Fugitives of Night

The streetlamps blazed and the cold air of winter burned through my lungs as the fierce pounding of my shoes against asphalt cracked through the night. Frost crept in from the simple swath of dirty snow and nipped at my fingers as I ran fast and far from the screams echoing down the street but the leather leash clutched desperately in my hand was warm. A tether to the future, it stretched as the ferryman, a dog spattered with black spots of night across a canvas of fur as white as snow, dragged me forward. Into the dark.

It was late.

It was the dogwatch of night.

Curtains pulled back in curiosity spread sickly honey light ahead of me in slivers on the ground. Pairs of eyes clustered in the cracks where they thought I could never see but I was in the dark and there are no secrets to those out past midnight. The light burned my eyes.

I was a spectacle.

A girl running with her hair tugged back from the north wind, tears freezing on her cheeks and glittering in the blue moonlight with a spotted dog tearing up asphalt beside her. Loyal to the cause. A young woman with a bleeding heart and arms that caged what she loved, protected it from the violence. A wild creature blending into the dark as I slapped the pavement and caught up to the wind, ran across its currents.

It was late.

Not late enough to prevent the yelling cozied up in the warm townhome to begin with. Not late enough to settle into the easy rhythm of peaceful sleep with a dog by my side. Not late enough to be civil again.

But plenty late enough to run.

Away from the raging torrent of words sharp enough to draw blood. Away from the threats glinting on the edge of a knife. Away from the phone and the calls I should have made, the cries for help bubbling in my mouth and popping to silence on my lips. Away from the fresh memory of snarling, gnashing teeth and a blur of black and white standing between a girl and an untimely end.

Yes, it was plenty late enough to run away.

The stretched thin wires of the transmission towers hummed in disdain as the asphalt gave way to gravel and the crowded rows of dollhouses fell away to the carnal chaos of forest. The grim set of my pup’s jaw split into an open smile as every window clouded by judgmental breaths slipped into the dark stomach of night. Swallowed by black. Strong canines glinted in the light. A threat to the creatures scurrying by in the brush. A promise to keep me safe.

In the distance, I heard the click slide of a door shutting and the night spread itself before me.

A long stripe of blue moonlight lit the trail ahead of me and the dalmatian at my side seemed to glow, ethereal. Belonging to something I could hear and feel buzzing in the air but never see. Never own.

Big brown eyes jumped up to me in question. I quickened my steps in response, taking her easy trot into a full canter and spraying gravel behind us, scratching our names into the history of the trail and screaming “We were here”.

We lived.

We loved.

And we ran.

Past the bubblers covered in black garbage bags and the strange lawn decoration sinking into the dirt, reaching an arm out to be captured. Salvaged. Remembered. Blue and brown eyes flicked over to it, glimpsing its struggle under blue light before dancing back to the path. Gravel rained down into the drowning concrete angel’s hair painting her with a promise.

We will remember.

The trees whipped past until shadows and sprites began poking their heads out to witness the girl and her dog streaking moonlight behind them. The soft dreams of freedom fluttered behind us like wings, sprouting from our backs and catching the wind. They pulled us forward until we were floating across the trail to an unknown somewhere where the stars would blind us a little longer and the sun could sleep in.

Where we could savor this run in our bones forever.

The sharp slice of moonlight curved and twined through the forest as warmth bloomed within me and stretched its long, lazy summer arms through every molecule of my being. Sweat gathered at the nape of my neck and hot breath puffed from our mouths as we went, leaving a rising line behind us. A trail of crumbs for the nighthawks to follow.

We were here.

Steam engines pushing through the night, we followed the beaten path until it no longer suited the ravenous hunger within and then we ducked into the forest. With a backward glance, we waved goodbye to the wooden totem pole standing tall with its wings spread, wishing us well.

The thunderbird watched.

Its own silent vow slipped into the night and suddenly the air was alive. Electric with the strength of mythical creatures soaring above, dodging tree branches below, and suckling on the freedom pressed into the mud by our feet.

We lived.

We went until the moon sat fat and plump like a ripe peach in the sky, dripping light across the blanket of black and blotting out a handful of stars. Until our chests heaved and the frigid winter felt too hot, too suffocating to endure any longer we ran.

And then we dropped to a patch of dry grass below a streetlamp fastened to the side of a bridge and watched the pulse of the world beat. Cars rushed by in cookie batches, twelve at a time. Trains sounded their horns as they approached before dissolving into streaks of lights and the heavy grind of metal on metal. I watched them go one after another, flying in opposite directions with no pedestrians to slow them.

The collection of spots quit panting and plopped to her haunches, cuddling lightly against my side. I looked up at that fat moon before closing my eyes and dropping my hand to the top of her white head where one black ink stain sat. She leaned into the touch. Her head was warm and soft under the calloused palm of my hand. Her breathing was steady as it pushed against my ribcage. Lazy. Easy.

I draped my arm across her shoulders with a light peck to that spot on her head. Fresh from the run and exhilarated from the brisk winter air, every nerve was alight. I was a constellation of stars and she was the moon, ten times as bright and pockmarked with black. Her eyes as brown as the pelt of a grizzly were soft in the moonlight, bright with such unfathomable life I questioned if I was truly alive. I took my pulse and her nose twitched.

Someone, somewhere was cooking a steak at one in the morning.

Time melted.

And I remembered when I cradled the pink runt in my hand and whispered a single promise to her when I was certain no one would notice. I will keep you safe. Sixty pounds larger with a head twice as big as that pink body, she let out a heavy huff. Satisfied. Another adventure in the books. I kept my promise without fail.

Always shuttling her to safety. Nurturing her where others forgot. Encouraging that puppy heart to explode and feed her soul with pretty things and wildflowers. She looked back, the briefest glint of a smile in her eyes.

It was easy to smile then, in that free moment of untouched, unseen exhilaration and serene joy. With the cars coming and going and the flicker of yellow light across us, it was perfectly natural to be at ease. We always were, my girl and I. Minutes stretched into an hour cuddled and sharing heat in the dead of winter watching the world take slow, deep breaths all around us.

But it was time to go. Time to make our way back.

I looked over to her, the dog content to share stillness tucked underneath my arm. Beneath the dusting of moonlight with the cold patch of dry grass crinkling below our tired limbs, seeping into our bones, the face freckled with six mirrored spots turned to me. In the wide expanse of brown, the moon twinkled.

And I saw her promise there too.

I will keep you safe.