earthmann

Once again the car was loaded with the possessions that hadn’t gone in the garage sale. Two book boxes, a clothes-stuffed external frame backpack, my Canon, a portfolio, and Gigi- the dancing schnauzer.
The lights of Austin shriveled into the dense morning fog as I headed down the high way towards the grand city of Houston.
I was heading to my grandmother’s to deposit most my things into her attic. I decided against leaving Gigi in the attic. I’d leave her with my friend June. Abandon might be a better word. I wasn’t planning on returning for her. It didn’t seem fair to the girl or the dog after as much time as I knew would pass.
I was going back on the road. Heading to Chicago for a bit of bar work and photography. Then to New York to pay my respects to the Brave New World? Dublin to see the Wawi gang? Then sell kilims in Istanbul? Then Jerusalem for some Islamic studies? What do I know? I would love to have taken Gigi with me but I didn’t need the extra 17 pounds of weight in my backpack and she wouldn’t fit into my camera bag.
My journey was supposed to start this morning. I had said my goodbyes, had my going away parties. Yesterday, I had called June to arrange a drop off time for Gigi. She wasn’t home, so I left a message and lay down to take a nap, sharing the pillow with my Gigi.
I awoke when June called back some moments later. Her name flashed on the caller i.d. if my telephone. I watched it ring, until it finally stopped. In those moments, while it rained against the empty apartment's window, I decided to take Gigi with me to Houston. I’d be there for a week anyway. There was not any reason I just could not take her with me, and then bring her to June just before I flew out. My parents were never particularly thrilled with having the dog around. They had no reason to be. They already had seven grandchildren that don't bark at strangers. But, hey, I could impose; it’s only a few days, right? I lay back down with Gigi. Mine for another week.
Now it was just me and the road, the dog and the dawn. The big horizon pressed my foot into the gas and I was in perfect peace. I had concerns in Austin and cares in Houston, but I was no where in between, and that is a very peaceful place in deed. It was not until the bright lights of a small town traffic cop filled my rearview mirror that I returned to this three-dimensioned time-space configuration.
To some people getting pulled over by the police is simply a matter of inconvenience, simply a waste of 75 dollars, fifteen minutes, and higher insurance rates. But more some people, a face to face encounter with the law can be a bit more serious. They might have a few warrants in Comal County, and few in Travis County. They might not have been wearing their seat belt in protest of government’s interference in the private lives of men. They might have a registration sticker from a particular 1970 fast back that was totaled a couple a years back performing a messy U-turn. They might have opted to pay their light bill instead of their insurance. That’s not to mention the 800 dollars in unpaid parking tickets, which would surely get your car a boot if it were impounded with your arrest. Gigi would fall into the hands of the state until I raised my bail which could be God know when. I wouldn’t even be able to sit quietly in jail until time served paid off my social debts because Mammaw was expecting and would worry sick until she found me. Maybe all this helps explain why I don’t like cops very much.
As I pulled onto the shoulder, I tore off the registration sticker and pretended to unbuckle the safety belt I wasn’t actually wearing. While I dug through my trunk pretending to look for my insurance and registration the officer played with Gigi who was leaning out the passenger side window, wagging her tail, waiting anxiously to see what would happen next.
When the officer finally went to his car to run my numbers and I continued to rifle through the bags that stuffed my trunk I began to pray. God, please help me. I am almost out. Please let this pass. God please. I don’t want to go to jail again. Not now. This is the worst possible time. If you want to deal with me then deal with me I am waiting but please do not let me go to jail. I just want to leave town…”
The officer gave me a couple of warnings, rubbed Gigi’s head and sent me on my way.
I drove away raising my voice over the radio, to God in the heavens for his boundless mercy and infinite grace. As hockey as that might sound, I firmly believe if you’re going to beseech the creator of the universe to act on your behalf, the least you can do is offer thanks when it seems to occur. It’s only polite.
As I neared Houston the highway suddenly became clogged with brake lights. I was running smack into the worst hour of Houston traffic. I wasn’t in the middle of rush hour, but rather in the middle of the morning and the evening rush when the two overlap.
I decided to turn around and head back to the toll road. I made a U-turn going about 2 miles per hour, following closely behind an old blue hair who was closer to parking than driving. As soon as the turn around began to straightened out I gave the car some gas and began passing the old Buick one the right. Suddenly the lady cut over into my lane. I slammed the brakes on and turned my car sharp to the right, hearing my horn she did the same. As car slid towards the Buick I cut back to the left and my passenger door flew open. Keeping my eyes on the road as I navigated around the bumper, I leaned over and grabbed the door, shouting profanities at the offensive driving I was forced to endure.
I reached over to comfort Gigi, but she was not there beside me. I glanced over expecting to see her safely in the floor board but this was not the case. I turned and looked in the back seat wondering how she could have squeezed back there with the bags.
She was not there. I slammed on the brakes, looking in my rearview mirror, hoping I did not see Gigi being hit by a car, hoping I’d see her sitting on the side of the road looking bewildered and slightly mussed. I saw nothing. I put the hazards on and ran to the intersection.
I didn’t see Gigi anywhere. The moment of chaos was only for me to endure. There were no bystanders. No business women honking their horns, giving me help through charades as they waited for their light to turn green. It was as though nobody had seen anything.
Under the adjacent overpass, a tow truck driver waited. I ran to his window, and he looked from his map, startled, oblivious and of no help. Some city maintenance workers, hunched over their weed eaters, didn’t know anything ‘bout no dog. I scurried about the weeds again and again, jogged through a nearby neighborhood calling out to Gigi. The rain had become a little heavier. And the idea of my little dog flung from a moving car only to endure the cold polluted Houston rain. Then I noticed some giant yellow construction vehicles near the intersection that I hadn’t seen before.
I ran over to them, knelt down and looked under the massive machines. Nothing.
I went and looked closely behind the massive tires, peering into the tall weeds that pressed against them. No Gigi. The rain against my face masked the tears from the traffic passing ignorantly along. I ran to nearby businesses. No one had seen Gigi.
It was like some sort of doggie rapture. I went back and stood in the grassy median, calling and calling, to earth, to heaven until there was nothing left to do but return to my car, to the road, alone.