Falima spoke from startlingly close. "Dogs are good judges of character." She added snidely, "Usually."
Collins tried to surreptitiously wipe away the tears. He did not look at Falima, not wanting her to know about his lapse. "Maybe you're the one who misjudged me."
A lengthy pause ensued. "Maybe," she finally admitted, grudgingly.
"About Joetha…" Though Collins hated to raise the subject, he knew he would have to resolve the issue before Falima could ever consent to like him. "I truly didn't-"
"I know," Falima interrupted.
"You do?" Collins could not keep surprise from his voice.
"I… think I do. It is hard seeing things… that way." Falima added insightfully, "Through the eyes of a foreigner."
"Yes." Collins wholeheartedly agreed.
Another long silence followed. Collins thought Falima must have left as quietly as she had come. So when she spoke, he jumped, turning his tear-streaked face to her. "What were you doing to the dog?" She simulated stroking with her hands, then crouched beside him.
Collins blinked the last of the tears from his eyes. "You mean when I was petting and scratching?" "Yes."
The answer now seemed wholly obvious, but she seemed to expect one, so Collins reiterated. "Uh, I was, uh, petting. And… uh… scratching."
"Yes." The word emerged in an emotionless monotone that revealed nothing.
Sorrow gave way to sudden terror. "I always… I mean I never thought… it's just…" Collins gathered his thoughts. "Did I do something terrible? Again?"
"No," Falima reassured. "Not terrible. It is just… well, stroking someone. That is kind of… personal, do you not think?"
Collins patted the animal snuggled against him, and the dog's tail thumped the ground. He tried to consider the beast as a human, and a strange thought eased into his mind. "Is this a boy dog or a girl dog?"
"Male." The response held a hint of question. Collins' mind returned to the summer of his freshman year of college, just before his parents' divorce. His best friend from high school, Bill Dusumter, had taken leave from the army at the same time. They had agreed to meet at Bobcat Den Park. When Collins arrived at the picnic grounds, he found several of the old gang sitting around talking. He waved to Diana Hostetler, with whom he had exchanged jokes and a love for the trombone. Dusumter had dated her for a time, their breakup messy; and Collins had avoided pressing for a relationship for fear of losing their friendship. She looked the same as he remembered: dark, shoulder-length hair that shimmered in the sunlight; eyes starkly blue in contrast; high-pitched, freckled cheeks; and a broad, wry mouth. Katie Tonn and Dave Hansen had become a couple, attending Cornell University together. Dusumter claimed to have lost his virginity with Tonn, but none of the three seemed to hold any ill will. Several other friends from high school played a lively game of frisbee. But Collins' gaze fixed on Bill Dusumter, his tomcat best buddy, and the stranger at his side.
Both wore the standard military haircut, matching brown hair buzzed to half-inch prickles. Both were skinny, with lean angular faces; and they both smelled of cigarettes. They wore Levis and T-shirts, Dusumter's red with the name of a local bar and the newcomer's plain black.
Collins' brain worked overtime, trying to divine the relationship between the two. Before he could speak, Dusumter gestured him over, a delighted grin on his face. "Ben. Buddy. How's it hanging?"
Still deep in thought, Collins had to force a smile and missed the opportunity for a snappy comeback. "It's hanging fine. Army treating you okay?"
"Great!" Dusumter gestured toward his companion. "This is Gene." He winked conspiratorially. "You're going to be seeing a lot more of Gene around here."
"Oh." Something seemed wrong, and Collins could not put his uneasiness into words. "Is Gene… moving here?"
"Yup."
"Ah." Collins gazed into his friend's eyes and read more there, something exciting and interesting that he would not reveal until asked. Collins felt too dense to find the proper question, whatever it might prove to be.
Dusumter retook his seat. As he did so, he placed a hand squarely on Gene's thigh.
Collins' breath caught in his throat. A million thoughts swirled through his mind in an instant. Bill's gay? The thought bothered him deeply, and that troubled him. I'm for gay rights. I have gay friends. Am I just a hypocrite? Collins wanted to cry. Few things upset him more than people who preached values to others while cheating on their spouses, fanatics who sabotaged animal experiments then eagerly popped medications born of that research, fiends who labeled women who suffered through an abortion to save their own lives as murderers then encouraged their daughters to destroy the fetus of a man they did not like. It's easy to cling strongly to morality when it doesn't affect you. Collins analyzed his discomfort, delving to its source. I don't have a problem with Bill being gay. It just came completely out of the blue, so opposite from the Bill I knew. I can and will deal with this. It's my problem, not his.
Collins exchanged pleasantries with his old friend, then headed off to see some of the others. He had taken fewer than half a dozen steps, prepared to step around their scattered purses and backpacks, when Dusumter came up beside him. Grinning, he asked, "So, what do you think of Gene?"
Still shocked, Collins did not know what to say. He barely knew the newcomer, who had not yet spoken a word. "Um," he mumbled. "Seems nice." Unable to meet Dusumter's sparkling brown gaze, he glanced at the backpacks.
"Don't tell anyone else; I wanted you to be the first to know…"
Collins braced himself, wishing he had had time to prepare, seeking the most supportive words he could muster in his own panicked moments of shock.
"… Gene and I are getting married."
Married? Collins whirled to face his friend. Even as he moved, his eyes registered a name on one of the backpacks: "JEAN." Jean, Gene. It all came together in that moment. Just because Bill's fiancee is too skinny to have boobs doesn't mean she's not a woman! Relief flooded him, not because Dusumter was not gay; that truly did not matter. Collins' solace came from the realization that he did know the man who had been his best friend, that he had not missed signs of misery or need, had not been kept from a significant secret for lack of trust or closeness.
"Congratulations." He caught Dusumter into an embrace, not the least bit self-conscious.
Dusumter's familiar voice hissed into his ear. "Way to keep a secret, buddy."
Now, in an alien world with a dog who was also a man curled against him, Collins smiled at the memory. As weird as the situation had become, it seemed marginally preferable to having made what might have seemed like a sexual advance on some strange woman who, properly and without insult, could be better called a bitch.
Oblivious to Collins' train of thought, Falima continued. "A young male, of course."
Great, so now I'm a child molester. Collins cringed. That makes it much better.
Attuned to Collins' discomfort, Falima continued, "It is all right, really. He is probably the closest thing to a dog of your world that you will find here. He clearly enjoys the attention, and he probably will not remember much of it in human form."
Collins studied the dog's brown-and-white patches.
"So go ahead and stroke him. If it makes him uncomfortable, he will let you know."
Yeah. Collins glanced at his wound. Next time, he'll bite my hand clean off. Tentatively, he petted the dog's back. It sighed and snuggled more closely to him.
Falima smiled. "Actually, I like it when people stroke my nose."
Collins gave Falima a strange look.
"In switch-form, of course." Falima's cheeks turned scarlet, to Collins' surprise. She seemed too strong to let anything embarrass her. "And a scratch behind my ears now and then feels wonderful. Especially when the flies are biting." Her features lapsed back into their tough demeanor. "But I do not like being kicked. In any form."