10086 Sunset Boulevard

Inspired by, but by no means about, my friend Linda.

He sat in her parlor, sipping insipid tea and munching sausage rolls filled with fake veggie sausages. He tried not to stare at the mason jar of kidney stones, prominently displayed on the mantel like some twisted trophy. She had said they belonged to her ex lover, that men always left a little of themselves behind. He’d already lost his appetite before she served him tea.

She failed to notice that the man sitting on her couch was willing to endure this discomfort because he thought her worth the effort.

Polite in his bold faced lie, he pretended to enjoy the sorry fare and she knew her aloneness would remain untouched another day. She would wait for the man who would come to her parlor and declare “this tea is like gnat’s piss, there’s no meat in my sausage and for the love of God, let go of the ex’s stones”.

You know what you never see? A squirrel holding a rose. Well, at least I had not seen that until today. I’m very fond of this particular squirrel, because her summer home is in the large tree in my backyard. On the last day of August, the squirrel started packing for her winter home. It was the same day I started moving my office to the back of the house, my winter quarters. It was 90+ degrees but the squirrel and I knew the weather was about to change. I watched the squirrel and realized that her odd little suitcase was a baby squirrel, neatly compacted, a little bigger than a tennis ball, and then one more and the move was complete.

The squirrel has been coming back to visit her old neighborhood, and there she was when I rounded the corner in front of the house, just standing there with this large rose that must have been almost a third of her size. She kind of twirled it and then ran off scattering rose petals as she went. I can only think she has rather advanced tastes in squirrel home decor. The rose was deep pink and I’m sure it will brighten things up on the dark winter days ahead.

I was at the grocery store with Mum yesterday and she was picking out some cans of Fancy Feast for Corky, her best buddy and lone house cat. She asked me to look for the beef, not grilled, just regular. I wondered why anyone would feed their cat beef – or why the cat food industry even makes beef dinners for cats….. oh, well that’s probably just greed. Mum says Corky really likes the beef, but it doesn’t make sense. I mean you never see a pack of domestic cats out in a field taking down a cow. Or do you?

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not sure I even believe in you.”

“You do. I consider you one of my purest believers. You see me as I am, not just what you want or need to see. I have enjoyed your love and admiration and suffered your disapproval and anger. Therefore I have a deep sense of affection for you, while simultaneously wanting to squash you like a bug.”

“I understand. I think anyone who has ever been in a committed relationship has experienced those same feelings.”

“So what brings you here?”

“I haven’t discovered my purpose yet and time is running out. I’m too afraid to move forward in the wrong direction again. I don’t have time to screw up anymore.”

“Oh you have plenty of time to screw up…. trust me.”

“You’re not helping. Something keeps getting in the way of what I want my life to be. I’m starting over at a time when I’m supposed to be well on my way, looking forward to retiring and traveling the globe.”

“Who told you that’s how it is supposed to be? I don’t know where you mortals get these odd ideas. You are the only thing in your way. You can be a most frustrating person at times.”

“So I’ve heard. Could you at least give me some direction? Aren’t you supposed to be there to guide me?”

“If memory serves me correctly, you’ve spent more time talking to Santa, than you ever did talking to me, but now I’m supposed to be your guidance counselor?”

“I had you guys confused. Besides I actually met Santa, sat on his lap, had a face to face conversation. That had an impact.”

“You saw me face to face once.”

“When?”

“You paid me a visit when you were three. While the doctors worked to save your life at the hospital. They had to put you in an ice bath to bring your temperature down quickly.”

“I’ve heard the story.”

“While that was going on, you “slipped out” shall we say. I was in my lab and aware that someone had appeared in the hallway. I’m used to that, souls appearing in the hallway, coming and going all day and night. Usually when it happens like that, briefly, they don’t see me, but you did. I was preoccupied and it took me a couple of beats before I was aware of being watched. You had no fear then, do you remember?”

“No, I don’t ever remember not having fear.”

“Well, you had no fear and you looked straight at me and smiled and then you went back. No one who has ever looked upon my face before their final moment has been quite “normal”. You’ve been touched and therefore things have always been a little different for you.”

“I knew there was something! That made me very special, didn’t it?”

“No, my child. It made you as mad as a hatter.”

You stabbed me in the back and I thought I would die.

I did not.

I gathered strength and removed the knife.

I made the long journey to your door and offered you the knife, as a sign of trust.

I knew you would wish to take it back.

You looked into my soul and asked for my forgiveness.

I forgave you.

Holding my gaze you plunged the knife into my heart and noting the look of shock, gave it that extra little twist.

“How did that feel?” you asked, pleased that you had caught me by surprise a second time.

“Not so good” I replied as the color drained from my face.

“Well… next time you’re in L.A., look me up. We’ll do lunch.”

“I’m not in Kansas anymore”.

“What?”

“That’s how it feels, where I am right now with my life. I’m not in familiar territory. The Wizard of Oz makes a lot of sense to me these days.”

“Oh no, I feel another obsession coming on. Wasn’t it Alice in Wonderland last year? Don’t go off on a tangent, I think you should stick with your “finding fifty” idea.”

“I don’t know, although there could be some interesting possibilities. It’s a scary milestone. There’s less time ahead and more time behind. Everyone I’ve talked to so far seems impacted by their fiftieth birthday.”

“You’re not going to be maudlin about it, are you?”

“No, not at all, but I do want a range of experiences.”

“So what’s the plan? Women turning fifty, or men too?”

“I’ll include men. I mean, you have to wonder – what is it like for a transvestite to turn fifty? That can’t be easy.”

“That’s a bizarre thought. So what scares you about turning fifty?”

“I can see the end from here.”

“How presumptuous! You don’t know how far down the road your demise waits. You could be hit by a bus tomorrow.”

“Funny you would say that - have you ever known anyone who was hit by a bus?”

“Yes I have. When I was a kid. It was very traumatic.”

“What happened?”

“I lived in small town, near Topeka. Every year there was a Fourth of July parade. One year our school bus driver was driving one of the entries in the parade, a bus painted up to look like the Partridge Family bus. He was a pretty unhappy man, because his wife was cheating on him and the whole town knew about it. The parade was in full swing and he just stopped the bus and started revving the engine.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me he drove through the crowd?”

“No, no. His wife, Mrs. Gale, was in the parade each year. She was our teacher, but for events like this she dressed up like a clown and she had this funny little dog. He had this bad habit of using legs as fire hydrants, he pretty much pissed on anybody who stood still long enough to allow him to do so - but he was still adorable and all of us kids loved him. She’d taught him all these cute little tricks like how to walk on his hind legs and jump through hoops.”

“Okay.”

“So Mr. Gale, her husband, had got himself all liquored up before the parade and decides to put an end to it all, right there, in front of the whole town. He goes gunning for her in this bus, full speed down the middle of the street. People are screaming and getting out of the way and just before he gets to her, the front corner of the bus hits one of the floats and the bus tips over on its side, kind of airborne for a minute because he’d hit it with such speed.”

“So she was spared?”

“No, she just stood there, frozen to the spot and the bus landed on top of them, her and that little dog, crushing them both to death. The only thing sticking out were her legs, with these little striped stockings and big red shoes.”

“Oh no! I shouldn’t be laughing! That must have been terrible, seeing your teacher killed that way.”

“Not really. The bitch had it coming, but that little dog… it broke my heart. I just stood there crying over poor little Toto.”

“Toto?”

“Or Fido, I don’t remember.”

“You little shit! You really had me going. You made this thing up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, it’s just fun to mess with you.”

“So, this is a suicide dream?”

“No, I wake up and it starts running through my mind, so it’s not a dream and it’s not really a suicide.”

“You’re fantasizing about killing yourself, how can it not be a suicide?”

“I’m fantasizing about putting myself in a situation where I may not be able to save myself, there’s a difference.”

“You’re splitting hairs.”

“No, not really. I just keep swimming to the horizon, I swim until I’m too exhausted to swim any more. I’m so tired, I just let the water take me under. I want to surrender, let go of living, but whenever I reach that point in my mind, I choke on the water and come up gasping for air. I somehow I find the strength to make it back to the shore.”

“I think that’s a good sign, it shows that you still want to live.”

“No, it’s just survival kicking in, because when I make it to the shore, I’m back where I started, only exhausted and defeated, looking out at the horizon again. I can’t swim back to the shore next time.”

“Then continue swimming toward the horizon.”

“I’ve tried, but that’s always when the shark appears.”

“This conversation is exhausting.”

“Life is exhausting.”

“Have you tried treading water, just staying where you are and seeing what happens?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“The sea becomes tumultuous and I have to start swimming again.”

“So you can’t go back, you can’t move forward and you can’t stay where you are?”

“That about sums it up.”

A friend of mine called me recently and told me she had found the perfect dog and wanted to know if I was interested. I considered it for only a few seconds before remembering Fido. I had to have Fido put down and I probably should have done it sooner than I did. Someone once told me there was no such thing as a bad dog, but that someone didn’t know Fido.

When I look back on all the trouble I had with Fido, I’m wondering if it might not be a bad idea to give up dogs for a while. If I got another Fido, I might be limited from doing a lot of things. Like traveling. Fido didn’t like to travel. And he wasn’t a water dog. I took him to the beach once. He put a paw in the surf, but that was it. He was never going to jump in and frolic in the waves.

Fido was finicky. You’d get him the best food and he’d turn his nose up at it, but thought nothing of eating out of the trash and drinking from the toilet. He was hard to please. And expensive. Fido was always itching and scratching and often needed medical attention. I think it had something to do with the trash can raids late at night. If I look at the time and money spent taking Fido to the emergency after hour vets… well, it’s better that I don’t. And he never appreciated any of that, just looked at me as though it was all my fault. I had failed to save him from himself.

There were so many times I thought of finding Fido another home, but once I commit to a dog, I’m pretty loyal. In this case, looking back, I was just pretty stupid. All the warning signs were there and I chose to ignore them, ‘cause I just hate giving up on a good dog. But he wasn’t a good dog. He was a conniving dog. All those times he looked at me with those big sad eyes and I’d melt and renew my determination to stick with my dog, I was just being played.

I thought about taking Fido to obedience school, but he would have ended up intimidating the instructor, I just know it. He was a dog who was just going to do what he was going to do, be damned the consequences.

He loved road kill. He’d go roll around on a dead deer that had been out in the sun too long, and come back to me looking all pleased with himself and smelling to high heaven. I’d give him a bath and get him all nice and clean, but damn, the minute I turned my back, he’d go back to the same old road kill, roll around in it and stink himself up again.

I made excuses for Fido. He had been abused by his previous owners. It wasn’t his fault when he was being a bad dog. He was a good dog who did bad things. That’s the lie I told everyone, myself included.

I loved that dog with all my heart. The more I loved him, the less he thought of me. I could see him looking at me, analyzing me, “what kind of a woman are you, to love a bad dog like me?” Once a bad dog knows he has your heart, it’s only a matter of time before he’s going to cock his leg and piss all over you. Fido didn’t realize I had a limit and that the last time he returned to the same old stinky road kill, was really going to be the last time for Fido and me.

You were a bad dog Fido, but I loved you anyway.

R.I.P.