I was six the first time I saw The Neverending Story and experienced the totemic tearjerker scene. My dog was two. His name was Murphy. He was a happy, loyal and sometimes lazy cocker spaniel. You know the type—floppy ears and a sad, kind face. I called him my brother. My parents were amused but couldn’t help but reality check me with the fact that he wasn’t actually my brother, lest I take the delusion too far. ‘You have two sisters,’ they reminded me. Two sisters and no brothers, I reminded them. If they weren’t going to give me the life I wanted, I guess I had to forge it.
I was home sick from school. I’d spent the previous night vomiting into a green Tupperware bowl we used to make salads on pasta night. My regular sick day schedule involved laying on the couch with Murphy while watching VHS tapes of movies we’d recorded off regular television. I didn’t mind the commercials. Sometimes my mind would get too involved in the story and I’d be very disoriented when it ended. The commercials acted as quick transports back to reality. This day was different though. My Mom had rented The Neverending Story as a treat.
Murphy and I settled in under a blanket. I even shared some of my 7UP and chicken noodle soup. Murphy licked the 7UP, and his lip curled back, and his head trembled from the carbonation and limey sweetness. The movie sucked me in. I loved the world building, the puppetry, the synth soundtrack. The titular child hero, Atreyu and his trusty stead, Artax began their adventure to save their world. Their first challenge was the swamp of sadness. The movie set up the rules and stakes quickly. If you get too sad, you’ll drown in the mud. I pulled Murphy closer. Kissed his thick smooth hair. Thought, no worries for us. We’ve never let the sadness get us. And yet I watched in disbelief as Artax the horse froze in the swamp. I gripped Murphy tightly. Artax began to sink. Atreyu shouted, ‘Don’t let the sadness overtake you!’ Artax sank deeper. I saw fear in his horse eyes. I looked over at Murphy as my tears welled and spilled. I stared into Murphy’s eyes as the screams emanated from the screen. The realization that something so dear and seemingly invulnerable could be taken by an emotion alone. As I watched the struggle to free Artax from his doom, I began to question whether I could save Murphy if the time came.
I didn’t sleep that night and was able to convince my Mom to let me stay home again. When lunchtime hit, I showed my true colors and raced outside with Murphy. Too late to take me to school, my Mom conceded and let me be. We didn’t have mud in our backyard, so I used the hose and made some. I walked Murphy through the mud, leash attached. No issues. I walked him through a few times without a leash. Golden. His tongue hung out, ears perked, tail wagging. No signs of despair. We had to practice. We had to prepare. We had to armor ourselves against the sadness. I could not lose my brother. My Mom eventually came out and scolded us. Murphy was covered in mud as was I. She hosed us off. I took it laughing. I looked over at Murphy who wagged his tail. They should’ve put us in the movie, I thought. We could’ve overcome the sadness.
Later that summer we were staying at a friend’s cabin at the coast. It had a small dock me and my sisters fished off for bullheads. Murphy liked to join us. He liked to lick the flopping bullheads and nudge them with his nose. One day, we were casting off the dock, Murphy in tow, when something stirred the surface of the water. We put our rods down and watched closely. It happened again. Something big. Suddenly, a slick face with black eyes and long whiskers appeared. A sea lion. We watched in awe. Murphy stood at attention. He growled and moved closer to the edge of the dock. I was too entranced to notice. It happened in a split second as Murphy leapt from the dock into the frigid river, chasing the sea lion. The sea lion disappeared beneath the surface. Murphy swam farther out. Me and my sisters began to scream for him to swim back. He ignored us. I asked my sisters to let me talk to him. ‘Please,’ I begged him. ‘Come back Murph!’ Murphy finally turned but I could see the fear in his eyes. The current was too strong. He did not swim often or well. I beckoned him back. Pleaded. He fought against the current but was being pulled down stream. I ran down along the riverbank coaxing him to the side. He seemed to slow his doggy paddle. He locked eyes with me. He wasn’t scared anymore. He was being taken by the exact thing I’d try to protect him from—that I believed we were immune from. ‘Don’t give up!’ I yelled. But it was too late. The sadness had taken him.
That night I slept in the attic and refused to let anyone comfort me. I cried for hours lying in bed, letting my tears soak the pillow. Darkness came and I couldn’t cry any longer. I lay on my back, closed my eyes, and felt myself sinking into the soft mattress. My body felt numb and heavy as I sank deeper into the bed. I put my hand on my heart and knew the sadness was going to take me too. Part of me was happy to be with my brother. Part of me was devastated that I was giving up like Murphy did. I felt I finally understood Artax. Some things could not be overcome. The sadness would take me if it wanted to.
I awoke the next morning stunned to be alive. We searched the riverbank for any sign of Murphy but never found him or his body. Sometimes I like to think about how Artax came back at the end of the movie. How everything can be made right in fiction. Sometimes I picture my brother Murphy running the banks of that coastal river, swimming with sealions, feeling forever happy, and never sad.