Post 201

Looking at a clear sky where Orion waves briefly, I see the next storm's clouds slipping in. They'll wipe away his stars like dust. I wait for snow.

Lily has not been out running for two days. She has to earn it and I have to teach her to earn it. She is learning to listen to me. I am learning to listen too. We are learning. Training.

How did the training go? A friend asked.

Like shit.

Oh…can't the trainer help?

Well, I have to do it, I said.

For days I watch styrofoam cups pile up in the trash. I have been here at work, but my mind has packed a little overnight bag and called a cab. An email from a coworker included the remark, I thought I was clear when I said…

No sense answering that.

Around 3 in the afternoon a descending sun sends a splash of gold across the hillside outside my window. Drifts of snow smooth its jutting stones and tree stumps left behind last year when chainsaws sent chips flying. The air smelled like raw wood, summer camp, the moist earth strapped beneath a bark that soaked rainwater from the ground.

The sun's beams unravel like ribbons across frozen crust and bounce through icicles as thick as spears. They light up in a rippling yellow and white, sending splintered colors across my desk. Reaching out to swipe a finger through pastels staining a page of notes, I stop and think about that email again.

I sit here in a cold, dark basement with Jerry's TV sounds coming down. A single lamp spreads a little pool across the desktop. It's enough. Lily pops up and drops cold paws in my lap. With her nose poking my cheek I turn to look at her snow-splashed face. With a little puff I send a tuft of melting white crystals to the floor.

Looking at Lily's eyes glistening in weak lamplight, I imagine each life as this bitty thing that we hold in cupped hands. I set mine down carefully tonight so I wouldn't drop it while I ranted at Jerry. Poor Jerry who lays on the ground in the cold and changes my water pump and adjusts the clutch. I slam doors and yell and swear. I cry. I ramble. I have done this before.

Is this all because of that email? he asked.

Well, probably. Stupid of me, but when I saw it crawling under my skin, I should have killed it then.

Why can't you just dump it on xxxxx at work? Why do I always get the bad part? he asks. How come I have to have the bad part?

When I am calm I place my palms on either side of the tender thing, cradling it in my hands again.