I used to have a poodle. Her name was Spanky. I don't know why I named her that. Maybe because my mom spanked me whenever I did something she didn't like - which seemed to be a lot. And then, I would go to my room, slam the door, and plop myself face down into the pillow on my bed. And Spanky would come over and lick my tears. I never knew if she felt sorry for me or if she just liked the taste of the salt in my tears.

Later, I knew she loved me.

When I was sixteen, I had a boyfriend. His name was David. We were teenage sweethearts and deeply in love. Some people, like my mom, dismissed it as puppy love. But I didn't care. Love is love – I insisted. Now that I'm older, I still don't feel any difference. In fact, I think the first love is the deepest – a love you never forget – a true love.

I thought about David all the time. No matter what I did, David was on my mind – when I was in algebra class, when I was at gym, when I was doing my chores, eating supper, doing homework, even in my sleep – especially in my sleep. I dreamt about David all the time.

One night, it was raining. After the sound of raindrops on the roof above my bedroom lulled me to sleep, I dreamt about him. We were walking at night along a narrow path. We held each other's hand while we walked; the starlight was our only guide. As we slowly reached the top of a hill, I realized we were in a cemetery. Tombstones cast faint shadows from the night sky. We held each other close. As we were about to kiss, the beating of heavy rain against my window stirred me awake.

The next day, I told David about my dream. I was afraid to at first, not knowing what he would say. Well, I should have kept it to myself. He said it was creepy, and I was too infatuated with him. He said he didn't feel the same way about us that I did. He didn't want to get serious. That was the word he used – serious.

Later, when I got home, I said a word to no one and went straight to my room. I closed the door and lay on my bed. Spanky immediately jumped up and cuddled next to me, sensing my sorrow. She was always there when I needed her most.

A few years later, when I was home from college on spring break, Spanky was very sick. She could hardly walk, and she wouldn't eat. We took her to the vet. Dad drove. Mom sat beside him. I sat in the back with Spanky on my lap. Tears were dripping from my eyes. Even as they fell like raindrops on her, Spanky was too weak to notice them. That's when I knew what love was.

Story Copyright © 2023 by Michael DeFrancesco

(Photo non-copyright)