on the right bus, gave the right change, then stood
because all the seats were full. I checked the dog’s name in the
planner on my phone. Baby. Right. I could remember that.
As I rode, I ran through possible scenarios
of how the day might go. We’d play with the dog, maybe stop for a
bite, then go our separate ways after a few hours. Or, Anna might
offer to drive me home. Maybe she’d come up to my apartment, and
we’d fool around again. Then I remembered she’d have the dog with
her, so maybe we’d go back to her place instead. She might make me
dinner, and I’d stay late watching a movie. We’d start to make out
during the movie and end up in her bed. Fantasizing “maybes,” I
almost missed my stop and had to dash to the front of the bus as
the driver was pulling away from the curb.
I entered the fence of the dog park and
searched for Anna and—what the hell was her dog’s name again? As I
started to check my notes, I heard my name called, and there she
was, walking toward me.
Anna was always pretty, but in that moment
she was achingly beautiful. The sun streaked her hair with gold,
and the breeze wafted it around her face. Her eyes shone, and her
smile actually hurt to look at. The fall day was warm enough to go
without a jacket, so she wore a light blue tank top and cropped
pants. Her bare arms and legs and neck were slender and oh so sexy.
She held a red leash in one hand. At the end of it, a
scruffy-looking terrier strained and panted.
“Hi. You made it,” she greeted me when she
drew close.
As if I would have stood her up. Hah! For a
moment, I was tongue-tied and couldn’t put two words together. I
dropped to a squat in front of the dog.
“Cute…” Boy? Girl? I couldn’t remember. “Cute
dog.”
Anna knelt too and ruffled the dog’s fur.
“Yeah, she’s my baby.”
Baby, that was its name. I held my
hand out, fingers curled so Baby could sniff me and decide whether
she wanted me to touch her, but the pup wasn’t shy. She thrust her
head against my fist, begging for attention. I scratched between
her ears, and she dropped belly up on the grass. I rubbed her
stomach.
“She’s so adorable I can’t stand it.” Anna’s
voice went high and girly as she gushed over her new pet, but I had
to admit the pup was pretty damn cute.
She unhooked the leash from the dog’s collar.
Immediately, Baby was up on all fours and bounding around us.
“She reminds me of…” One of those vivid
flashes filled my mind. It was my birthday. I could taste the cake,
smell the blown-out candles, feel soft fur and a warm, wiggling
puppy. “Reminds me of when we got our dog. He was my birthday
present.”
“Sweet. I bet you never forgot that
birthday.”
We followed Baby as she darted down the path,
stopping every few feet to sniff spots other dogs had marked and
then leaving her own piss stamp.
“How was your week?” Anna asked.
“Normal.” I tried to think of one interesting
thing I could tell about, but unless she wanted to hear how I
bravely unclogged a toilet, there wasn’t much to say. “What about
yours?”
“I lost my car keys and had to make a new
set. That made me late for an important meeting, which didn’t look
too good. But otherwise I guess I’m doing okay. They haven’t fired
me yet.”
“Do you worry about being fired?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Most of the time
I know I’m doing a good job, but other times I feel like I’m
skating on the edge and one mistake will put me in the reject
pile.”
“That’s a lot of pressure. Is your firm
putting it on you, or are you putting it on yourself?”
She punched my arm. “Okay, sensei. I don’t
need analysis today. I’ve always been an overachiever. I know I’ve
got issues about success.”
“Everybody’s got issues. Except these guys.”
I nodded at other people’s dogs chasing each other across the
grass, nipping and playing like the pack animals they were.
“Uncomplicated,” Anna agreed. She grabbed
because all the seats were full. I checked the dog’s name in the
planner on my phone. Baby. Right. I could remember that.
As I rode, I ran through possible scenarios
of how the day might go. We’d play with the dog, maybe stop for a
bite, then go our separate ways after a few hours. Or, Anna might
offer to drive me home. Maybe she’d come up to my apartment, and
we’d fool around again. Then I remembered she’d have the dog with
her, so maybe we’d go back to her place instead. She might make me
dinner, and I’d stay late watching a movie. We’d start to make out
during the movie and end up in her bed. Fantasizing “maybes,” I
almost missed my stop and had to dash to the front of the bus as
the driver was pulling away from the curb.
I entered the fence of the dog park and
searched for Anna and—what the hell was her dog’s name again? As I
started to check my notes, I heard my name called, and there she
was, walking toward me.
Anna was always pretty, but in that moment
she was achingly beautiful. The sun streaked her hair with gold,
and the breeze wafted it around her face. Her eyes shone, and her
smile actually hurt to look at. The fall day was warm enough to go
without a jacket, so she wore a light blue tank top and cropped
pants. Her bare arms and legs and neck were slender and oh so sexy.
She held a red leash in one hand. At the end of it, a
scruffy-looking terrier strained and panted.
“Hi. You made it,” she greeted me when she
drew close.
As if I would have stood her up. Hah! For a
moment, I was tongue-tied and couldn’t put two words together. I
dropped to a squat in front of the dog.
“Cute…” Boy? Girl? I couldn’t remember. “Cute
dog.”
Anna knelt too and ruffled the dog’s fur.
“Yeah, she’s my baby.”
Baby, that was its name. I held my
hand out, fingers curled so Baby could sniff me and decide whether
she wanted me to touch her, but the pup wasn’t shy. She thrust her
head against my fist, begging for attention. I scratched between
her ears, and she dropped belly up on the grass. I rubbed her
stomach.
“She’s so adorable I can’t stand it.” Anna’s
voice went high and girly as she gushed over her new pet, but I had
to admit the pup was pretty damn cute.
She unhooked the leash from the dog’s collar.
Immediately, Baby was up on all fours and bounding around us.
“She reminds me of…” One of those vivid
flashes filled my mind. It was my birthday. I could taste the cake,
smell the blown-out candles, feel soft fur and a warm, wiggling
puppy. “Reminds me of when we got our dog. He was my birthday
present.”
“Sweet. I bet you never forgot that
birthday.”
We followed Baby as she darted down the path,
stopping every few feet to sniff spots other dogs had marked and
then leaving her own piss stamp.
“How was your week?” Anna asked.
“Normal.” I tried to think of one interesting
thing I could tell about, but unless she wanted to hear how I
bravely unclogged a toilet, there wasn’t much to say. “What about
yours?”
“I lost my car keys and had to make a new
set. That made me late for an important meeting, which didn’t look
too good. But otherwise I guess I’m doing okay. They haven’t fired
me yet.”
“Do you worry about being fired?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Most of the time
I know I’m doing a good job, but other times I feel like I’m
skating on the edge and one mistake will put me in the reject
pile.”
“That’s a lot of pressure. Is your firm
putting it on you, or are you putting it on yourself?”
She punched my arm. “Okay, sensei. I don’t
need analysis today. I’ve always been an overachiever. I know I’ve
got issues about success.”
“Everybody’s got issues. Except these guys.”
I nodded at other people’s dogs chasing each other across the
grass, nipping and playing like the pack animals they were.
“Uncomplicated,” Anna agreed. She grabbed
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