Untitled

A cross decorated with flowers swims in my vision, the vision in my head, my eyes are closed. The cross sits in a dusty town square, a Mexican town, old, adobe buildings, blood, sweat and loss. Red and yellow flowers, roses maybe, do they grow in the desert? An old woman in a woven ivory shawl shuffles to the cross, carrying something...a basket, but I can't see what's in it, it's covered with a cloth. She brings her fingers to her lips and mumbles something, her fingers trembling, reaching for the cross...I can't make out what she says, it's in Spanish, I don't speak Spanish. The vision starts to fade, I can only hear the old woman's voice...

"Mi Dios le pido, nos perdono...." her voice fades with the dream and I'm left with the sound of the alarm clock and blood in my mouth.

I reach over and flail at the clock, trying to stop the buzzing. I could swear I set it every night to wake me with the radio, but every morning it buzzes at me. I've replaced it a few times, but it's the same every morning, the buzzing. I hate that fucking sound. Sitting up on the bed I rub my eyes, thick with sleep and taste the blood. I cradle my head in my hands, running my tongue over my teeth and get shocked by a wet nose in my armpit. Oscar. It's a weird thing he does, like he can't believe something smells so bad, he just has to get as close as possible. Or he just likes to screw with me, which is more likely.

We walk to the back door and I let him out to piss and chase whatever wildlife is out there, but he just stands there and stares at me with what I could swear is a worried expression. I just want to brush my teeth and get in the shower. "Go on, go. Go, what are you waiting for?" He just stands there staring, not blinking. I'm led to believe this is odd behavior for a dog, staring directly in your eyes, but he's done it since the day I got him from the pound. It's why I took him home. I like to say that he chose me and I really believe it to be true. After a few minutes of me prodding and him ignoring the prodding I close the door and mumble a whatever at him then stumble to the bathroom. He follows me, sitting down and leaning against me as I brush my teeth, warming up my legs which really don't need it on this hot summer morning. I spit out the toothpaste, pink from the blood and look at him looking at me. "What? Is Timmy stuck in the well again?" He doesn't answer. I just shake my head, rinse out my mouth and start the shower, anticipating the cool water on my face. As I get in the shower he tries to follow me in, something he hasn't done since he was a puppy. "Dog, seriously, that's enough." The key phrase that has always stopped him and doesn't let me down now. He gives me one last look and lays down on the bath mat, leaving me to wash away the grime, sleep and the dream I'm already forgetting.