Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 24: Reflection

May 16

Ryan

I wake to the sound of the dog skittering across the cabin floor. The room is already illuminated with mid-morning sunlight despite the early hour, a consequence of the 4:15 am sunrise this time of year. The puppy stops as he passes the couch on his way to the front door and heads toward me, tail waving. I reach down and rub his fuzzy head. He spent the night in the bedroom with Ana. The training books don't recommend it, but I thought this arrangement would probably be more comfortable for all involved. Ana's crying still wakes me up on occasion and the puppy was very distraught last night at the prospect of sleeping in the carrier he arrived in.

"Hi boy," I say as the dog twists his head to lick my hand. He nuzzles his head against the couch and stares up at me. "Come on up," I say, taking the hint and picking the dog up off the floor. I place him on my chest. Finally dry after his bath last night, his fur is soft and warm under my touch. The puppy crouches and gratefully begins to lick my face. I laugh as I scratch behind the dog's ears. I see Ana standing at the opposite end of the couch, still wearing pajamas. The sight of her reminds me of the feeling of her hands running through my hair last night. Phantom tingles run through my scalp again and I quickly turn my attention back towards the dog, feeling flustered.

"His name is Casper," she says.

"Oh is it now," I say, addressing the dog sitting on me. I'm unable to come up with anything more eloquent than that, with the memories of her touching me still dancing through my mind. I search for something to say that'll render her as lost for words as she's made me. Then the perfect jab comes to mind.

"Tell me, Casper," I say, still devoting all my attention to the dog, "what's it like to sleep in a real bed, hmm? I've forgotten, myself."

I glance back up at Ana to see her mouth fall open, her face a cross between shock and amusement. She begins to laugh. I smile back at her.

"Wow," she says, sitting on the arm of the couch near my feet, shaking her head at me and still smiling. Her smile takes on a mischievous air. "Casper says your bed is very nice and it's much better than his cage. He also says that he's grateful to you for letting him use it."

"You're welcome, Casper. Such a polite dog."

The dog continues to lick at my chin, completely unaware of the conversation he's been having with me but pleased to be the center of attention.

"Casper and I were on our way outside. He has some business to attend to in the front yard."

"Ah," I say, realizing the puppy on my chest is a ticking time bomb. "Sounds like important business." I gently lift him off of me, careful not to put any more stress on the animal's likely full bladder, and set him back on the ground.

"C'mon, Casper!" Ana says in an enthusiastic voice, pitch much higher than her normal speaking voice. "Let's go outside! C'mon!"

The dog trots happily toward her and follows her out the front door. I take this opportunity to dress and shave. I dislike shaving since my dominant hand is incapable of performing the task. It's possible with my left hand, but not as easy. The first several weeks living on my own, I often ended up looking like a teenager who'd lost a battle with his first razor. At one point I gave up on shaving altogether but quickly discovered this plan produced even worse results. Most of the hair follicles on the right side of my face were destroyed by the fourth-degree burns I suffered, so I ended up with the most lopsided, ridiculous-looking beard in the history of facial hair. It only managed to make me look even more repulsive and seemed to draw more attention to the exposed scars. After that abysmal failure, I've kept my face clean-shaven, despite the occasional nicks I still give myself. And really, what's a few cuts when half of my face was burned off?