Golden Opportunity-Flash Fiction

 

 Saturday morning, no electricity meant no clean clothes and an hour wait at the coffee shop with the rest of my power-deprived neighbors. Then Mom called. Her hairdresser’s niece needed a date for a wedding. Could I go? No. Then Uncle Bob called asking for money again. No. I needed a break.

 I put on my least dirty clothes, turned off my phone, and headed for the park. Fido, wearing his favorite matching red leash and collar, panted with golden retriever happiness as I lengthened my stride.

The sun-speckled trail paralleling a stream revived me. I blew out a long breath. A squirrel scampered across the path. Fido barked. The startled squirrel reversed direction twice and then leaped over the stream. Fido lunged, yanking me off balance.

Crack, pain seized my ankle.

Rip, the back pocket of my jeans snagged on a broken branch.

Splat, I landed on the muddy stream bank.

My ankle throbbed, my pants were ripped, and my phone, which landed in the muck, was dead. Fido came to my side and lay down in the stream. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth.

I scowled at him. Fido means I am faithful. Good dog name on a bad dog.

 I was pretty sure I needed to go to the hospital, and I was wearing my I-have-to-do-laundry-today underwear, the Tweety Bird boxers my mother gave me as a joke. I hung my head and laughed. What else could I do?

 “God, I could use some help here.”

Hope soared at the sound of an approaching biker. Fido stood and bounded across the path.

“Watch out!” The beautiful brunette biker skidded to a stop.

I snorted. I needed a paramedic, and God sent me a runway model. Maybe I could use her phone.

Fido shook himself, showering her with swampy water. I winced, anticipating shrill shrieking. But she laughed. Fido took that as an invitation to jump up, plant his muddy paws against her chest, and lick her face.

“What a beautiful boy! Did you go for a swim?”

“No, I was dragged through the mud by a bad dog!”

She raised an eloquent eyebrow, then nodded to Fido. “Don’t listen to him. You’re a good dog. All dogs are good. It’s just the owners who are bad.” She speared me with a piercing glare and then wiped at the mud splatters and dog drool on her face with her sleeve. “Are you injured?”

“My ankle. But I’m sure it’s okay.” The pain was searing. I forced a smile. “I’ll just sit here until it stops throbbing.”

She raised her eyebrow again, clearly unimpressed with my courageous stoicism.

 “Let me look at it.”

“No.”

She stooped down and gently prodded my ankle, disregarding my protests. She grimaced. “That looks painful. You should get it x-rayed. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Yes, my pride, my pants, and my butt.

“I don’t’ think so.”

“Can you stand?”

I thought of my ripped pants and loony toons underwear.

“No.”

She disarmingly rolled her eyes, stood, and held out her hand. “That was a rhetorical question. With no other injuries, you can stand on your other leg. I’ll help you. We’ll use my bike as a rolling crutch. My truck is a hundred yards that way.” She pointed. ‘I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

I folded my arms. “No. Let me use your phone. I’ll call someone to come get me.”

Her expression was one of forbearing amusement, like I was a recalcitrant toddler refusing to eat okra. Fido wagged his tail and licked my face. ‘Come on, Daddy, stand for the pretty lady!’

My face heated. I chuckled as I admitted, “I’ve ripped my pants.”

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. Then, with stunning aplomb, she resumed a neutral expression. “I’m a doctor, and I won’t look.”

“My dog—”

“We’ll drop him off at a reputable kennel I’m very familiar with.”

I wasn’t intentionally being difficult, but she fascinated and terrified me. I was a helplessly mesmerized moth, and she was a bonfire.

 She tapped her phone. “Hey, I can’t come. A guy with a dog got injured. I’m taking him to the hospital.”

Her phone’s volume was up. I could hear the other person scoff. “A guy with a dog? So, your romantic catnip. Is he cute?”

She smiled at Fido. “Yes.”

There was feminine laughter. “You go, girl! I want details later. Bye,”

“By the way. I’m Jason.” I offered my hand.

At her touch, heat traveled up my arm and flowed into my chest. “Amanda.” She tugged. I relented and stood. She wrapped her arm around my waist, and I briefly lost the ability to breathe. My heart did somersaults. She helped me to her bicycle.

She turned, took several steps, and made another call. “I’m bringing in a short-stay client for the kennel. Pro bono. His owner needs to go to the hospital…. A Golden. Looks to be 35 kilos.”

I pondered how odd that conversation sounded when she snorted behind me. “Tweety Bird?”

 “You promised no looking!”

“Couldn’t help it,” she snickered. “The colors are so bright.”

“What kind of doctor are you, anyway?”

Conspicuously not answering my question, she steadied the bike as I hobbled, leaving a slime trail behind me. “Come, Fido, let’s take care of your Daddy.”

Amanda’s hair glistened in a sunbeam, and I understood why I’d never fallen in love. I’d never seen a mud-splattered woman smile before.

The dark pickup truck’s sign read Louden Veterinary Hospital and Kennels. It had a bumper sticker. I read, “Mirrors prove God has a sense of humor?”

 “Being humble and laughing at yourself can be an act of worship.”

Considering my current condition, I chuckled. “How appropriate.”

Amanda’s cheeks pinked. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I admire people who can laugh at themselves.”

Her smile shot through me, dulling my pain like morphine. “Good, because right now, I think I’m hilarious.”