fire man carried her to the cab and threw her in. We dropped off Tyrone at his place and I took her back to my apartment. The cab driver helped me hold her up so I could get her over my shoulder and slip her shoe which had fallen off into my back pocket. I helped her change into a pair of pyjama pants and put her to bed.
In the morning I cooked pancakes but Goldilocks wanted vodka. After a bit of conversation I realized that she was a very cool girl with great taste in music, a massage therapist and coming down off of heroin. She was drinking to ease the withdrawals and keep her mind off of the drug.
Maybe I'm an enabler or maybe I'm just a sucker but I poured her a vodka and another and another and she took me out for beers and spent a second night. The next morning I started to wonder if I had a new roommate as she didn't seem to have any intentions of going home but she finally called her sister in Scottsdale as she was supposed to stay the night with her so she could get her to court in the morning. Court for her DUI related accident.
That's why she'd taken a cab. She had told us the previous night. I tried to avoid the topic mostly because 8 years ago my sister and her husband were killed by a drunk driver. She was pregnant and my nephew was in the car but survived with only a broken leg so the topic was a bit awkward to say the least. I put Goldilocks on the bus and life resumed as normal.
She called me on Saturday. She had made her court date but not without incident. She told me that when she got off of the lightrail at one of her transfers she spotted Tempe Tavern across the street and decided to stop in for a drink. 6 hours later she was still there, her sister picked her up and dropped her off in detox then picked her up in the morning for court. She was now sober and we agreed to see a movie on Monday since she would be downtown to get her phone out of her car at the impound lot.
Monday rolls around and I hear from her. She's gotten her phone back and decided to celebrate at the bar, forgetting about our movie. I tell her I can't make it out as I am sick as a dog (true story) but within half an hour worry myself into an unbearable level of guilt and get on the lightrail to meet her at Tempe Tavern.
When i got there she was six beers in and had probably 5 more as I fended off the daytime regulars who were trying to take advantage of her inebriation, putting my arm around her and putting on my best tough guy face (thankfully I hadn't shaved in a week). I texted Garth and he comes down to have a beer then helped me get her the hell out of there. She agreed to go back to my place.
After about a half an hour she claimed her sister was coming to pick her up though based on the way she hid her phone while texting I can only assume the person who actually picked her up was someone who would buy her more drinks.
Three days later I get a call from her again. "Can I stop by?"
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, sort of..?"
"Where are you?"
"Tempe Tavern. I just...Can I stop by?"
"I guess."
"I'll be there in an hour."
Two hours later and she isn't responding to texts and my phone calls are going straight to voicemail so despite still being sick I jump on my bike and go looking for her. Up to this point, I had been using the Tiny story to explain why I kept trying to help Goldilocks but as I was riding to look for her I had a pang of a familiar fear that I had forgotten about since childhood.
Growing up, my mom was a junkie. Meth. I never saw her use drugs and I never saw her high but that meant I also sometimes didn't see her for days at a time. I was a fearful and sensitive kid and often worried about what might be happening to people when I couldn't see them and was always afraid that my mom was dead until she would turn up again as though nothing had happened. My mom is cleaned up now and a great mom and I have come to terms with all of the past stuff and it usually isn't a big deal but I had somehow pushed this fear out of my memory. Suddenly it came to me sharply and I felt a bit ridiculous for using the dog story.
With some quick mental math, I found Goldilocks at one of the two bars that are within walking distance of the lightrail stop drinking beer with a friend who she said she had known for years and had met her at the lightrail stop. "Order a beer." she said.
"No thanks. I need to get home. I just wanted to make sure you were alive." and I rode away.
