Androphobia

xii. jealousy

Reflections - The Neighbourhood

SYNN'S POV:

I never was a jealous person. Whatever I wanted, I could have in the palm of my hand. In fact, it wasn't until I reached the age of eight that I was forced to understand the emotion.

Many years ago in Málaga, the sun was glaring vehemently down on the fountain in the courtyard until each droplet of water turned into a diamond in the light. There was something sticky about the heat, as if the sky were a damp, blue cloth with sunbeams pouring through. Carmelos and I were crouching in our sandals over the hot bricks of the driveway. Pieces of coloured chalk clutched tightly in our hands, we scribbled and tossed stones into boxes we'd drawn, then argued over who had cheated and splashed water in the other's direction.

That was the day my father brought home Isla.

I couldn't understand why he bought a dog when we already had another at home, but he didn't care to explain things to me. Upon her arrival, a slither of prejudice curled through me at the sight of her. She was a beautiful creature, no doubt. She had a brindled coat and slender ears, slender eyes and a slender frame, but there was something which I couldn't quite place on her that made me wary.

I had always been close to our family dog, Sancho. He was a large dog, as large as two eight year old boys could be. His fur was white-silver with an extravagant scruff around his neck and he had a pair of bright blue eyes, just like mine. As soon as I saw him, I recognised that look in his eye. It felt like staring into a distorted mirror. My reflection stared back.

Ever since I was a toddler, Sancho had lived every day beside me. He ate beside me, slept beside me, played beside me. Despite the number of times Carmelos would try to steal him from me and state he liked him better, the dog's lolling tongue and tilting head would always turn back to me. There was something about his loyalty that comforted me: his desire to be petted, the eager wagging of his tail in anticipation of my arrival from school, his vulnerability. It all appealed to my kiddish need for attention.

But with time, Isla became the family favourite.

No matter what shape or form, the new dog outdid Sancho in every way. She was more refined than him, better tamed than him, as sweet as a lemon drop could be; because there was a certain austerity to her gaze that could cut blades. My mother and father loved her better and there was a part of me which knew there was something special about her. I could deny it no longer.

One day, I found Sancho gently chewing at Isla's favourite toy - a brown stuffed bunny. He had never done that before. With wide eyes, eyes wider than a newborn's, he gnawed at the material as I watched him with a frown. It was almost as if he was... copying her.

I asked my father about it the next morning.

"Why is Sancho doing that? He has lots of toys. He doesn't even like that one."

He let a cigarette tilt from the corner of his mouth, smoke swirling into the air of his office.

"Perhaps he feels threatened."

"Threatened?"

Removing the cigarette, he stabbed out the glowing embers into a little pot. My nose wrinkled at the smell. How could anyone smoke those things?

"Have you ever seen a jealous animal before, mijo?" he asked.

[My boy.]

I shook my head.

"When an animal is jealous, they respond in one of two ways." My father rose from his chair and withdrew a knife from one of his drawers, making my young eyes widen and my breath catch in my throat like a fly. "They either resort to hiding, cowering, making useless attempts to catch attention from their owners or mates." Carefully, he placed the tip of the knife under my chin and tilted my head upwards. He smiled a vicious smile. "Or they attack."