Dorothy was having coffee while Brunswick stretched out under the table when Brooke walked in.
The painter pushed out a chair, “I’m sorry, Brooke,” said Dorothy as she reached for Brooke’s hand. “Maggie’s just has so much to offer my Brunswick, you know how it is. I’m sure there will be days the two of you can go for your walk, but this is so convenient and not that expensive, really.”
Brooke said she understood, nothing personal and all, but it sure as hell felt personal.
The two talked for a minute, then Brooke said she needed to go upstairs. She bent over to say goodbye to Brunswick, almost crawling under the table to hug the black furry mix of a Shepherd and Lab, the most faithful in her pack.
Brooke rubbed Brunswick’s ears and kissed the dog’s forehead before getting up on both feet. She gave Dorothy a friendly hug, more mandatory really, waved goodbye to Brunswick, she hoped not for the last time, and went out the door to climb the fire escape to safety.
Brooke walked in her apartment and fell across her unmade bed, crying. After what seemed like hours, but wasn’t, she got up to splash cold water on her swollen eyes.
She’d been seeing her psychotherapist on schedule, running almost every day, but had taken her last Celexa over a week ago. Maybe not staying on her meds was the problem, Brooke wasn’t sure. She’d get a refill.
Brooke knew the Celexa helped control her anxiety. Taking an extra pill, before something like the prom with the Simpson boy, or her review with Marion, was good, euphoric actually. Maybe her psychiatrists shouldn’t have written the prescription back when Brooke was barely a teenager, but he did, so the drug must be safe. At least she wasn’t using cocaine or some other party drug like Mel.
And if two pills were better than one, then maybe three or four, or perhaps the whole bottle was the answer. Besides, who would miss her? Not her parents or Peter. Mel and Blair maybe.
“Okay. That’s enough of that,” Brooke said to herself. She’d had these thoughts before and always ended up realizing how selfish suicide was. How it showed others that you cared more for your own feelings than theirs.
What Brooke knew for sure was that she was a Xennial and they didn’t fit; not in real estate with its big everything, or in banking where only left brains need apply. The only place Brooke fit was with dogs, and their humans were taking them away, off to a box store for the day. What was she going to do?
When Brooke made it downstairs, both Dorothy and Brunswick were gone. “Thank goodness,” she said under her breath. She got a fresh cup of coffee and sat down by Peter, hoping her eyes didn’t look too puffy (not that he’d care).
At least Peter’s life was improving. He’d moved in with Jim, a classmate from school who had the same taste in shirts, and he’d found more customers who paid for their websites on time. Peter had taken Blair’s advice when he told the website designer, “Fast pay makes fast friends.” Peter was learning how no matter the side of the transaction, the faster the reward, the tighter the bond.
“Exactly,” Brooke said. “It’s like the dogs. When Louisa, Scout, Bella, and the others (intentionally not using Brunswick’s name) do something and I give them their treat a week later, they’ve forgotten what the reward is for. Everyone knows that, Peter.” The last part sounding like a commercial on TV.
Peter let out one of his now familiar laughs. Seems he was laughing more since his business got better. Often when she came in The Clover it was Peter’s laugh she heard before she saw his face. His laugh wasn’t unusual, at least not in a strange way, it was more infectious than anything else, hard for people who heard it not to smile, even if they didn’t know why.
There were so many things Brooke was starting to like about her friend, now that he wasn’t sleeping in his car; things like paying for his own coffee, even an extra from time to time. She thought his hair looked better, but there were still the shirts. Maybe he’d get tired of them, she hoped.
A light rain started to fall as the two sat in their usual spot, watching more of Brooke’s dogs go by. Brooke hoped Dorothy had everything under the tarp she kept in the truck (but not really), as she and Peter settled in by the window, drinking coffee and talking. Brooke knew it was going to be a lazy rainy day.
Brooke told Peter about growing up in Charlotte, about her two older brothers, and the trips they’d taken. Many of her friends had a family place at the beach, or in the mountains, some had both. Her parents had decided to spend their vacations traveling with their children instead. Out west mostly, even Canada, not Europe so much; her dad said it was too crowded, and they could find more natural beauty closer to home.
Brooke envied her friends who had a place in the mountains, at least until she saw a poster in one of the offices at the shelter. The small sign said something about everyone needing a place to live, but no one needing seconds until everyone had been served. Not only did it seem greedy but it seemed stressful, was that really what vacations were for?
Peter told Brooke about being from Cleveland, about cheering for the Browns, the Cavaliers, and especially the Indians (“there’s just something about baseball,” he would say). There were also the Monsters and the Gladiators, but he didn’t follow those two much.
“I’m an only child,” Peter told Brooke. “My parents are older. My dad retired from Goodyear a few years back, and they spend winters in Fort Myers, down in Florida. I don’t see them much.
“I went to the same Catholic high school as my dad, ‘Peter Senior’, so I grew up with the sisters calling me ‘Peter Junior’, and the kids switching it around to “Junior Peter.” They thought it was funny. I didn’t.
“Mostly I stayed to myself, worked on computers and stuff. I didn’t pick a college when I was a senior. Maybe I should have, but …
“So driving to Fort Myers with my parents once, we stopped in Charlotte, and I liked it. I enrolled in the community college and learned to build websites. It was there I met Jim. He’s the guy who turned me on to bright Hawaiian shirts as a way to stand out. I go to thrift shops and buy the brightest, boldest, and ugliest Aloha shirt I can find. You like ’em?” Peter asked, hoping not to get the answer he saw on her face.
“That’s pretty much it Brooke. Sounds like your life has been more fun.”
Brooke had to admit, there was something sweet, almost childlike, about Peter. Nothing pretentious or showy, just nice, somehow, and if she could get him to visit a barber, well …
But Brooke needed to think about what would be next for her. She’d liked the idea of being on her own and setting her own schedule. And she loved being with the dogs: being able to be outside, with them – even on rainy days. She remembered her dad saying how there was never bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.
Was this the rock bottom Mel hit when she decided to fly a flag? Nah. Mel had it much rougher.. However, Brooke did realize it was time to find the one thing she could do and was passionate about – and put everything she had into it.
“How’s this look?” asked Peter one Saturday morning, as he swung his computer around so Brooke could see the screen. “I worked on it last night.”
“Is this your Facebook profile?” Brooke responded, answering his question with one of her own. “It’s fine, I guess,” she said, not wanting to tell him what she thought of his shirt and how she still, for the life of her, didn’t understand what could be so hard about taking a pair of scissors to that scruffy beard.
“Yup, Facebook is the thing now Brooke. Everyone is using it. I found you last night, but it doesn’t say much, and that’s such a bad picture, it’s hard to tell it’s even you.”
Brooke knew her friends were using the new social tsunami. MySpace was on its last legs, and this new Facebook thing seems to be where all the action is.
“Look here, Brooke. This is what Jim had for dinner last night. Cool huh?” There it was, some ordinary meal Peter’s roommate had carefully photographed with his phone and then posted as if it was Breaking News, important for the whole world to see. “He’s already got 59 likes, and it’s still early. People love this stuff.” Peter said with a pride that made Brooke question her choice in friends.
But she knew he was right, people were flocking to Facebook and posting all sorts of things. Some good to know, most not. She had just been too busy to bother much with such trivia.
“You should use Facebook more, Brooke. Post some of the photos of Brunswick you took when you and Dorothy went to Rutherford a while back. Those were good.”
Brooke thought Peter could have used a different example, but she had to admit, there were advantages to seeing things with the right side of her brain. She saw images differently than most and the camera her parents gave her for their family trips took some great shots that were the envy of Lucinda and Robert’s friends at the club.
Brooke didn’t say anything, only, “Want some more coffee, Peter?” as she stood up before walking over to Blair.
In the short round trip for refills, it had come together, much like when Yogi shook the creek water all over her, and she rubbed his ears and decided to get a dog.
Why not put dogs on Facebook? If people liked to see what someone had for dinner, they would love pet pictures. Not just photos on their profile the way they did with their kids, or lunch, or vacations; but give the dog its own page with the dog’s name? Like Louisa would be “Louisa,” just the one word, like a rock star.
Brooke finished her fresh cup of coffee without saying much, then told Peter she was going for a run before it got too late. Her mind was already way ahead of anything she could explain.
By the time she was less than a mile into her usual eight, the plan was starting to take shape. She would go to her regular customers and tell them how she could start a Facebook Page for their dog.
She’d start with her “Lunch Bunch.” Their humans made such a fuss over their pets, making sure they wore their raincoats, even when there was only a slight chance. Patricia, the Bichon Frise dancer, the one Brooke almost forgot, also had special shoes for bad weather. Brooke dreaded the days she’d struggle to put them on the little dancer of a dog.
Marley, the Boston Terrier, would be popular with everyone. Brooke would be sure to spend extra time on her page.
They would all “like” each other’s page, and before long they would have a network that supported each other. They’d “like” and “comment” and “share” and all the stuff Facebook demands to make the page popular.
As Brooke started to turn into her courtyard, after cooling down from her run, she saw Mel’s bike, propped against the wall, outside the skateboard shop. She didn’t usually bother Mel when she was working, but today was different. Brooke needed to share her idea.
The shop was jammed with the usual collection of skateboarding stuff. There were decks (most with air-brushed artwork that was hard to recognize, not the primary colors Brooke liked to use). Her paintings wouldn’t work for skateboards, she thought. The decks, the part you stand on, came in different lengths, Brooke knew that mattered, but she wasn’t sure why. Some decks had “kick-tails,” as Mel called them.
There were walls full of metal wheel holders with various nuts and bolts and other stuff Brooke didn’t recognize. Of course, there were wheels, but in so many sizes. “Why wouldn’t one-size-fit-all work?”, Brooke wondered.
One end of the store was devoted to just shoes; special skateboarding shoes so you wouldn’t fall off. Plus tons of things to protect your knees, elbows, wrist, and, oh yea, your head. Your head was important, Mel said. “You should spend as much on your helmet as you do on your board, more even,” was her advice, and especially to the parents of young ’boarders. After all, they were the ones with the card.
Mel was behind the counter, sorting out t-shirts, all in various shades of black with the same air-brushed artwork as the decks.
“Are you busy?” Brooke asked, looking around to make sure the owner wasn’t nearby. She didn’t want to get Mel in trouble.
“I’m fine, Brooke,” Mel said. “There’s no one in the shop but us. What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve got an idea. Ya know how my business has gone south since Maggie’s opened up, so I’ve been thinking about dogs.”
“Oh no,” thought Mel. “Here comes the “get a dog” idea again. Why are people so predictable when they hit a bump in the road?”
“I’m thinking I could do Facebook pages for my customers. Let them share photos and tell stories about their special pets. Just look at all the stuff on FB. I’d rather see a picture of a cute puppy than a plate of gas station chicken.”
“I don’t know Brooke, gas station chicken sounds mighty good right now.”
Acting like she didn’t hear her, Brooke continued, “I could take photographs of my favorite dogs and help the owners post them on the page. Write stories about what their dog is doing, how they feel, cute stuff like that.”
“Okay, but how do you make any money, Brooke?” Mel asked. “Don’t forget, if it’s worth doing, it’s worth getting paid to do it!”
“Well, people are busy. They don’t have time to do photoshoots, write the story, all the stuff people want to see. It wouldn’t be as easy as having your family pose on vacation, Mel. They’d need to pay me to do all the work.”
“I guess if you could make some money, it would be worth a try,” said Mel as she hung the shirts on the circular rack.
“You know Brooke, with all the time people at the bank spend in their cubes watching cat videos, they might just want to see pictures of each other’s pets. And, even for people who don’t have pets! Like that day we talked upstairs in your place. There are people who are lonely, just like you were, and they just might like to have a ‘virtual pet’ to keep them company. All the cuteness with none of the poop scooping. It would work for them too!”
Mel was smart like that Brooke thought. Not book smart, but street smart. Mel’s intelligence came from a life that looked deeper than the first answer that popped in their head.
“I think this just might be it, Mel. This is the job I’ve been looking for all along,” Brooke said as she waved goodbye. “I’m headed upstairs for a shower.”
As Brooke ascended the stairs, as if on cue, the rain stopped, and the sun began to shine.