too many to outrun. I knew it would find me, like a long-lost puppy. My youthful idealism out the window, shriveled like a dead flower. I settled, sold myself short, all in the name of money. Yet money means freedom and freedom means work and work is what I do.
The sky is beginning to brighten up and welcome the day by fading from a deep blue to a pink as the sun makes an appearance. I can’t help but take it in and enjoy the loss of the night. My feet hit the sand hard, almost knocking me down, but I steady myself and adjust to the change in surface. I scan the vast ocean, taking in the early morning surfers but looking for one in particular. Then I spot him and as always, a smile spreads across my face. Bennett Torres.
I met Ben a few weeks after I moved into my Manhattan Beach condo six years ago. On my morning run, his adorable Boxer, Roxy, followed me for two miles. I ignored the dog under the pretense that this was this slick surfer dickhead’s way to pick up women on the beach. Yet, I heard the panic in his voice as he called for his dog. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see him running the length of the beach the opposite direction we were heading, calling her name and whistling as his voice became more and more riddled with fear and anxiety. I stopped my run, I turned to the dog, I said her name, and she did that adorable head tilt that all dogs do and I caved.
I turned and headed back in the direction of Roxy’s owner with Roxy trailing behind in such close proximity to my feet that I thought I might kick her. When we finally reached him, his dark brown eyes were wide with fear and he dropped to his knees in front of Roxy, engulfing her face in his hands. He rubbed his fingers vigorously over her ears, speaking to her as if she were a small, errant child.
“Roxy, you bad girl! Don’t you ever run away again. I was so worried!” All along, Roxy was tilting her head in different directions as the inflection in his voice changed. Everything about this was endearing: this man on his knees, the way he spoke to the dog, the kindness and love he bequeathed upon her, and his genuine concern for her safety. My words pulled him from his reverie. They left my mouth before my brain could stop them.
“Your dog is adorable.”
He glanced up at me, placing his hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. He paused for a brief moment, then a shy smile crossed his face and he responded lightly with, “You’re adorable.”
The smile fell instantly from my face. I wasn’t prepared or ready to welcome any advances that would allow me to feel. I couldn’t bear the thought of allowing anyone into my life that might possibly end with me getting hurt, or even worse, me hurting them. Quickly and silently I tapped the pads of each one of my fingertips on my right hand. Counting each one in rapid succession till I reached ten. This was my OCD at its best. A situation I wasn’t in control of, calling for stimulation to calm my senses and relax my overwhelming urge to bolt.
He stood in front of me, his smile faded based on my response. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s not every day that a beautiful girl returns my wayward dog to me.” He extended a tanned, yet well-worn hand to me. “Ben,” he said with a weak grin. I didn’t take his hand, but I responded with, “Krissy. Krissy Mullins.” The thought of touch overwhelmed me and again I tapped my fingers.
“I’m glad I was able to help. I’d hate to see what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been found.” I smiled timidly.
“It would have been bad. She’s my life.” He glanced down at the dog, who was now resting at his feet, leisurely licking her paw. “Let me take you out as a thank you for finding her.” His eyebrows rose as he awaited an answer.
“I don’t think so, but thank you. I need to be going. Have a good one.” I turned and walked away. Somehow when he didn’t follow me, I knew my point was made.
Ben would outlast me, which to this day I don’t understand why. Months