The New Rules

“The New Rules”

I’d never seen such ugly mutts in my life. The unfortunate bald spots, patchy stains, and alien proportions which tainted their appearance could have been blamed on the smorgasbord of mixed genes that these beasts had been so heavily blessed with. Years of random mating resulted in a new race of unattractive “power dogs” that lived for decades and survived all hell as they strayed through the landscapes of deserted alley ways and beat up streets. The locals referred to these dogs as “lid-tippers” as they had acquired the masterful talent of tipping the industrial garbage can lids with such a delicate touch that their movements were sometimes reminiscent to that of a professional show dog. Sandro had adopted eight of them, he believed in their beauty. Standing in awe, I tried to swallow my disgust as Sandro introduced me to his canine family. The pack of dogs surrounded us with wagging tails and cautious ears which stood stiff in the air.
“Betsey has a boyfriend a couple of blocks down. Her boy’s a German shepherd, but a damn stray, which I’m not too keen on, it’s just tough you know? Charlie’s the oldest, likes to hang around and take care of his old man, don’t you boy? Lenny’s in his teens, always out and about, meeting the ladies. You know how it is, young and handsome, can’t keep them tied down anymore. And well Sheila, she’s the youngest, that’s really my girl. Sheila’s the beauty of them all…” He continued on in detailed explanations about each member of the gang.
Sandro was a plump and vigilant little guard who looked over our street and was in-charge of the entrance gate. He immediately took note of my family; after all, we had been the first newcomers in forty years. On my first walk outside Sandro immediately jumped out of his hut and introduced himself. He was a man of strong gesture and abstract sound, which clarified the foreignism in his language as his thoughts became easily decipherable. He proudly showed me his glamorous hut-like wooden concoction of a home. The monstrosity faced the entrance gate and he had apparently built it with his own two hands. I wondered why nobody had complained about the construction, I guess it was probably the only place that he had. The tiny shed was equipped with a hot pink office chair (that Sandro had found a couple of weeks ago) and a dusty miniature television set which didn’t work but he liked the look of it either way. I would soon get to know Sandro on my aimless nights of walking back and forth on that same street. After all I was bound to this street; it was all part of the new rules. The vividness of my mother’s introductory speech irritated me and flashed back at me like a sticky stamp that had latched itself onto the numbness of my mind.

“Those streets are off limits.” The harshness of my mother’s tone had felt silly as she lectured me amongst the tasteless midst of the yellow flowered kitchen tiles. Our new apartment lacked warmth yet seemed rich in tackiness.
“Listen to me; never leave the building without telling someone. If you leave by yourself, you stick to the safe areas, under no circumstances do you pass Sandro’s watch, you hear? Those other streets are off-limits. Never take a cab by yourself. Never take a cab after seven o’clock. If, by any chance, you end up in an unguarded area, avoid speaking in English. Never let them know that you’re an American. Remember that, ok? Just keep walking, find the nearest gas station, and call me. Always travel with some money on you, and if you come into a bad situation, you give them the money. No eye contact. The company has arranged an armed car for us. Listen to me, are you listening?”
The new rules soon became a cryptic part of my daily routine. A mess of warnings leaked into my life, they were inescapable, even at school. New students always had to endure the “welcoming” seminar. Some fat American guy comes in, tells a few jokes, and then scares the shit out of you by sharing some antidote about a kid who got shot on his way to the movies. This city was my new home but I sure as hell never chose it. My father said that it bore a slight resemblance to New York City. Maybe he was delirious. The wasteland was covered with tall white apartment buildings which stood slanted and crowded like crooked children’s teeth in a chocolate stained mouth. They towered over the gums of the surface, hiding the filth that sat between the corners and edges of these polluted realms. The surface was a maze of broken streets that turned and twisted themselves like muddy streams and all had the same empty redundancy to them. Sometimes you can enter a wrong street at a wrong turn and end up in “the heart of hell”. That’s what the American fellow calls it.

It was my first Friday night out with a new group of friends. They were the only other Americans that I’d met at school, yet nothing about them seemed to hit home. They felt older, more experienced, but for odd reason latched on to me like we were old buddies. One of the guys brought his dad’s Porsche and kept making a point about how a driver’s license was just a ‘silly piece of paper’. After the local pub we’d hopped in that silver machine of his and before I knew it they were all suggesting that we grab some beers and head over to my place. I sat in back next to one of the boys who kept cupping his arm around my waist while I numbly stared out the window and made no eye contact. Every now and then I turned around to see his panting face whisper “I love you”. I don’t think he meant it because he kept calling me by another name. I tried to keep my cool, there’s nothing worse than being a loner in high school.
When we came through my gate, Sandro was on duty. A few of his dogs were lying around and he seemed quite relaxed as he brushed Sheila’s coat
“Your friends can’t come in unless your parents give me permission.” He said with sorry smile and then gave me a bit of stupid chuckle. My parents were out and we couldn’t reach them.
“Rules are rules, doll.”
I wanted to kill him. He’d never bothered me before but on this night I wanted to kill him. We ended up bumming around on an ‘off-limits’ street, a few blocks nearby my place. Sometimes these restrictions seem so silly. Two of the girls were sitting on the pavement. The blond one, Alice, sat with a beer while the red-head took out a bottle of pale liquid and dabbed it on her right sleeve. She put her pink mouth on moist spot and sucked heavily. The three guys were absolutely hammered, especially the one that had been driving us. I thought things were going alright until Sheila began to shuffle through the streets. She has a ridiculous figure, this dog. Fat and out of proportion as her shrunken legs lie sandwiched under her heavy sausage belly. One of the guys noticed her and quickly ran after the animal, catching her by the tail.
“Hey this is that asshole’s dog, the fucking ugly one that he was brushing!” He laughed and started pouring beer all over Sheila’s coat. She stood paralyzed as the foamy liquid heavily soaked her back and dripped onto the floor. The others followed and really seemed to be getting a laugh out of it.
“Fucking dog” Alice said as she kicked it. I looked at her and noticed how the others were pretty impressed by this. They were all jumping up and down and one guy roared with laughter as his lanky hysterical body smashed onto the concrete pavement. The excitement turned into a chant. They even started pouring a second beer over her, forcing some of it into the poor dog’s mouth. I was watching from the outside but I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to get in. I walked in the middle of the circle and gave Sheila the hardest kick I had in me.
“Piece of shit” I looked at her but I was speaking to myself. The guy let go and Sheila ran off in a frantic limp.

My parents weren’t home and my bedroom fell silent. So silent that I could hear Sandro’s modest knocks as he visited apartment after apartment in search of used paper scraps to make his ads with. A weak knock signaled his arrival and I opened my front door. Upon confrontation he shyly stared at his feet like a child and meekly voiced his request. Shuffling through my drawers I had found what he needed and also managed to dig up a few old markers and some dry tape. The next day the ads were posted all over the building walls and some sadly stuck to the lamp posts and trees on our block. It was obvious he had never really learned how to write. Either way the main points were legible:

WANTED
Dog: White, brown, spots, big fur, 8, Sheila
Call: 3758-1781 Sandro Gilberto. Many thanks.


I sat at the kitchen table and browsed through a magazine as Juliana scrubbed the corners of the walls and sang “cha la, cha la”. The balcony door was open and the outside air breezed through the kitchen smelling like rice and stew. My mother came in carrying a brown paper bag filled with fresh baguettes which she proceeded to arrange on the counter.
“Why don’t you go out and walk Ebox for a change” she said this without looking at me.

I strapped the anxious animal into his leash and we rushed into the service elevator because my mother says that it’s inappropriate to take the dog into the nicer one. I don’t mind. The rich kids from downstairs always take the nice one and I prefer to avoid running into them. The fat blonde one would always inquire about my life in that special slow language that must have been reserved exclusively for me. I’d respond to her with optimism yet she’d insist on giving me this dreadful sour look of pity which never failed to nauseate me.
Ebox was panting and the tiny space reeked of dog breath. He encircled me, his leash awkwardly holding me frozen as a few maids entered the elevator and gave me a bit of a strange look. Finally we stumbled out the doors and left the building. The street is humid and grey as huge apartment buildings confine it from the outside world. There’s no grass, only concrete and parked cars and I have to keep Ebox on a tight leash, but he loves it either way. At my old house we could take him to the beach and let him run loose. I could see Sandro sitting in his usual spot at the end of the street and giving Toby a solid brush. It’s the way he keeps brushing them. That’s what really bothers me. He keeps dolling them up like their some sort of prize. Jo, the spotty tailless one, jumped off the warm pavement and charged at Ebox in excitement. Sandro’s got off his chair and stumbled towards my direction.
He put his hand on the back of Jo’s neck as if to pat it and tame it at the same time “These dogs! Always excited, they never forget one another. Most dogs have this understanding; they could teach us a thing or two, eh?” I didn’t see the point in any of this but gave him my best plastic smile and decided to play along with his conversation.
“Maybe they’re just easily excited.” I didn’t really know what I was talking about but Sandro looked at me with perfect clarity.
“Naw, I think they know better than we give them credit for, intuitive animals. Look at this weather! Its Sheila’s favorite weather… you haven’t seen anything, have you? It’s not like her.” He said this in a way that stung the bitter outer layers of my stomach as I forcefully swallowed and tried to relax. His eyes looked dead and hollow. He looked down and for the first time Sandro was left with nothing to say or do, not even his usual heavy half-assed plastic chuckle to get through whatever was happening in the thick silence of these single seconds. I excused myself and left him standing there, his hand lying frozen on Jo’s obedient neck and his lost eyes gazing at the ground. I’m not supposed to keep going after the end of my street. But I did so anyway and for the second time I broke the rules and entered the insecure areas of my neighborhood. I was sticky and empty handed, maybe it was better that way. We passed twenty-seven apartment buildings and eight streets that looked just like ours. Ebox cheered up as we entered a stranded park that was dressed in colorless cement and decaying weeds. A couple of plastic bags floated in the air. There was nothing strange or exciting about this that made me understand why these grounds were any more dangerous than the guarded ones. The silence lurked through the redundancy of these empty streets which reeked of past life. My memory grew fuzzy on all the right and the left shortcuts and I found that we had gotten lost on our way to nothingness. We entered some life as we approached a main road and passed the gas station, bakery, flower shop, Blockbuster, and pharmacy. I spotted a few greased up teenagers who worked at the gas station. A funny old man with a shiny tan and a green outfit came up to me and asked if I needed any help. I told him the address but he either didn’t understand me or just didn’t know where it was. Curious faces crowded up around me. A secretarial type of lady came out of the ‘Quick stop’ store and asked what the commotion was all about and who the ‘gringa’ was. I don’t see how she knew that I was an American, or a ‘gringa’, I hadn’t even opened my mouth. After what seemed like hours of foreign banter I began to feel restless and tired. Some of the workers shrugged as they gave up and went home, and with them went the funny old man as he patted me on my back as he gave me a sad nod. The woman still stood with the same perplexed look on her face as she stared into a map. I thanked her and walked away, dragging the exhausted body of my dog with me.
I came to a set of streets that looked just like mine and walked the endless maze of identical apartment buildings. “It would be funny to get mugged right now” I thought to myself. And the thought of it really hit me as I heard a faint whistle a few blocks back. The whistle followed me down and came closer as we passed the shabby broken areas of town. It soon turned a drunk juvenile yelling. My neck twisted around to notice the pack of young boys that were prancing around behind me. They were kids, young kids. The boys barbarically howled at the site of me and yelled in their shrieking high pitched noises that could have been words but I didn’t know. The laughter was thick and nauseating. Just ignore it and it’ll go away. They looked like they were about twelve years old.
“Hey, hey!” The leader of the pack yelled out at me in his croaked pubescent voice.
I turned around for a quick dismissive wave and then kept walking. But they were relentless.
“Hey, talk to us! We want to talk to you!” The laughter grew bigger again and by this time I could hear a few of the footsteps get faster as two of the boys sprang their way over to me.
“Where are you off to? Can we come with you?” They stood in front of me and blocked my way while the other kids came up from behind. I was surrounded by children. But they didn’t talk like children, they didn’t speak like children. They scared me like men. Ebox started to growl, but this didn’t put them off. The tall and lanky boy fixated on the dog as he took out a cliché looking machete knife and pulled and some sort of Star Wars move. He stood in front of Ebox and pretended to slash him as he danced with his knife, exclaiming sounds like ‘boooommmm’ and ‘baammm’. Smiling at me he looked up, threw his knife in the air and managed to catch it without cutting himself. The lanky kid must have practiced this quite a bit in his spare time. Ebox tensed up and his mouth wrinkled up in a way that changed his entire face. They played around with the knife, each took their turn and slid it against my belly without cutting me and said things like “Somebody tell her to take it off”. They argued about who would voice the demand and somehow looked like children again as the one with the knife held it against my midriff and shyly looked down with a red blushed face as he whispered ‘no, I don’t want to, you tell her. I don’t want to.’ Ebox stood frozen with his head ducked low and his fur spiked up on his back. He started to bark madly and a few of the guys shrieked and jumped away. The leader of the gang made fun of the cautious ones who held back and showed them how it was done as he came closer and closer to Ebox, who was still wildly barking. With everything that was going on I may have become delirious because I could hear two growls, two barks. Before I knew it something white and fat flung at the tall and lanky kid who was now on the ground screaming for his life. It was Sheila, she had caught us out of nowhere and was now attacking this boy to shreds as he cried and yelled out to his friends who just stared at the scene with their wide eyes and sweaty hands. The boy with the knife stood paralyzed and gaped with fear. Drops of blood hit the ground.