Gotta Knock a Little Harder

         I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak. From my pet pig, Kilroy, whose love was for not when a cruel bludgeoning ended him in a parade of squeals, to Peter, a homeless man living off the rabbits in my backyard and scraps of my trashcan; although, my relationship with Peter was more of a mutual benefit to both of us, as he would get to have a meal everyday, and I wouldn’t have to worry about emptying the trash. Peter and I were comparable to a tapeworm and a dog’s digestive system; him being the tapeworm, and I being the dog, respectively. Despite never having seen Peter from close proximity, I could hear him rummaging through the trash at night, his heavy breathing and occasional coughs trademark of his presence. As to how I knew his name was Peter, well I never confirmed it, but he often muttered the name ‘Peter’, as he comforted himself with words that suggested a better tomorrow. He would also mention the names of other people - people from the past, presumably, as the way he spoke of them was with nostalgia. Inevitably, though, the memories of the past caused him to break down into wheezing sobs. Perhaps the reality of his current situation was a sharp contrast to the life he had before. Then this lament would be turned into fits of rage, as he unleashed his frustrations on the carcasses of animals from that day’s kill. I wanted to help Peter, so I continued to allow his living in my backyard, and I procedurally paid him visits in the dark, keeping a safe distance as I took note of his mannerisms and roughly sketched his appearance. The anonymity of watching over Peter didn’t provide me with contention though. Knowing that he might leave to go live somewhere else caused me to constantly worry. I couldn’t sleep at night. I wanted to speak to him, to understand him, and to teach him how to care for others how I had cared for him. The possibility of losing what I had with Peter caused tears to well up in my eyes. I had to go see him, no matter what. One night, I prepared a rabbit to present to Peter, as I knew he loved rabbits ever so. Filled with joy as I made my way outside to give him a delicious meal, my stomach dropped at the sight. For his encampment was abandoned, and my trash from that day was untouched. At first I felt sorrow and grief at my loss, then rage at Peter’s disdainful act. “How could he leave me like this?” I thought, but I knew finding him was near impossible; there were so many places he could’ve gone. I had to wait until he came back, if he came back. I had no reason to live anymore. Without Peter, without purpose, nothing mattered. Just thinking about it stung, so I went back inside and down to my basement to get a coke, in the hopes that I could just forget about it. Proceeding through the darkness, my hand found the handle of the refrigerator. I opened it up and reached to find the beverage, an action that felt as natural as walking, but then I noticed a strange stench. Pungent, like meat that had recently commenced the process of decomposition, yet oddly sweet, as if it had been mixed in with a strong perfume. The light of the refrigerator reached out to make the room faintly visible, and in the light I saw what was giving off the smell - no, who, was giving off the smell. Relief flooded through my body, and my recent fears were dismissed. I realized that it was just Peter, and I gave him his beloved rabbit. I was so happy to see that he was okay, that he hadn’t left. I wouldn’t be able to carry on without the comfort he provides me. To this day Peter and I live happily. And although, uneaten rabbits keep piling up in my basement, and Peter just doesn’t seem himself lately, I still love him for the person he is. I only hope he never leaves me again, and breaks my heart like he did that