I haven’t told anyone what’s bothering me, but today I decided
to lay it all out in the sand. And then when it’s spread smoothly and exposed,
I’ll cover it up. It will be gone - my secret that I have been holding in. I’ve
told no one, not even Judy.
I’m afraid to tell, especially her. What if she doesn’t
understand? What if she gets mad? What if she throws me out, or even worse,
what if she finds me a new home? I'd rather live on the streets, like I did
when I was a kitten than pretend to love someone else.
Judy has expectations of me that, up until now I have been
happy, no, honored and proud to fulfill. Posing as the receptionist at the
grooming shop wasn’t even a job. I reveled in making the customers smile, the
golden retriever in the cage bark in excitement, and soothing Judy’s harried
nerves when her schedule became hectic. The business has been my life. Summer
mornings meant a leisurely ride to work in the golf cart, watching cars roar by
as I sniffed the cool California air. And evenings at home we fell asleep together
in the chair, exhausted from the day’s work. Judy would say, “Another day
another dog,” then we would pad off to bed. I would curl up on the covers at
the foot, on top in summer, under in winter.
So my secret? What am I hiding? Life has changed. I have
changed. I want more. If Judy isn’t grooming, she is always at her desk. I lie
nearby watching the mouse, wishing there was more, - wishing for the desert
flora of Arizona, Mississippi mud to roll in, and mice in Maine in the spring.
I’m telling her my secret desire tomorrow. I want a vacation. No dog
grooming. No book writing. Just the two of us. We need those special moments, listening
to the crickets chirp and the woodpecker’s tap-tap. We need to hear the Rio
Grande’s gurgle and see the full moon’s reflection on its waters. I want to
meet the cats that hang out on the pier in Nova Scotia and prowl the Everglades.
I want a permanent vacation. |
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