This is a true story...well, maybe it is and maybe it isn't. You can be the judge.
Sam was a player...always had been and always would be. At age 68, he was slim and trim, had startlingly white dental caps, and a comb-over he kept carefully and firmly sprayed to the top of his head. The bane of his existence was his height which only reached 5'5" when he stood very straight. But he was a ladies man...even if it was mainly in his own mind.
A deep intolerance of the cold had spurred him to relocate to sunny Florida when he retired. By luck and chance he'd found "Sand Crane Haven", a senior retirement park where he paid out cash money for a modest 30' trailer that became his new home.
Sand Crane Haven was a rather large trailer park with about 300 spick and span trailers spread over 100 acres of winding roads and sheltering trees. The current manager was a no nonsense man who tolerated no mess, no noise, and no kids to sully his beautiful park. His residents idolized him because they'd suffered through too many years of incompetent managers who had come before him.
Sam noticed that many of his neighbors travelled around the park in golf carts so he quickly purchased one of his own. Being Sam, his golf cart had to reflect his personality so he bought a shiny new black 4 seater with silver covers. His licence plate read "SAM THE MAN". Sam was a happy man.
Go to any senior park in Florida and you'll easily find it's heart. It's at the pool. From before noon till happy hour at 4 P.M. the pool is a hub of activity. Every table and chair is occupied by people or towels. The smell of suntan lotion overlays the odor of cigarette smoke...the smokers seem to congregate in one corner valiantly declaring their inalienable right to foul the air everyone else is breathing. Water bottles and carafes of undisclosed liquid sit sheltered under colorful umbrellas but no food is allowed...manager's orders.
Sam loved going to the pool. He was one of the few men with a flat tummy and the only man with the flair (or nerve) to wear a Speedo. Every morning at 11 A.M. he'd roar down to the pool in his cart. Fluffy blue towel draped nonchalantly over his bony shoulders and wearing one of his favorite Speedos, Sam would make what he considered his grand entrance into pool society. To be honest, he was always noticed but not for the reasons he thought.
Another quaint sight in senior pools is how they fill up with many separate conversation groups, the conversationalists strung in or on colorful floaties. Seniors rarely swim but use their pool as a hot tub to float around in and talk. Heaven help the park manager who fails to keep the water temperature warm enough to suit the soakers.
Sam had been a Sand Crane resident for more than a week so he'd had ample time to scope out the available females. The one who stirred the contents of his Speedo the most was Dorie. Dorie was tiny...Sam preferred his women to be smaller than he was...but she had a large bosom which appeared quite buoyant in the pool. She had dyed her hair a becoming shade of ash blonde which she believed took years off her age (72, but she told everyone she was 62). Sam was smitten.
One hot and sunny day, Sam made his pilgrimage to the pool intent on getting to know Dorie better. Upon entering the water he manoevered his floatie over to her group and deftly inserted himself next to her. The topic that day was how lucky the park was to have found their present manager
"Remember when Thompson was the manager?", said Mabel with a slight sneer to her mouth and a lift to her eye.
"We couldn't get him to do anything around here", Dorie responded. Everyone then began talking all at once denouncing the old manager and praising the new one. Sam, not caring one way or the other, just nodded his head in agreement and moved in as close to Dorie as possible.
Dorie was very aware of Sam's interest and, having been around the block a few times and experiencing a few suitors who actually made Sam look good, smiled encouragingly at him.
Nothing goes unnoticed at a senior park and Sam's tentative advances on Dorie was no exception. Knowing, elderly eyes followed their every move.
Mabel lived next door to Dorie and she was the first to spread the news about Sam's late night visits. Mabel claimed she was a night owl and that's how she'd spotted Sam's cart tucked under Dorie's carport. The truth was that she'd suffered some terrific leg cramps by crouching inside her bathtub so she could spy out the only window facing Dorie's trailer.
The two lovebirds were oblivious to the rampant gossip racing around the park about their personal love lifes. Neither noticed the eyes that followed them everywhere nor heard the catty whispers spoken behind strategically placed hands.
"They were at it again last night", said Mabel snidely. "He was at her place till after midnight, for heaven's sake!". Mabel was a little cranky because the cramps in her legs hadn't eased up much.
Her audience of coffee buddies shook their heads and muttered "Tsk, Tsk", as though sex among the elderly was just too lurid to imagine.
It was at the pool on day that Sam made a spectacle of himself...worse than at any other time. He drove up to the pool as usual but he had a little surprise for Dorie inside his Speedo. Just under the waistband was a tiny pocket that contained an engagement ring.
Making sure that there were plenty of people to witness the drama, he walked proudly up to Dorie who was sitting talking to friends and he dropped down on one knee in front of her.
Thinking he'd lost his balanceDorie jumped out of her chair to help him up. Sam looked up, startled, just in time to take her knee in his chin which knocked him flat on his back.
"Oh, my god, are you all right?", she yelped.
The blow had not only flattened Sam but had effectively loosened his dental caps and they slipped out into his hand.
Dorie stood before her boyfriend and began to see him in a different light. He looked awfully scrawny sprawled out on the deck, bony legs askew, comb-over hanging on the wrong side, and only little stubs for teeth.
Her concern turned gradually to dismay and then to embarrassment for this silly old man laying in front of her. She apologized repeatedly as she helped him to his feet and then distanced herself by going back and sitting on the far side of her friends.
Sam left the pool with a brave show of dignity and went home where he first phoned a dentist for an appointment and then drowned his sorrow in a large glass of whiskey...straight.
Within a few days the gossips had fresh news to spread. Sam had put a "For Sale" sign in front of his trailer and one on his golf cart. Sam had also stopped going to the pool.
A nice old couple from Michigan bought Sam's trailer, moved in before the month was up, and Sam left the park without saying goodbye to anyone.
Life goes on much the same these days at Sand Crane Haven. The social center is still at the pool but Dorie avoids any mention of Sam.
Sam has moved 150 miles further south to "Sunshine Estates" where he drives up to the pool every morning at 11 A.M. in his new bright red golf cart, wearing his trusty Speedo, and scopes out the available females.
Sam the man is a happy man once again.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Saturday, May 12, 2007
#2 The Intruder
Logan Avenue is known as the "average" street in our city. Some enterprising young reporter bestowed that title on us one day when news was slow and he decided to sit down and pinpoint the street which was most middle class. Personally, I think he elevated our status a bit.
True, we all live in similar box-like houses with postage stamp lawns. On average, every house is occupied by two adults and 1 1/2 children but there is a stigma attached to being dubbed "average". It brings to mind the term "boring".
You might think average people live quite similar lives...the men drink beer and watch sports when they're not mowing the lawn and the women cook, clean, and do yoga. On Logan Avenue we do all of those things but there is more to us than that.
Sue Graham is a widow who lives a half block down the street and she advertises on a regular basis with the local newspaper in their "Companions Wanted" section. I know this because one of my friends works at the newspaper. She has an active social life and seems to have many visitors.
Sue also is very active in the Blood of the Lamb Catholic church. The priest has been known to make the sign of the cross three times before entering the confessional to hear her confess her sins.
Some of our beer drinking, sports watching men are an interesting lot. Joe Rizzo is a construction worker by trade and an artist by nature. When one approaches his "average" house they are first entranced by the brick and wrought iron wall that surrounds the front yard. The inevitable arches frame his front porch, each arch showcasing luscious hanging plants of red, fuschia, gold, and blue flowing flowers. Joe created all of this.
He can be seen most evenings after dinner pruning the bountiful grape vines which line the walkway to his back yard. His wife can be seen also...and heard ranting at him in Italian as he mutely goes about his business.
Joe finishes his chores and quietly settles onto the lawn chair on the front porch, Molson in hand, apparently unperturbed by the slamming door as his angry wife disappears from sight.
Two doors to the left of Joe lives an elderly couple, Ruth and Mitch. They've lived on the street longer than any of us but we don't see much of them. They like to spend most of their time indoors. We sometimes hear music coming from their house on summer evenings when the windows are open and once I saw them dance by the window, smooth and graceful in their step.
Maybe you're wondering about me...or maybe not. I plan to tell you anyway.
I'm your average dowdy housewife, mid forties, a fair bit on the chubby side, short blonde hair (chemically enhanced), don't drink or smoke, and can barely tolerate the husband I chose above all others when I was too young to know better.
We have no children, thank god, or they might have turned out like him...vapid smile, manicured nails, and full of love only for his dog. Lord, does he love that dog! Pierre is a large, well-groomed, psychotic poodle who entertains the neighbors way too often by publicly humping anyone who is foolish enough to try to pat him. George, my husband, always drags the dog away but I've seen him smiling as he does. I think he gets a kick out of the dog's behaviour.
I used to be jealous watching him groom the mutt all the while murmuring sweet nothings in it's ear. They made such a loving couple that I felt left out. Lately I've considered poisoning my rival but then I thought, "what if the old boy turns his affections on me?" and realized things were best left as they were.
One bright summer day I was sitting in my back yard watching the grass grow and a man entered through the open gate. My first thoughts were that he appeared to be unsure he was in the right place so I asked if I could help him.
He was tall and muscular, and handsome if you like dark, swarthy men. I did. I spent so much time appraising and appreciating him that I didn't notice he didn't answer but was slowly approaching me with a sexy, awaredness about him.
About this time it dawned on me that I really should be frightened but I just couldn't muster the appropriate emotion. My lack of distress had a remarkable effect on the intruder. He stopped suddenly and glanced quickly around as though expecting to find someone or something protecting me.
"Are you alone here?", he asked almost nervously.
The more I looked at him the more I liked what I saw but I wasn't about to allow myself to be beaten or raped by anyone, not even this sweety.
"My guard dog is around somewhere but he won't bother anyone who doesn't threaten me. Why don't you join me for a drink...that is, if you're in no hurry to leave?".
Being sized up by those dangerous black eyes was an experience in itself. Unconsciously I tucked in my tummy, lifted up my chest, and turned slightly to my good side...the right. A slow smile tickled the corners of his lovely full lips and he visibly relaxed.
He walked cockily over to the chair beside me and sprawled himself upon it. "A cold beer would be just fine, lady", he answered softly.
My young Adonis never told me his name and I never gave him mine. He simply joined in the spirit of the game. We sat for an hour or so, him sipping his beer and me sipping a Coke. We talked about politics, movies, books, morals, and vegetarian diets. All the time he talked I savored his beauty. To be honest, I don't know why he so obviously enjoyed my company unless it was a vanity trip for him. Here he was, at least twenty years my junior, but speaking to me as an equal and showering me with the most flattering looks.
At no time did we refer to his original reason for showing up. I could not have cared less at this point and I like to think he'd forgotten.
In time, my Adonis set down his empty beer can, stretched luxuriously, then leaned forward and stared at me intently.
"We're friends now, you know that?, he asked quizzically. "You know I never meant to harm you but I've changed my mind about what I came here for. Will you let me come back again?".
I considered the alternative...nothing but gray nights with the old boy and his furry friend, T.V., soaps, Coke and donuts. What the hell!
"Sure".
We carried on this innocent relationship for over four years. It was a platonic relationship in every sense of the word though I often wished it would progress to something more. But the game had to be played by the rules and our unspoken rules from the start were for conversation laced with sparce undertones of hidden desire. And it worked as we spent a few afternoons each week discussing topics that made us feel human and listened to each other with unquestionable respect. Of course, the rules allowing our eyes to convey passion held in restraint made it more interesting.
Unfortunately, all good things come to an end and our end came when my Adonis confided to me one afternoon that he was going to be married.
Jealousy overwhelmed me but I valiantly kept my self control long enough to ask, "And who is the lucky woman?".
"You just might know her. She's a neighbor of yours that I've been seeing lately. I met her through one of those "Companions Wanted" ads in the newspaper. We hit it off right away...maybe because she's a lot like you. It's too bad you and I couldn't have been more to each other but she wants more from me than just conversation". He shook his head with regret for what might have been. At least that was what I was telling myself.
We said our goodbyes. They were final ones because his new wife would provide him with all the conversation he was going to need.
Now I sit in my average house, on an average street, and wait for my next unexpected intruder. In the meantime I will make quite specific plans on how to change the rules.
True, we all live in similar box-like houses with postage stamp lawns. On average, every house is occupied by two adults and 1 1/2 children but there is a stigma attached to being dubbed "average". It brings to mind the term "boring".
You might think average people live quite similar lives...the men drink beer and watch sports when they're not mowing the lawn and the women cook, clean, and do yoga. On Logan Avenue we do all of those things but there is more to us than that.
Sue Graham is a widow who lives a half block down the street and she advertises on a regular basis with the local newspaper in their "Companions Wanted" section. I know this because one of my friends works at the newspaper. She has an active social life and seems to have many visitors.
Sue also is very active in the Blood of the Lamb Catholic church. The priest has been known to make the sign of the cross three times before entering the confessional to hear her confess her sins.
Some of our beer drinking, sports watching men are an interesting lot. Joe Rizzo is a construction worker by trade and an artist by nature. When one approaches his "average" house they are first entranced by the brick and wrought iron wall that surrounds the front yard. The inevitable arches frame his front porch, each arch showcasing luscious hanging plants of red, fuschia, gold, and blue flowing flowers. Joe created all of this.
He can be seen most evenings after dinner pruning the bountiful grape vines which line the walkway to his back yard. His wife can be seen also...and heard ranting at him in Italian as he mutely goes about his business.
Joe finishes his chores and quietly settles onto the lawn chair on the front porch, Molson in hand, apparently unperturbed by the slamming door as his angry wife disappears from sight.
Two doors to the left of Joe lives an elderly couple, Ruth and Mitch. They've lived on the street longer than any of us but we don't see much of them. They like to spend most of their time indoors. We sometimes hear music coming from their house on summer evenings when the windows are open and once I saw them dance by the window, smooth and graceful in their step.
Maybe you're wondering about me...or maybe not. I plan to tell you anyway.
I'm your average dowdy housewife, mid forties, a fair bit on the chubby side, short blonde hair (chemically enhanced), don't drink or smoke, and can barely tolerate the husband I chose above all others when I was too young to know better.
We have no children, thank god, or they might have turned out like him...vapid smile, manicured nails, and full of love only for his dog. Lord, does he love that dog! Pierre is a large, well-groomed, psychotic poodle who entertains the neighbors way too often by publicly humping anyone who is foolish enough to try to pat him. George, my husband, always drags the dog away but I've seen him smiling as he does. I think he gets a kick out of the dog's behaviour.
I used to be jealous watching him groom the mutt all the while murmuring sweet nothings in it's ear. They made such a loving couple that I felt left out. Lately I've considered poisoning my rival but then I thought, "what if the old boy turns his affections on me?" and realized things were best left as they were.
One bright summer day I was sitting in my back yard watching the grass grow and a man entered through the open gate. My first thoughts were that he appeared to be unsure he was in the right place so I asked if I could help him.
He was tall and muscular, and handsome if you like dark, swarthy men. I did. I spent so much time appraising and appreciating him that I didn't notice he didn't answer but was slowly approaching me with a sexy, awaredness about him.
About this time it dawned on me that I really should be frightened but I just couldn't muster the appropriate emotion. My lack of distress had a remarkable effect on the intruder. He stopped suddenly and glanced quickly around as though expecting to find someone or something protecting me.
"Are you alone here?", he asked almost nervously.
The more I looked at him the more I liked what I saw but I wasn't about to allow myself to be beaten or raped by anyone, not even this sweety.
"My guard dog is around somewhere but he won't bother anyone who doesn't threaten me. Why don't you join me for a drink...that is, if you're in no hurry to leave?".
Being sized up by those dangerous black eyes was an experience in itself. Unconsciously I tucked in my tummy, lifted up my chest, and turned slightly to my good side...the right. A slow smile tickled the corners of his lovely full lips and he visibly relaxed.
He walked cockily over to the chair beside me and sprawled himself upon it. "A cold beer would be just fine, lady", he answered softly.
My young Adonis never told me his name and I never gave him mine. He simply joined in the spirit of the game. We sat for an hour or so, him sipping his beer and me sipping a Coke. We talked about politics, movies, books, morals, and vegetarian diets. All the time he talked I savored his beauty. To be honest, I don't know why he so obviously enjoyed my company unless it was a vanity trip for him. Here he was, at least twenty years my junior, but speaking to me as an equal and showering me with the most flattering looks.
At no time did we refer to his original reason for showing up. I could not have cared less at this point and I like to think he'd forgotten.
In time, my Adonis set down his empty beer can, stretched luxuriously, then leaned forward and stared at me intently.
"We're friends now, you know that?, he asked quizzically. "You know I never meant to harm you but I've changed my mind about what I came here for. Will you let me come back again?".
I considered the alternative...nothing but gray nights with the old boy and his furry friend, T.V., soaps, Coke and donuts. What the hell!
"Sure".
We carried on this innocent relationship for over four years. It was a platonic relationship in every sense of the word though I often wished it would progress to something more. But the game had to be played by the rules and our unspoken rules from the start were for conversation laced with sparce undertones of hidden desire. And it worked as we spent a few afternoons each week discussing topics that made us feel human and listened to each other with unquestionable respect. Of course, the rules allowing our eyes to convey passion held in restraint made it more interesting.
Unfortunately, all good things come to an end and our end came when my Adonis confided to me one afternoon that he was going to be married.
Jealousy overwhelmed me but I valiantly kept my self control long enough to ask, "And who is the lucky woman?".
"You just might know her. She's a neighbor of yours that I've been seeing lately. I met her through one of those "Companions Wanted" ads in the newspaper. We hit it off right away...maybe because she's a lot like you. It's too bad you and I couldn't have been more to each other but she wants more from me than just conversation". He shook his head with regret for what might have been. At least that was what I was telling myself.
We said our goodbyes. They were final ones because his new wife would provide him with all the conversation he was going to need.
Now I sit in my average house, on an average street, and wait for my next unexpected intruder. In the meantime I will make quite specific plans on how to change the rules.
#1c End of Story
He phoned that night, apologetic, saying I'd imagined it all. Saying he'd had a rough day and then, hoping to have a fun evening, I'd ruined it for him. That's why he left the way he did. That's why he said cruel words he hadn't meant.
I said little, letting him attempt to crawl out of the hole we both knew in our hearts he'd dug for himself. He repeated phrases he'd used to placate me in arguments past. "No-one else would put up with the crap I do", he said. "No-one else could love you as much as I do". No-one else...no-one else.
"Why don't I come home and we can have a few drinks and I'll make things up to you the right way?", he said softly, passionately.
Against my will, the anger and hurt was slipping away. My skin ached for him and my heart was melting one more time. But before I could speak I heard a woman's voice come faintly over the phone.
"Are you coming back, sweetheart? They're playing our song".
Then muffled sounds as though a hand had covered the receiver.
I hung up the phone and walked away for good.
I said little, letting him attempt to crawl out of the hole we both knew in our hearts he'd dug for himself. He repeated phrases he'd used to placate me in arguments past. "No-one else would put up with the crap I do", he said. "No-one else could love you as much as I do". No-one else...no-one else.
"Why don't I come home and we can have a few drinks and I'll make things up to you the right way?", he said softly, passionately.
Against my will, the anger and hurt was slipping away. My skin ached for him and my heart was melting one more time. But before I could speak I heard a woman's voice come faintly over the phone.
"Are you coming back, sweetheart? They're playing our song".
Then muffled sounds as though a hand had covered the receiver.
I hung up the phone and walked away for good.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
#1b The Morning After
Morninglight crept softly into the room, gradually becoming bright enough to peek beneath my eyelids. I lay there in that half sleep for a moment, knowing that any movement would immediately awaken Max who still slept soundly on the floor beside my bed.
He hadn't returned.
My mind began to sort through how I would go on living without him. At one time I'd thought that was impossible but the truth was that it was entirely possible. And most likely probable.
Max was having one of his "woofy" dreams. He laid there with legs slightly moving as though he was running after a squirrel or a ball, letting out muffled barks. I was thankful for his presence, especially now.
As I pushed the blankets back, Max jumped to attention and came to me. "Good morning, sweetheart", I whispered as I patted his gleaming black coat. They say dogs can't smile but I swear he does. His tail wagged happily as he followed me into the kitchen where I made my first coffee of the day. He stayed very close, sensing I wasn't strong yet.
I'd slept late, worry and misery taking it's toll on my physical strength as well as the mental. "9:15!". Thank heavens it was Sunday and not a work day. I made my coffee and bundled up on the sofa, Max's head on my lap. It amazed me how this animal was so tuned into my despair and intent on doing what he could to comfort me.
He hadn't come back. So now what do I do? There'd been no happiness between us for weeks, months maybe, and he'd become more verbally abusive. Last night was a good example of how bad it had gotten between us. He'd flirted openly with the woman at the next table, talking with her and ignoring me to the point of embarrassment. I'd told him to take me home and, stone faced, he walked ahead of me to the car.
"Why do you treat me this way?" I'd screamed at him as we drove. He'd looked directly at me and replied, "If you don't like it then bugger off"...this said in a soft, icy voice. "Maybe I should" I said. "Maybe I will"...this said in a soft, sad voice.
When we reached the house he'd stormed up to the bedroom and hurriedly packed a few clothes. I stood silently by and watched, heartbroken but feeling something else, too...finality. This time I wouldn't beg him to stay. He brushed rudely by me as he left. "See how well you can get along without me, you stupid cow!"
I watched as he walked out the door and stood listening as his car screeched out of the driveway and away.
Now it was the morning after and I was still in pain but at least able to look at the situation more clearly. Ann Landers used to say "Are you better off with him or without him?". I'd come to believe that I might possibly be better off without him. And today was the first day of the rest of my life.
He hadn't returned.
My mind began to sort through how I would go on living without him. At one time I'd thought that was impossible but the truth was that it was entirely possible. And most likely probable.
Max was having one of his "woofy" dreams. He laid there with legs slightly moving as though he was running after a squirrel or a ball, letting out muffled barks. I was thankful for his presence, especially now.
As I pushed the blankets back, Max jumped to attention and came to me. "Good morning, sweetheart", I whispered as I patted his gleaming black coat. They say dogs can't smile but I swear he does. His tail wagged happily as he followed me into the kitchen where I made my first coffee of the day. He stayed very close, sensing I wasn't strong yet.
I'd slept late, worry and misery taking it's toll on my physical strength as well as the mental. "9:15!". Thank heavens it was Sunday and not a work day. I made my coffee and bundled up on the sofa, Max's head on my lap. It amazed me how this animal was so tuned into my despair and intent on doing what he could to comfort me.
He hadn't come back. So now what do I do? There'd been no happiness between us for weeks, months maybe, and he'd become more verbally abusive. Last night was a good example of how bad it had gotten between us. He'd flirted openly with the woman at the next table, talking with her and ignoring me to the point of embarrassment. I'd told him to take me home and, stone faced, he walked ahead of me to the car.
"Why do you treat me this way?" I'd screamed at him as we drove. He'd looked directly at me and replied, "If you don't like it then bugger off"...this said in a soft, icy voice. "Maybe I should" I said. "Maybe I will"...this said in a soft, sad voice.
When we reached the house he'd stormed up to the bedroom and hurriedly packed a few clothes. I stood silently by and watched, heartbroken but feeling something else, too...finality. This time I wouldn't beg him to stay. He brushed rudely by me as he left. "See how well you can get along without me, you stupid cow!"
I watched as he walked out the door and stood listening as his car screeched out of the driveway and away.
Now it was the morning after and I was still in pain but at least able to look at the situation more clearly. Ann Landers used to say "Are you better off with him or without him?". I'd come to believe that I might possibly be better off without him. And today was the first day of the rest of my life.
Monday, April 30, 2007
#1 The Dead of Night
In the dead of night all sounds are magnified. A creaky settling of the house becomes the stealthy footsteps of an intruder. The tap of a branch against a window is elevated to the status of break-in.
It was one such night when I lay alone in my bed feeling uneasy and restless, unable to sleep. The small clock on the dresser clicked off each digital minute, the click breaking the silence like a jet breaking the sound barrier.
So tired, maybe too tired, and needing sleep desperately after a day of hell, I wrapped the pillow around my head and buried my face almost beneath the blanket. "This is too much", I moaned. "How can I get through this without rest?".
My mind spun wildly from one scenario to the next, remembering his insults, remembering his back as he walked out the door. Heart and mind still aching from the knowledge that no-one could treat someone they loved so cruelly.
"Will he come back tonight?", I wondered. "Should I let him stay if he does or is it best to let go now before things get worse?". The mind can't quickly supply answers to questions we never wanted to ask.
A loud click! "Was that the front door closing?". A shiver of trepidation slithered over my skin. "Was it him?".
Muscles taut with expectation, worry that he'd come back...to stay or to pack his things and go for good. Developing fear that it wasn't him but someone else...who?
Suddenly a series of faint creaks on the stairs. "Oh, my god!" I was frozen, fear making me immobile.
The bedroom door slowly opened wider as though brushed by a wisp of breeze, a shadowy face appeared...close to the floor. It was the dog.
My loving companion walked uncertainly across the room towards the bed. Every brain cell directed towards me, checking to see that I was all right, making sure I was safe.
He settled down on the floor next to me and curled himself into a cozy ball, snuffled and closed his eyes. Feeling loved and protected, the night held no more terrors and I fell into a dreamless sleep.
It was one such night when I lay alone in my bed feeling uneasy and restless, unable to sleep. The small clock on the dresser clicked off each digital minute, the click breaking the silence like a jet breaking the sound barrier.
So tired, maybe too tired, and needing sleep desperately after a day of hell, I wrapped the pillow around my head and buried my face almost beneath the blanket. "This is too much", I moaned. "How can I get through this without rest?".
My mind spun wildly from one scenario to the next, remembering his insults, remembering his back as he walked out the door. Heart and mind still aching from the knowledge that no-one could treat someone they loved so cruelly.
"Will he come back tonight?", I wondered. "Should I let him stay if he does or is it best to let go now before things get worse?". The mind can't quickly supply answers to questions we never wanted to ask.
A loud click! "Was that the front door closing?". A shiver of trepidation slithered over my skin. "Was it him?".
Muscles taut with expectation, worry that he'd come back...to stay or to pack his things and go for good. Developing fear that it wasn't him but someone else...who?
Suddenly a series of faint creaks on the stairs. "Oh, my god!" I was frozen, fear making me immobile.
The bedroom door slowly opened wider as though brushed by a wisp of breeze, a shadowy face appeared...close to the floor. It was the dog.
My loving companion walked uncertainly across the room towards the bed. Every brain cell directed towards me, checking to see that I was all right, making sure I was safe.
He settled down on the floor next to me and curled himself into a cozy ball, snuffled and closed his eyes. Feeling loved and protected, the night held no more terrors and I fell into a dreamless sleep.
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