A Place on My Pillow

The sky was dark, the clouds rolling in. The wind was starting to pick up as Polly hurried on. She kept her head down, one hand clasping the strap to her bag, resting on her shoulder. The other held on single thing, a leash. On the other end was a small German Shepherd named Otto, bursting with energy and just full of spunk. Otto, the 2-month old was a runt. You could see that by how scrawny his entire body was, especially when you petted him. The puppy’s fur made up more than half of his weight. Despite his obvious lack in size, he more than made up for it, Pollyanna thought, with spirit and personality. He was her only friend, but he was all she needed. He was a handful and a half. He was loyal, playful and Pollyanna’s favorite subject to photograph.

“C’mon, Otto! We gotta find cover!” Polly urged the pup on as he tried, yet again, to sniff everything in the park. There was a squirrel that caught Otto’s attention and he tried to pull the thin photographer towards the large oak tree. Lucky for Polly, Otto wasn’t strong enough to drag her. He wasn’t quite as strong as, say, her mom’s pit bull, Hephaestus, who used to almost rip off her 12-year-old arm. Hephaestus, or Hefty, was a brute. Sweet as hell, but a brute.

“No! Otto!” Polly scolded, halting the dog in place. He turned his wide brown eyes towards his owner, as if saying “what’d I do?” She couldn’t hurt him, because every time she looked into those adorably innocent eyes, her heart would soften just a bit. She had a bit of a bleeding heart for animals, always had.

“I’ll get you a treat if you behave,” Polly cooed. The puppy perked up and she smiled, starting off again. She glanced up at the sky, the clouds taking on an unrestrained shade of black. A crash of thunder shook the small Nebraska town, causing Otto to shake. He’d only lived through one or two thunderstorms in the time that Polly had had him, and he was not a fan of them at all. Any minute, the sky would open and the rain would start coming down. And they were no where near a shelter. Glancing around, Polly thought through the options. There was a library, but no dogs were allowed. The same went for the superstore just up the road. The only option, Polly realized begrudgingly, was the large stone church on the other side of the trees at the edge of the park.

“Greeeeeeat,” she muttered. Otto trotted along, hugging his owner’s ankle while they walked. She lead him through the park, ducking under the low hanging tree branches of the park edge. There was only one last thing to get across before the rain started; the town’s main road. It was 5 o’clock, just as everyone was getting out of work. There was traffic that only happened once a day in the sleepy town. And of course, it would get in Polly’s way of safety.

“Ready, baby?” Polly asked, glancing at Otto. He bounced on his feet, tail wagging wildly behind him. She checked both ways, making sure that none of the cars would be moving before dashing through the two-lane traffic. Otto, however, had a different idea. Stopping in the middle of the road, he turned towards the cat running across the road as well.

“Really? REALLY? Now? Come on, Otto!”

Pollyanna dragged the reluctant pup, just as the traffic started to move. Scared, the young girl scooped up the puppy and stood between the lanes. A man in a large yellow Hummer waved her across. Smiling, she raced as quickly as she could towards the stone steeple rising up in front of her. Of course, it was just her luck that it should start pouring just before she reached the steps. The rain was so cold and harsh that it quickly soaked through her clothes and into her bones.

“Goddamn it,” she groaned and pushed herself forward, and under the church’s awning that shielded her from the rain. Pulling open the heavy wooden door, who’s painted red surface was chipped and faded, she found herself inside a large chilled room, candles burning at the far end. Pews lined both sides, an aisle running down the middle and covered by red, faded carpet. There was a private area to the left of the altar, centered on the far end, where there was three rows of candles, some where lit, most weren’t.

Polly and Otto were the only souls within the building, their shadows casting eerily over the pews and floor.

“Hello?” she called out, just to be sure.

No one answered.

“This’ll have to do for tonight, Oh,” she murmured, more to herself than the wriggling animal in her arms. She set him down, unhooking his leash and letting him bound off. She set her bag in the last pew and fixed her army green form-fitting dress. She only had three outfits, this dress was one of them. One of the others was a pair of jeans and a sheer v-neck caramel-colored top. The last was an army green tank top and a pair of Daisy dukes. She had one coat that was tattered and worn, also a dark green that had a fake fur-lined hood. To don her feet, Polly also only had one pair of shoes, a pair of fold-over combat boots.

But that’s not what she was looking for.

She was looking for her camera.

It was a nice camera, a Nikon, that was even older than her coat. Except that it was much better cared for. It looked brand new, despite how many times it had slipped from Polly’s cold clumsy fingers and into a bank of snow. That was the first time she’d cried since she’d left. She thought her poor baby wouldn’t turn back on, but a night in a warm battered women’s shelter, pieces strewn across one of the shelter’s towels, had made the camera work good as new. And she had never cried such happier tears. She hadn’t had Otto at that time, so the camera was all she had, aside from the diamond-encrusted, silver Claddagh ring that hung around her neck on a silver chain.

She walked around, snapping pictures of empty, dusty pews and flickering candles. Of Otto curled up on a padded pew cushion, of the overly large bronze cross speckled with dust and of the empty aisle leading straight to the worn doors. Of the steep steps leading up to the bell tower, of the holy water basin by the door.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. She tucked the camera back in her bag and took off her jacket. She hung it over the back of the pew and then took off her dress in the middle of the church. She didn’t believe in God, not really. But she asked for his forgiven for this. She hung the dress beside the jacket and changed into her caramel oversized shirt and jeans. She wandered up to the front, standing before the cross.

The altar’s white cloth hung limply off the edge of the table and the candle on either side of the table sat sadly, the wax having dripped off the top and onto the sides. She touched the cloth and bowed her head. She thought of everything that had happened recently and was thankful she was even alive.

“Thank you, for keeping me breathing,” she whispered.