What was I thinking? Oh, yeah, I wasn’t. At the time I was young, naive, hurting and wanted to stop my emotional pain. Using was one of the stupidest things I ever did.
A block into our walk, as always, Princess relaxes and settles into an even stride. She anticipates my moves and reads me so well. We wind our way through the maze of our neighborhood’s tree-lined streets.
Every now and again we come across a car parked at the curb. Most are pulled into driveways or tucked away in garages. Wait. What was that? I slow my pace. Look around. Though it’s dark, the streetlights allow me to scan the area. I don’t see anything. But I feel it. I’m being watched. I look down at Princess. She appears relaxed. I shake off the feeling of unease and resume my pace.
Safe? Right....
Seeing Sally slow her pace, he ducks behind a tall hedge. He smiles when he sees her turn.
Love your nervousness, cunt.
He watches her scan the area, then look down at the mutt who seems to reassure her. He remains concealed as she continues on. He waits, then resumes following her.
Hidden across the street from her house, he waits. Looks down at his watch.
Any time now.
His homework had been thorough. He knew Sally went on an evening walk about this time each day. He’d have preferred her to be alone. But he knew her mutt was no real threat to him. Least, hadn’t been so far. And he’d done this a few times—stalked Sally, but always at a greater distance.
But tonight’s different. He wants her to feel him. Wants to scare her. He likes that—scaring people. Makes him feel more powerful. More in control. And he craves control above all else.
Whatever he wants, he gets. And what he wants now is to rattle Sally’s cage. Make her uncertain. Question her safety.
Safe? Right…. Bitch ain’t safe. Not with me around.
This Old House
Princess and I round a corner, and our house comes into view. It’s a grand two-story Craftsman from the turn of the century. As I climb the steps to the wrap-around front porch, the oversized rocking chairs catch my eye. James had insisted upon them. Said they made it feel like home. ‘Course, he was right. How many nights did we spend on this very porch, watching for shooting stars? Or Sunday mornings spent sharing the paper over a steaming mug of coffee for me, hot tea for him?
I remove Princess’ leash and sit in one of the rockers, rhythmically tilting back and forth. Can almost feel James rocking beside me…. Perfectly synchronized. Never did that with anyone else…just James. But that’s done now. Part of the past.
Princess lies down beside me. For a few minutes, she balances her head between her front paws. Then, without warning, lets out a big sigh. You know the kind. The one that says, “Okay, guess we’re gonna be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable.” She exhales, then flops over onto her side, grunting.
I rock a while longer, and she begins to fall asleep. In the process, she snortles. Similar to the sound a horse makes. Love it when she makes that noise. That’s when I know she’s settling in for a long snooze. I rock for longer than intended. Don’t feel rushed. The stresses of life no longer weigh heavy on my shoulders. The feeling is liberating.
I watch Princess’ rear legs run in her sleep. Bet she’s chasing a fat squirrel with a bushy tail. She loves pursuing critters up trees. Honestly, you’d think she’d tire of never catching one. She doesn’t. She tackles each hunt with the expectation that this is the one—the time she’ll catch the little bugger. Gotta give her points for not giving up even in her dreams.
I gaze at the stars and spot a shooting one near the horizon. “One, two, three,” I count aloud, then close my eyes and make a silent wish. My younger brother Eric and I used to play this game when we were kids. I open my eyes and get up. Princess wakes and rises with me.
The cold makes me shiver, and we go inside. As I pass through the living room, I look at the decorations and furniture. I smile at the two black-and-white photos hanging on the wall above the sofa. James had picked them up while in Europe before we were together. The images captured in them—one of a lichen-covered stacked wall in the country, the other of buildings lining the waterways of Amsterdam—are peaceful.
My eyes travel downward to the new sofa. It was sad to let the old one go. If I close my eyes, I can picture it and how it still smelled of James’ cologne. But change is good, they say.
I notice the awkward chunky coffee table and smile. Another of James’ pre-us possessions. Couldn’t bear to part with it. Something about its simplicity. I tilt my head and appreciate the refinishing. Angel and I did a good job. The table looks fresher, almost new.
And then there’s James’ dark distressed leather armchair. He loved that chair. Would sit in it for hours reading a book before a crackling fire. Used to enjoy hearing the leather creak as he shifted his weight.
I pull my eyes away from the chair and head upstairs. As I climb the steps, my hand glides along the solid railing. Everything in this house is sturdy and made from dark woods. I like it that way. Gives it character.
At the top of the stairs, I see one of Princess’ tennis balls lying up ahead. I grin and race her to it. Arriving a moment before she does, I place my foot over it. She drops down on her front legs, rear in the air, tail wagging like a puppy, and attempts to grab it from under my foot. I mess with her for a bit. When she turns away, I give the ball a gentle kick down the hall. She pounces after it, takes it in her mouth and shakes it as if it’s a raw steak.
Princess sees me approaching, turns and heads into my bedroom. Sometimes this room is hard to enter. Even though it’s been almost a year and a half….
Ah, James…the pain of losing him still stings. To think of what we had and lost…. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. So senseless. It’s getting better, though. Most days are easier than before. Some are worse—much worse. But that’s okay. It’s part of the healing process. It’s horrible to lose one’s spouse. Especially when I needed him most, but I’m getting better. Peeling back the layers of my onion is helping.
I pass through the bedroom into the bath to the ball and claw cast-iron tub. Such a cool tub. Don’t make them like this anymore. It was James’ idea to install the suspended oval curtain rod so he could shower. Me, I love to sink into a tub full of scalding water overflowing with mounds of glistening bubbles. Makes me feel pampered.
I reach through the shower curtain. Gotta take that thing down. Never use it. I set the plug and turn on the water. Sitting on the tub’s edge, I watch the swirling liquid through the rising steam. I pour some bubbles from an expensive body shop—a gift from my mother—into the stream of water. At first, I’d protested the lavish gift, but she’d insisted. I smile as the room fills with the calming scent of lavender. The mounds of silky bubbles look like fluffy clouds.
