|
prev home archive next Storyteller Bio Dramatis Personnae Who I Read Recipes |
This evening Calvin and I had a disagreement. Well, not really a disagreement as much as a manifestation of frustration. So while he took Marie and one of her friends to the ice arena, I took Gypsy for a walk. I used to do this when it was just she and I, and I was lonely or sad or just bored. Her and I, wandering around and hanging out at the park, looking up at the planes in their patterns or the few stars that are visible in the city sky. Tonight Gypsy and I wandered down to a park that I have just started frequenting. So far it has just been myself, and now her, that have gone there. So I don't think anyone would think to look for us there, if they were so inclined. Which presents a certain appeal, really. I sat down in the grass up against a tree, and enjoyed the quiet. Well, the relative quiet, as cars went back and forth on the nearby road, and people went past walking their own dogs. Gypsy strained against the leash as far as it would go, sniffing. I leaned my head against the tree and cried. After a while I stopped, and just sat, staring off in the distance. All of a sudden, I heard heated conversation. Ebbing, getting quieter, getting louder, a shouted curse suddenly coming clearly, starkly, across the park. Opposite me, about 150 yards away, three men and a woman emerged from a house. One man was hollering hysterically - "Sheila, Sheila, please! Stop a minute! Just let me talk to you!" The woman, crying, tried to enter in the passenger side of her car, but was detained by the man. The other two men were trying to calm him down, appealing the two to go back inside the house. The woman shrugged them off, and the man begged them to leave the two of them alone. "I just want to talk to her. I just want to talk to her." I sat, watching, unseen in the shadows of the trees. I felt for these two people, struggling in their own tableau. It was strange to observe them; surreal. Caught up in their own emotions, not knowing they were being watched. I felt a bit of guilt in observing them in such a private moment; but all of a sudden I cared - cared intensely about what was happening to them. He held her close against him as she struggled a bit, then she stopped and put her head against his chest. I could hear the tone of his voice, but not the words; appealing, begging, apologizing. Rising and falling. Louder, then softer. Now and then, a word spoken by her, muffled against his chest. She pushed him away, and stood across from him. Defensive, her tone suggested accusation, anger, defeat, heartbreak. His posture, bent toward her, arms reaching. Her rejection, turning away, walking back into the house. He stood, head in the crook of his arms, leaning on the roof of the car. His sobs echoed across the deserted park. I got up, and brushed off my jeans. Gypsy and I walked home. |