I leaned against the door frame to catch my breath.
“What? What? Are you okay?” he ran in from the Study, where Oprah blared about Her Favorite Things. Thad, at 39, did not look a day over 30. He was, as he had always been, handsome and tall with sandy ringlet curls, well appointed, and completely aware of the power of his looks.
“I just saved a woman’s life!” I wanted to dramatically fall into the closest couch, but as it was the green velvet 1880’s East Lake piece, I swooned more to the left, past the antique German six legged coffee table, and then to the right to fall onto the easily cleanable, modern red velveteen couch.
“You did what?” Thad ran over to me, concern jagged on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes…” I panted, wiping my forehead with the back of a shirtsleeve.
“You saved who from what?”
“I saved...a woman...from a dog,” I loosened my tie and wiped my hands on my khakis, letting out a long ‘whew…’
“A what? A dog?” he stood upright and arched an eyebrow like he does when he wants to convey ‘pissy.’ It always worked.
“Yes! A dog.”
“You saved a woman’s life from dog?” He repeated. “Was it a big dog?”
“Well, no, but it was a barking dog.” He apparently didn’t understand the deed I had accomplished.
“You just saved a woman from a small barking dog? And now you’re about to die of a heart attack from it? ” He said with as much contempt and snide as he could muster, which was quite a lot even by homosexual standards. “I thought you had been hit by a car or something the way you were screaming when you came in here…” He put his hands on his hips, a stance I hated.
“Oh, hush-up.” I took a deep breath.
“Look, Oprah is just about to announce…”
“Don’t you dare walk off! You listen to my story.”
He frowned and folded his arms, “Fine. How did you save this woman’s life from a small yapping dog?”
“Well,” I began dramatically, after a deep breath, “I was just walking home from campus after teaching my Shakespeare's Tragedies class, and I heard this cry for help. It came from one of the side streets right along the main road. Anyway, I looked and saw a pretty little sorority girl in tiny shorts trapped up against a tree with this awful barking feral dog lunging at her.”
“Oh, Lord…” Thad said, rolling his eyes.
“Shut-up and listen,” I snapped. “Anyway she was making these little girl ‘eeks!”’-it was here I stopped to make the ‘eek’ sounds, which he did not seem impressed by at all, so I continued, “and when she saw me she screamed ‘Help!’ So I did what anyone would have done. Without even thinking I ran over and started screaming at the dog and waving my arms.” I paused for effect, for which he also did not seem impressed, “And then the dog stopped and seemed scared- but it didn’t run off. Oh, no. Then it ran at me! And I screamed to the girl ‘Run!’ and she ran off the other way in her little shorts and I looked down and now this horrible little thing is launching itself at me, and I am just terrified, as you know I hate dogs, so I just screamed, and I don’t know where this came from, but I just screamed, ‘I will fuck you up, dog!’ while waving my arms above my head dramatically and the dog just turned and ran right off.”
I smiled with huge self-satisfaction at the absolutely astute description of my feat of courage.
Thad laughed, which was not the reaction I neither expected nor wanted. “You said ‘I will fuck you up, dog’?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So you said it like that so the dog would know you were talking directly to him? And not just screaming it at, say, the trees?”
“Well, yeah. I guess. I didn’t want the girl to think I was screaming it at her, or any of the other neighbors.” I hadn’t really thought about it until that moment, what with the testosterone still coursing through me and all. I was just glad to be alive, and not dog food on some sully side street where they don’t even mow properly.
“So you addressed it-this weird little profane war cry of yours-directly to the dog. Like, ‘I will fuck you up, Cat,’ or ‘I will feed you now, Grandma!’” He outright laughed in my face.
“I think you’re missing the whole point to this,” I said wiping my brow with the back of my hand, “I saved a damsel in distress. I defeated a foul creature and saved a princess. I am a hero.”
“Ha!” He spat, “It was a dog, a small dog. You do not get to claim ‘hero’ here.”
“But it was a barking dog….and I did save her….”
“Fine. Whatever. Oprah needs me,” and Thad turned to leave.
I was flabbergasted. He was not treating me like the conquering warrior that I was. “I am a hero.”
“No. No, you’re not, Michael.”
“You should be proud to be with me!” I yelled, “They will write songs about me! About my heroism!”
“You’re not a hero.”
“I am. And this hero wants Hamburger Helper for dinner.”
“Well, Mr. Hero, you can make it yourself, or maybe get that little dog you defeated to make it, because I am busy.” And with that Thad left the room.
I frowned and called out, “Don’t you come screaming to me next time you need saving from some random beast!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he called back, “And you’re getting sweat all over the new silk pillows.”
“Oh!” I jumped up, seeing that I was.
Even conquering heroes have to respect fine Chinese silk.
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