Simultaneity
The first time the man and the dog simultaneously vomited, it was a coincidence, and it was magical.
It was late at night. The man had downed too many beers and too much pie during a Family Guy marathon, while the dog had overdosed on lawn clippings and sticks that day. They rose from their spots in the living room, took a few steps down the hall and buckled over, multicolored streams erupting from their mouths. The noise sounded like a demon baby waking up.
It only lasted an instant, but when it was over, they looked at each other, panting, and they’d never felt so close. The man grinned, and there was a sparkle in the dog’s eye. They went to sleep that night thinking about their shared special moment.
The next day, the man asked if he could mow the neighbor’s lawn, and he brought the lawn clippings back to the house and dumped a pile in front of the dog. The man grilled himself four hamburgers and made the dog two. That night, the dog started retching earlier than expected, so the man had to punch himself in the gut to get his own vomit going. It wasn’t quite simultaneous, but it was a huge mess, and after it was over the man looked at the dog, smiling. The dog looked back, and then went outside to pee.
The man was painstaking in his planning, trying hard to recapture the power of that first time. He felt if he himself could vomit quickly on command, he could time it just right with the dog, but it was never quite simultaneous. They went through a lot of paper towels. The man started feeding the dog more human food, asking his wife to prepare the dog a plate for family dinners, in hopes that the rich meals would be a good trigger while their grass grew. The man started eating dog food, thinking not only would it help him vomit but it might bring him closer to the dog. He munched from bags of dog food during work, and practiced vomiting in the bathroom, and a few times in the middle of meetings to prove to himself he could.
The man would come home from work and look into the dog’s eyes, wondering if they’d ever capture that feeling from that night, but the dog would look away and roll over to have the kids rub his tummy - something the kids hadn’t done before, thought the man. And while the man kept vomiting every night, the dog soon stopped. He’d eat from his plate of human food sensibly, finishing lean proteins but staying away from carbs, and the man wondered if his wife had taught the dog about South Beach. The man became sad, and in his despair he started vomiting during work meetings more frequently. On the day he was fired, the man came home, took off his clothes and went to sleep in the backyard, growling in his dreams.
The next morning the man came inside to see the dog sitting at the table with a cup of coffee reading the man’s Kindle. The dog was wearing the man’s bathrobe, and the man thought the dog had a familiar smell about him. The dog cleared his throat.
“I’m screwing your wife,” the dog said.
The man looked at the dog and cocked his head sideways a little.
“I said, I’m screwing your wife,” the dog repeated.
The man looked at the dog a moment more and then stared into space, scratching the back of his ear with his foot. He went over to the front door, and the dog opened it, and the man ran down the steps and down the street into the distance.
They put up signs around the neighborhood with a grainy picture of the man and a number to call, but nobody called, and they never saw the man again.
