Empty Arms
Prompt 1: Pets
“She’s too big for me to carry,” I told my 10-year-old son.
We both stared at the giant black lab standing on the backseat of our car.
“She’s afraid to jump out, Mom!” he pleaded.
The giant beast eventually built up enough courage to step down from the car and onto the sidewalk in front of our house.
During these past four months, since we lost Samy, our family has dog-sat two labs— a golden one and a black one.
These animals are beasts, huge.
As much as I love their massive bodies that make me feel secure and protected, they are just too big.
Samy was always in my arms. I loved to carry him around the house, in the yard, when I stood in front of our gate chatting with neighbors, to and from the car for rides.
Yes, he was always in my arms. I can still remember the feel, the weight of his little body, his fluffy, white fur close to my face, his warmth on my forearm.
He felt safe and so did I.
He was comforted and so was I.
That’s what I miss, maybe, most of all.
My arms are empty.
Yes, I have empty arms.
