They didn't fight us or tease us much. We were just being sidelined. And even avoided meeting with the eyes. From that very first day, we were afraid of his eyes.
...One day, a friend of mine and I left school and went home together - just as quietly and without conspiring like we did. He had to go the other way, I knew. But he just came with me.
My dog was waiting for me in the yard. I recognized him right away, even though I hadn't seen him for over a year. When he barely saw me, he rushed to me as usual, but before he got two steps away, he stopped abruptly and felt himself.
- Hello, dog! - I greeted him with a soothing voice. - What's wrong with you? Offended by who?
He was growling. He roared, staring at my companion, and his tail twitched. His heavy gaze reminded me so much of the looks my classmates had seen in my friend's eyes that I felt uncomfortable. I really missed my dog.
- Calm down, dog," I tried to make peace. - He's my friend, he's not going to hurt me. You what?
The dog seemed to be in a perfect rage. He started barking when he jumped up a little. It was really angry. He never barked like that, not even at those who threatened me seriously. And now... in his bark I heard, "You, you bastard! Get out of here!
- Look, dog," I said to him harshly. - I'm very happy for you, but I won't tolerate that rudeness. That's my friend, so let's not get jealous here. I didn't leave you, I just made another friend. That doesn't mean I love you any less now, does it?
The dog looked at me with a look I'd probably never forget in my life, turned around in silence, and ran. That's the look they give to the traitors. Still, he had a very expressive face. Not from the "understands everything, but can't say it all" series. I had the full feeling that this dog could speak perfectly. He just prefers to keep quiet.
Just like me and my... friend.
My friend hasn't been showing any offense all this time. When he looked after the dog that was leaving, he turned to me and said without emotion:
- See you tomorrow.
And he left too.
The dog never came back. Although I had accepted his loss by then, I was in a lot of pain. It hurt the way he left. It was like he wasn't the year he was almost my dog...
...I saw him again. At the station. I was going to visit my grandmother before the beginning of the school year. And there, on the platform, I saw him accompanied by a red fussy woman, strangely dressed as an old lady and a skinny shaggy boy with glasses. They were in a hurry, and my dog was jumping around them like a puppy, making funny knees and then trying to put his paws on the boy's shoulders. He looked very greeted and faded - the size of a crowbar horse, his hair shining, but it was still him.
- Sirius, behave yourself! - A redheaded woman shouted at him.
Sirius. Wow, that was a pretty good idea, pathetic.
Well... he seems to be in good hands. The boy is as loved as he is. And this woman is such a typical mother. Of course, she takes care of him. He probably didn't come back because he was finally taken into the family...
"And he didn't want to go to you," she said, "I'm sorry.
- And the hell with her, with the dog! - I said out loud with a ringing voice. - Why would I need it? I now have a true friend. And everyone else, the rest of them, are just fools. It's a lot of honor for them to get a dog because of them.
I turned around with desperate determination and went to my platform.
I never looked back.
That same year, my friend left. To Germany. He wrote that he was leaving in another home essay put on my desk. He also started drawing pencil portraits. Sometimes angry, sometimes just very... piercing. But always frighteningly similar. Sharp and uncompromising, just like he himself. He painted my rubbish and moved it to me. And for the first time, I didn't know what to do. Because I couldn't draw. And I couldn't say the same thing. So far, we've always talked about the principle of "mystery for secrecy, frankness for honesty. And what to do now, I did not know. So I just shook his hand quietly and immediately let him go.
It was the first time I had touched him,
Then he moved a piece of paper to me that said, "Tomorrow at 11:00 at the train station under the clock.
I arrived at eleven. There was his mother, a little fragile woman with mouse hair. And his father, frowning, tall... and very much like him. We were just standing next to my friend until the train whistled. Silently.
Then he got on the train in silence. On the top step, he looked back at me, gave me a short look, and immediately walked in.
He sent me a letter from Germany. Not a word. Just a pencil drawing. A view from the train window of the platform, where there is a lonely stooping figure of a teenage girl in an old jacket, with liquid icicle hair and a provocatively large nose.
And at her feet lies a big black dog.