― Ann Aguirre
After the Rain
I'm a writer, albeit empty handed at the moment―empty hearted too.
For me, art has always been an overflowing of images and emotions lingering inside of me. But what to do in times of drought? I never knew. So don't blame me if I'm dark and empty as a fireplace in summer.
My publisher says the fire will come back and quotes Fitzgerald who wrote, life starts over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
But take it from me―that's just Scott being poetic.
Life starts again in spring, but that hasn't happened yet. So he shouldn't hold his breath. I'm not. I'm still dark and empty and that will be my future as far as I can see.
It's raining again. What is it about elements that mirrors our moods?
Star wants to go for a walk so I give in, but he's probably hoping for a treat from Natalie and I'm afraid if we pass her house she'll invite us in.
It's the usual route we take, but today I decide that's subject to change.
We head out in the opposite direction toward the lake and the closer we get the fog rolls in. There's something romantic about hazy conditions―the lack of actuality, the lack of reality that creates mystery and obscures everything.
And then I hear it―the low mournful sound of the fog horn that brings the note of sadness in.
I want to turn around and head back home but Star tugs on the leash and seems excited by something.
It's the way he behaves when we're approaching the park where we play frisbee, or when he goes to the groomer and is all over Jackie who spoils him with treats.
I can't see anything much ahead but I decide to let him take the lead. "Show me," I tell him and he leans forward eagerly smelling the sidewalk and wagging his tail.
By now we're at the waterfront park and he takes me down a trail that leads to a pier jutting out into the lake. The brume thickens into cloudy fumes so murky I can barely see the ground at my feet.
The vapours swirling about us are so thick they're opaque and frighten me.
What if we walk off the pier? Nobody could hear or see us.
My heart starts beating so fast I can hear it in my ears. I stop and retrace my steps, using my umbrella's tip like a blind man's cane. Star is straining again at the leash, and I have to use harsh commands to keep him from pulling me off my feet.
I stare into the fog trying to make out even the faintest detail. Finally, I see a female figure ahead, picking her way, walking cautiously as me. I follow the indistinct form and find myself back on the trail leading back out to the street.
Star begins to whine and pulls hard on the leash. My hands slick from rain lose their grip on the lead and he's off in pursuit of whoever's ahead of me.
I shout for him to stop but it's futile and he's too excited to heed. I hurry on as fast as I can, wary of wet walks and impenetrable mist.
I can hear his happy yelps and a woman's voice calming him.
It seems an eternity for me to cover the distance to where I figure he should be and when I get there he's lying down by a bench gnawing at something on the pavement.
"Drop it," I command and he does and sits up and waits for me. I'm praying it's not some small animal he's managed to catch. But when I come close I'm stunned to see it's actually a sweet potato chew, his favourite treat.
There's no one around―the street is deathly still. I pick up the treat and find it's fresh―someone has given it to him.
I immediately think of Natalie, but it makes no sense—why wouldn’t she stay and wait for me?
I put the treat in my pocket and grab the leash. Star is still sitting obediently as if commanded to wait.
“Okay, boy, let’s go home,” I say.
He trots obediently by my side the way he used to walk for Mollie. I suppose he’s had his mad moment and now is content to allow me to lead.
As we walk, the fog begins to lift and by the time we arrive home it’s back to being a faint mist.
I stop in the foyer and towel him off and he’s unusually calm and sedate. When I finish, he goes over to the sewing room where Mollie often spent her afternoons.
He used to smell her perfume and whine at the door until she let him in.
I call out teasingly, “Say Moll—can you quiet your dog?”
Star cocks an ear, as if hearing a softness, and his eyes go all watery as he lies down, nose up against the bottom of the door.
I want to think he hears her but that would be too heart-wrenching for me. It would rend my heart to see him waiting for someone he'll never see.
And it breaks my heart because I can’t comfort him—I can’t even do that for me.