The Speed of Souls Read online

  She tousles my hair and says, “Operation: Hotdog Stick!” Then she scampers into the trees.

  Cassie

  Two chipmunks chase each other around the tree, skittering their way up the trunk and disappearing into the thick green pine needles. (Chipmunks look a lot like squirrels, only they are smaller and they don’t have the big bushy tail.) I think they’re playing, but I can’t be sure. They might be fighting over a nut.

  One of the chipmunks races down the trunk of the tree and jumps to the forest floor. He has a big nut in his mouth. (I’m not sure why, but squirrels are all hers and chipmunks are all hims.) I watch as he runs a few more feet, then stops to nibble on his prize. His little whiskers twitch back and forth.

  I bark at him.

  Hey, chipmunk! Enjoy your dinner!

  My bark startles him and he dashes deeper into the forest.

  I’m about to bark for him to come back, that I just want to watch him eat his nut and watch his cute little whiskers twitch some more, when I hear a sound behind me.

  It’s Wally.

  He’s waddling toward me, struggling to hold something large and rectangular in his mouth. He plods the last couple yards, then drops his find at my feet. His little tail whips back and forth.

  Wally’s teeth have cut a small hole in the package and the smell wafts upward. It’s an amazing smell. A smell even better than Kettle Corn.

  It’s called Hotdog.

  Wally has stolen a big pack of fat, plump hotdogs.

  I shake my head at Wally.

  We can’t eat these!

  These are for Jerry and Megan!

  Wally ignores me, ripping into the package, then slinking one of the giant hotdogs out. He wraps his little paws around it, then begins tearing little chunks away and gobbling them down.

  I look around, searching for Megan and Jerry—knowing they’re going to be upset when they find out that Wally stole their hotdogs—but I don’t see them anywhere.

  I decide what I’ll do. I’ll guard the hotdogs so Wally can’t eat any more. I lean down and pick up the pack in my teeth. I can’t help but notice that there are a lot of hotdogs in the pack.

  I count them.

  Nine.

  There are nine hotdogs.

  Some of the juice from the hotdogs drips into my mouth and I feel my eyes nearly roll back in my head. I’ve never tasted anything so amazing in my life.

  Maybe if I just have one?

  Megan and Jerry won’t miss one measly hotdog!

  I set the package down and I gingerly pull one hotdog out. It’s much fatter than the hotdogs I’ve seen before. I glance up at Wally. He’s still working on his hotdog, his little butt wiggling as he chokes down little pieces.

  I take a little nibble of my hotdog and swallow.

  Wow!

  How is it possible that something this delicious even exists?

  I take another nibble, but it isn’t a nibble. It’s a gobble. (I eat the entire hotdog!)

  I’m just like Hugo! I’ve become Hugo.

  But there’s nothing I can do now.

  I ate the hotdog.

  It’s gone.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  When you open your eyes you will be the Guardian of the Hotdogs!

  I open my eyes.

  But I’m too late.

  Wally is slinking out his second hotdog.

  He drags it a few feet away, then starts digging into it.

  Well, if Wally is having another one, I suppose I could have another one. I mean, how many hotdogs do Jerry and Megan need?

  They won’t miss one more.

  I slowly pull a second hotdog from the pack.

  Savor it, Cassie.

  But I don’t. I eat the second hotdog faster than the first.

  Dang it, Cassie!

  I watch Wally talking small little bites and swallowing them down. He’s so happy.

  I glance back to the pack of hotdogs.

  There are still six left.

  Maybe if I have just one more.

  Jerry

  It takes Megan and me ten minutes to complete Operation: Hotdog stick. As we venture back out from the trees, I feel a sting on the bag of my leg.

  “Ouch!” I say, whipping my head around. “Did you just whip me with your hotdog stick?”

  Megan giggles and says, “Maybe.”

  I chase her through the trees until I’m able to give her butt a nice swat. She grabs her butt in her hands and wheezes, “Okay, okay, we’re even.”

  We call a truce, but when I go in for a handshake, she whips me on my thigh. I whip her back and she lets out a loud yelp. Then when she sees that my hotdog stick is broken, she gives me two hard lashes on my shoulder.

  “Not fair,” I howl.

  We call a second truce, which we sign with a kiss, then Megan helps me locate another stick. She finds one within a short fifteen seconds, then we march from the trees and to the picnic table.

  “Did you do something with the hotdogs?” Megan asks, her forehead wrinkling.

  I survey the table. The potato salad, buns, and condiments are all there, but the big package of Ballpark Jumbo Franks is missing.

  Megan shakes her head lightly from side to side and says, “Do you think a bear or a—” Her eyes open wide. “Wally!” Megan whips her head around and begins searching for the fifteen-pound Ewok.

  “Wally?” I ask. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. That little stinker is always running off with my food. I went to the bathroom once and came back and he’d dragged half a pizza under my bed and was eating it.”

  We find Wally on the opposite side of the camp, lying on his side, panting. I make a quick scan for Cassie, but I presume she’s off exploring somewhere.

  Megan squats next to Wally and rubs his bulging little belly. “This is a total hotdog belly!” she shouts.

  Wally wiggles his tail.

  “Don’t you wiggle your tail at me, buddy. Now, where are the rest of the hotdogs? I know you can’t fit ten jumbo franks in that little belly.”

  That’s when I see the corner of plastic sticking out from beneath a small pile of fresh dirt. I walk over and pull the plastic out. It’s an empty pack of hotdogs. All that remains is a small pool of pink liquid near the bottom.

  I pick it up and show it to Megan. “They’re all gone,” I say.

  Cassie

  I can hear Megan and Jerry calling my name outside. I want to run to Jerry, but I can’t. I can’t bear to see him. Not after what I did.

  A few minutes later, there’s a rustle at the front of the tent. I hunker down behind the rolled up sleeping bag, making myself as small as possible.

  “Cass—” Jerry says. “There you are!”

  “She’s hiding in the back of the tent!” he yells to Megan.

  I feel the sleeping bag pushed out from in front of me. “Look at me, Cassie,” Jerry says.

  I don’t.

  I can’t.

  “Cassie...Cassie...Cassie.”

  I move my head up a few inches.

  Jerry is squatted next to me. He’s shaking his head from side to side. He waves the hotdog package at me and says, “Did you do this?” He waits a second, then he grabs my snout (not hard) and tilts my head up. “Did...you...do…this?”

  I break.

  I can’t hold it in.

  I can’t live with the guilt.

  I let out a loud whine.

  Yes, Jerry.

  I did it.

  I have no self-control and I ate all the big, fat, plump, juicy hotdogs.

  I couldn’t stop.

  They just kept begging me to eat them.

  Eat me, Cassie! Eat me!

  They were so delicious, Jerry.

  I’ve never tasted anything more delicious in my life.

  I couldn’t stop.

  Oh, and it gets worse, Jerry.

  It gets so much worse.
>
  After I ate all the hotdogs I went and did something just awful.

  Just horrible.

  Wally still had half a hotdog left and I’m not proud of this, Jerry. I stole Wally’s hotdog.

  Who steals a hotdog from a cute little adorable dog?

  I’ll tell you who.

  Me, Jerry...Me!

  I’m a hotdog monster, Jerry.

  A hotdog monster!

  I understand if you don’t want me to be your dog anymore.

  I’ll just go live in the forest. I’ll just go live with the chipmunks, Jerry.

  If that’s what you want, that’s what I’ll do.

  “So you did do this?” Jerry says. He’s biting his bottom lip and his face is turning red.

  Yes.

  I’m guilty.

  Eight counts of hotdog homicide.

  “And then you dug a hole and tried to hide the evidence, didn’t you?”

  I had to, Jerry.

  I had to hide the evidence.

  I couldn’t stand to look at that empty package.

  I had to bury it.

  I had to bury my shame.

  Jerry’s face turns even brighter red and then his face explodes.

  He’s laughing.

  Why is he laughing?

  The tent rustles a second time and Megan crawls in. “Oh, my God,” Megan says. “She was hiding back here?”

  Jerry is lying on his back, holding his stomach. “Yeah, behind the sleeping bag,” he says between fits.

  “Look at her poor ears,” Megan says. “Oh, she feels so bad.” She reaches out and pets my head, “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

  Really?

  You mean, I don’t have to go live with the chipmunks?

  Jerry pushes himself up from the tent floor, then crawls to me. He gives my nose a big kiss and then says, “My precious little Hotdog Bandit.”

  Jerry

  Dinner is potato salad, S’mores, and beer.

  It’s dropped twenty degrees since the sun went down. Megan and I have both pulled on thick hooded sweatshirts, but it’s still chilly and we huddle next to the fire.

  Wally is snuggled up in Megan’s lap and Cassie is in the dirt next to me. I reach down and rub the top of her head. It’s been two hours since I found her huddled in the back of the tent. After assuring the Hotdog Bandit that Megan and I weren’t mad, that she was just being a dog, and that I still loved her to the moon and back, her spirits rose. That being said, she was still skulking around with droopy ears and sad eyes.

  “I think I’m going to have one more,” Megan says, reaching for the bag of marshmallows and pushing two of them onto her stick.

  “A fourth S’more?”

  “Hey, don’t be counting my S’mores,” she says with a laugh.

  When the marshmallow is just beginning to sizzle, the first raindrops begin to fall.

  “Ahhh,” Megan screams. “My marshmallow!”

  It’s a race against the clock to get her S’more made before the light drizzle turns into a torrential downpour.

  Cassie, Wally, and I seek shelter in the tent and Megan joins us a minute later, her hair dripping wet and wearing a pouty frown.

  “My S’more died,” she says.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Should we take a moment of silence?”

  “I think that would only be appropriate.”

  So we have a moment of silence for her lost S’more.

  ~

  “Let’s see,” Megan says, adding up her total. “Triple letter score on the K…that’s fifteen…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…then a double word score…forty points.”

  She adds her score to the memo app on her phone, then says, “I’m up by fifty-four.”

  She looks down at Cassie, who is lying right next to her and says, “Did you hear that Cassie? I’m beating your dad by fifty-four points.”

  I shake my head lightly at her.

  Megan had been challenging me to a game of Scrabble for the past week and she bought a Travel Scrabble board for the trip.

  I warned her that I was pretty good—I mean, I am a professional writer—but so far, she’s creaming me.

  I look down at my letters. After several minutes of grunting, some humming, and clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, Megan says, “Will you please go before I strangle you?”

  “Fine.”

  I grab three of my shitty one point tiles and using the P from Megan’s “K-A-P-U-T”, I spell out “P-U-L-T.”

  I start counting, “Two, three, four, five...Triple Word Score...fifteen points.”

  Megan cranes her neck under the light from the lantern and says, “Pult?”

  “Yeah, pult, like, I pult it from the ground.”

  “Um, no.”

  “Yes. I pult a muscle in my leg.”

  “No, you pulled a muscle in your leg.”

  “No, pult.”

  “Challenge.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s a word.”

  “We shall let the Scrabble Official Dictionary decide that.” She pulls up the app on her phone and puts in my word. “Sorry, Charlie,” she says, turning her phone toward me. “Not a word.”

  I sigh.

  “How are you so bad at this?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  I pull back the L tile, leaving me with “P-U-T” which no longer reaches the Quadruple Word Score, totaling me a whopping four points.

  “Four points,” I say.

  “This is crushing you, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely a blow to the ego.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, you look really cute when you’re losing.”

  I laugh. “Oh, thanks.”

  “My pleasu—” Megan stops mid-word. Her nose wrinkles and her face appears to have a small seizure.

  I’m confused for half a second until the most unimaginable rank smell invades my nostrils. I feel my face mirror Megan’s.

  “Cassie!” I scream.

  Cassie

  I’m sorry, Jerry.

  I’ve got the toots.

  I think it’s from the hotdogs.

  The eight and a half hotdogs.

  My stomach is all flippy and floppy.

  And I can’t stop farting.

  Maybe it’s karma.

  Divine justice.

  Punishment for being the “Hotdog Bandit.”

  I know you said that you forgive me but it’s going to be awhile until I can forgive myself.

  Eight days.

  One day for each hotdog.

  One day for each delicious, fat, plump, juicy hotdog.

  “Unzip the flap!” Megan yells.

  “It’s gonna let the rain in,” Jerry says. His eyes are all squished together and he has his face tucked into his sweatshirt.

  “I don’t care!” Megan yells. “I can’t breathe.”

  I’m so sorry, Megan.

  I’m so sorry that my stinky toots are making it so you can’t breathe.

  I’m so sorry you’re poking your head outside into the rain because it smells like “the inside of a dead walrus.”

  Jerry, I’m so sorry that my toots are making “your eyes burn.”

  “Okay, okay, I think it’s gone,” Megan says, crawling back toward me. “Wow, Cassie, that was um, impressive.” She gives my butt a few soft pats.

  A few seconds later, everything is back to normal. Jerry and Megan are back playing their game and Wally is sitting in Jerry’s lap.

  That’s when I see Wally’s little tail flutter. Then his whiskers twitch.

  Then Jerry screams, “Wally!”

  He must have the toots too!

  Jerry

  For the next thirty minutes, Cassie and Wally continue to turn the small tent into a stinky dirigible. (Thankfully we weren’t playing Scrabble by candlelight or it could have ended like the Hindenburg.)

  Finally, Cassie and
Wally’s savage farts subside and Megan and I can resume playing Scrabble. We finish up our first game, which she wins by one hundred and seventeen points, then I beg her for a rematch, hoping to at least be competitive in the second game.

  But halfway through the second game, I’m already behind by seventy points.

  “How are you so good at this?” I ask.

  “Well, aside from being really, really, really smart, I’ve been playing Words With Friends religiously for the past ten years.”

  “Ah, well that makes me feel a little better.”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “No?”

  “No. You are terrible.”

  I laugh, then say, “Well, let’s see what you think of me now.”

  I pull all seven of my tiles and with the help of an X on the board, I spell out “M-A-X-I-M-I-Z-E.”

  “Wow!” Megan exclaims. “Look at Ryman go!”

  With the fifty-point bonus for using all my letters and a double letter score on the second M, I net seventy-eight points.

  “He’s in the lead,” Megan says, adding my score to her phone.

  I moment later, Megan plays, “I-L-U-V-U.”

  “Iluvu?” I ask, super competitive now that I have a chance of winning.

  Megan raises her eyebrows and nods.

  “Challenge.”

  She smiles and hands me her phone.

  I put the word in, then turn the phone to her and say, “Sorry, not a word.”

  Her dimple is flashing in her cheek, deeper than I’ve ever seen in. It’s a crater. She nods at her word on the board and says, “Jerry.”

  “What? It’s not a word.”

  “Jerry,” she says, dragging my name out.

  I look down at the word.

  Iluvu.

  And then it hits.

  It’s like getting hit with a balloon filled with warm honey.

  I look up, take a deep breath, and say, “I love you too.”

  ~

  After exchanging our first “I love yous”, the Scrabble board was pushed (more like thrown) to the side of the tent and Megan and I made love.

  The tent was damp from the rain and it was still a tad combustible, but somehow it was perfect.

  Afterward, Megan and I cuddled up in the sleeping bag. I was still awake, running through a montage of Megan’s and my two-month journey. From meeting her in the pet store, to our first date, to our second, third, fifth date, my birthday dinner.