‘Aria of the Birds’ by EJ Nash

The day that our dog Mark ran away from home was also the day I discovered why the blackbirds sang. For a mutt from the pound, Mark was an integral part of the family. When I listed my siblings, I named all three: Anna, Jason, and Mark. Only the first two were human. 

That was the summer that melted the soles on our sneakers, the summer when the air slipped down our throats to choke us as we slept. Anna and I wanted to play a joke on Dad by trying to fry an egg on the hood of his car — and it worked. Lunch was eggs and bacon à la Ford. I picked out the little bits of grit that ended up in the yolk.

It was no surprise that Mark wanted to leave. We had no air conditioning, so our afternoons were spent haunting the mall and the arcade. When we came home, Mark would greet us lazily, a paw flicking with effort. And then came the day when he wasn’t there at all. 

The search party was organized. Mom and Anna combed the nearby forest; Dad and Jason went to the Humane Society to see if someone had brought in a dog with a scar over his left ear. I stayed at home in case he loped back.

The house was a mausoleum without anyone else. I imagined mould creeping up the siding, dust settling on furniture. I was ten years old and had never been left alone before. I wanted to scream, just to hear how loud I could be. As the middle child, I’d never had space for myself. Anna, the athlete. Jason, the scholar. And me — the girl left at home.