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Location: California

I love paper. Books printed on acid-free paper and bound in cloth turn me on. I'm crazy about bookmarks, and I buy too many stickers. I could spend hours in the build-your-own-greeting card section of my neighborhood craft store. My favorite thing to eat is bread, and my second favorite is fruit. (Mm, pineapple.) I read too much and too fast, and I watch too many food shows (two ways of looking at gluttony). Gloomy, rainy weather calms me and so I can't wait to move out of California, which will happen, sadly, too many years from now to count. I'm vegan, though I haven't managed to eliminate honey from my diet yet. I practice yoga; it's the only way I can keep fit. I have a better life than I ever imagined I would (or deserve to) have, but I do my best to enjoy it rather than feel guilty about it. That's my daily struggle -- and also to be thoughtful and observant and honest with myself.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Eavesdropping

"Hey, Rosie!" the man shouted from inside the house. A small black dog scampered down the front steps through the open door. Her collar tinkled. "Rosie!" the man shouted again, but the dog ran to the sidewalk and stopped for a moment to sniff a blade of grass. I passed by and she looked up at me cheerfully, her head cocked. She had a white stripe down her neck.

A shadow appeared in the open doorway. It was the man, barefoot, with stiff grey hair. He started slapping his thigh. "Come back, Rosie! What's wrong with you?" The dog eyed him. The man eyed me. I was walking too slowly; I was waiting for the end of the story. "Come on!" the man said and took a step forward. The dog, startled by his movement, scurried towards him, her collar tinkling frenetically.

I had almost reached the corner of the street when the man finally closed the door behind him and the little black dog. But I caught his last words -- vehement, loving words. "Were you going to leave me too?" he asked the dog. "Were you just going to go away when I wasn't looking, like that bitch?" For the rest of my walk I tried hard to picture his left hand slapping his thigh. Was he wearing a wedding ring?

But some stories are like that. No matter how hard you try and how long you wait, you never get to the end of them.

2 Comments:

Blogger tina said...

Linking to you :)

May 25, 2006  
Blogger Green Whale said...

Thanks! I have read your blog and enjoyed it (found it through Madorganica's blog) but silently -- "lurked," I think is the term for it.

May 26, 2006  

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