Walk Without a Dog
Out in the dark the creaking tree sways in the wind, the window beside open - fresh air coming in, Chris and I sucking on green and blue straws struck into snowcones of equally vibrant colours, playing games. A hundred such nights passed, and many others too. All good times.
The house was a doorway to things new, like music I’ve never heard before - in particular that one disc with the health warning “could be hazardous to the health of cloth-eared nincompoops.” Before then, I really was a cloth-eared nincompoop - most people today are. I’m fortunate to have been immunised at a young age.
Some years later at the same house with the red trimming and the creaking tree out front, a gathering was in progress. A hundred such gatherings took place there over time - some special others quite plain, both kinds enjoyed equally. (That house has different people living in it now, all making their own memories. So does the one just down the street, the plain, aged blue one that never should have been blue; the one where I dreamt when I wasn’t making memories or cutting class.)
I moved back into the area a few years ago, sometimes I think doing so only for the convenience of walking down the same street when on the daily walk without the dog. A dog would be happy with me - I’d be happy with a dog - but the landlord is a scrooge. They tend to be.
On occasion I pass the two homes without noticing, but most of the time I look in through the windows and experience something akin to Mr. Vonnegut’s Timequake. I know the people I see, and look - there I am, too!
The house is full to the brim - people old, young, pretty, and those shunned by God. Smart people, and the stupid ones too, those that found the address despite their handicap. You may think me not nice for saying such things, but to be nice I’d have to lie.
With so many folks on the scene, it would be boring and confusing to go into detail about all. Most likely talked about the weather, and how much they hate their boss. “How about them Jets?”
(God, I hate professional sports! The city wants to use my tax money to build a new stadium - I just want kids to worry less about student loans. The stadium of course brings more votes at election time, and fares much better at the penis envy like competition in which municipalities engage. The added bonus of easier control over those with IQs matching the temperature in Celsius makes the choice a no-brainer, leaving but one question: all season, or a seasonal venue? That’s what the choices are down to.)
One of the people that came by once, and then always after that was Heather. She kept coming around until I left town in protest, and was gone for a year. Heather was Chris’ girlfriend. Chris was the only one that liked Heather, and I suppose he probably made up with his affection the disdain we all felt, so she stuck around
Heather did a lot of awful things, like give mothers of grown children parenting advice, after working at the Tiny Tots daycare for eighteen days. She told them everything about kids, the stages they go through, their needs, wants, and signals they give that parents miss. She was fucking brilliant - there was nothing she didn’t know about!
Heather repelled all, including children. Chris was immune. Everyone likes Chris, and most did their best to tolerate his companion. (”If it makes him happy, I’m happy for him.”) One of the several children she repelled was Rebecca - the Hydra pushed the girl so far, she ended up in my lap seeking distance and a measure of protection. Earlier that night Heather took the scrambling girl under her wing, pulled the game controller from the child’s hands, and imposed a Jetmoto racing crash course on the trapped girl. With honourable politeness, Rebecca suffered through the experience while I suffered for her. With the lesson over, Heather forgot to return the controller to the rightful owner and the victim knew to let sleeping dogs lie. She also knew that a timequake was right around the corner - that the whole episode would turn into a painful rerun unless she broke the cycle by quickly making use of her newly found freewill. That’s how things ended that night - with Rebecca and me sharing the second game controller, blowing Heather out of the water over and over again. I remained seated long after my legs fell asleep, and if I had the formula to create my own universe contraction, we’d all have relived that hour from ten years ago many a times.
Many things play themselves out when I look through the windows of the homes on my walk without a dog. I tend to narrate them under my breath in a mix of languages. No one’s around to hear and try to make sense of it. If I had a dog, I suppose it would get used to the strange sounding monologue. It’d smile the way dogs tend to, put another snowy paw forward, and think “I love it when he makes those strange sounds. I don’t know what he’s on about, but it sure makes him happy. Treats make me happy. But what ever rocks his boat I’m glad he’s found it.”
“Good dog - good girl.”