The Tree Line

by Josh Rank


“Go back inside!” shouted David Collins. The wind whipped the collar of his split pea soup-colored coat against his throat. “Now!” He struggled to balance the shotgun in his right hand as the dog pulled on the leash in his right.
 
But Chase didn’t move. Even after the divorce, when he withdrew into himself, when his third-grade teacher called home with her concerns over his behavior in class, when he moved to the new apartment on the other side of town with his mother, he rarely disobeyed his father. He didn’t smile much. But neither did he argue. Tonight, however, Chase stood his ground.
 
Chase knew his father’s words were hollow. They stood near the tree line at the back of the property, where the orange glow of the light attached to the side of their house became more of a suggestion.
 
Chase wasn’t comfortable in this vague area of recognition, but he had grown accustomed to it. There were plenty of things left vague in the two years since he first visited after moving with his mother, Sammy. It was a warm and sunny afternoon and he didn’t understand why it was called a “visit” when he was just going home. Sammy had been calling the apartment their new home, but that didn’t make sense. They already had a home. It was right where they left it. There was no room for a new home and nobody visits their actual home; they just go to it.
 
It was on this visit home that Chase found another confusing thing: There was a dog tied up to the tree in the front yard.
 
“Whose dog is that?” Sammy had asked David, who then turned to Chase.
 
“It’s his,” he said.
 
“Oh David you can’t just go and—” Chase’s parents walked away talking to each other like always did now, but he didn’t pay attention. He sat next to the dog he would eventually learn to be a boxer. With its skinny legs and small waist, she didn’t seem like much of an athlete, but he didn’t name the breed. The dog itself, though, he named after something else he didn’t understand. He liked the word “Brexit” from the first time he heard it while his Dad watched the news. It stuck in his head and when David told Chase he could name the dog whatever he wanted, there was no hesitation.
 
“Do you know what Brexit even is?” asked David with a rare smile on his face.
 
Chase nodded. “It’s my dog.”
 
His father grabbed him by the shoulder with one of his giant hands. “It sure is.”
 
Three years old and already housebroken, Chase didn’t concern himself with teaching Brexit tricks. Whoever had her before had taken care of the basics. The story of how she arrived at the local animal shelter was unknown, but once David heard about the adoption fair due to overcrowding, the dog was soon introduced to the boy who would spend the next two years essentially attached to her neck.
 
“Dad, please,” said Chase at the light’s edge near the tree line.
 
“She’s sick,” said David. “You know that. She’s not going to get better.”
 
Chase was supposed to be at his new home, but he couldn’t stay away. They had agreed, his parents, that this was the best course of action and that Chase shouldn’t be around. Chase didn’t agree with either point.
 
“This is what the doctor is for,” shouted Chase. Tears invaded his nose which ran into his throat and made his words soupy. “They can fix her.”
 
“We’ve talked about this, said David. “It’s too expensive for just ‘a fairly good chance.’ You don’t want her to be in pain, do you?”
 
“No!” But Chase was talking about the pain she would feel that night and not in the coming months. He noticed the way she wouldn’t always get up to greet him. Or the way she would squeak a little when she jumped down from the couch. The problem was that she couldn’t explicitly tell him how bad she felt. It was up to him to interpret her behavior and his overwhelming attachment hadn’t allowed him to entertain the thought that the best thing for her was to be gone.
 
“Chase, honey—” His mother’s voice floated on the wind behind him.
 
“Why did you bring him here? Now?” yelled David.
 
“He just…I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this.”
 
Chase stood between his parents. His mother looked like a dark ghost. The orange light from behind drowned her face in a shadow. She stepped forward and knelt down.
 
“Chase, things don’t always make sense. It seems like they should, but they just don’t. The hard part isn’t learning this, but accepting it. It’s different.”
 
Chase turned around and watched his father lean the shotgun against a tree before leading the dog away from the tree line.
 
“She’s young,” said Sammy. “It seems like only old dogs get sick, but that’s not true. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is.” She looked over Chase’s head toward David.
 
“Say goodbye, Chase,” he said.
 
“No.”
 
“Chase.” His mother left his name to disappear with the orange light in the trees.
 
He sat in the grass. The dog turned toward him but didn’t move. Chase scooted forward and wrapped his arms around her neck. He said goodbye even though he didn’t understand. Even though he didn’t want to. Even though he wasn’t sure what that actually meant. Then he stood up and Sammy took him by the hand. His Dad led the dog back toward the shotgun and the tree line. His mother led him back to the house. His home. His first home.
 
It would be another ten minutes before David walked back into the house alone, but they didn’t hear him close the door because Sammy had turned the music up so loud.

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