the elevator lady

I got in the elevator and pushed "G".

I stood against the back wall waiting for the doors to open. Unexpectedly they slowly creaked open on floor 4.

In walks a woman wearing a gray sweater and black leggings that are barely tucked into her heeled boots. Short, ankle high boots. She has a yellow dog, that's nothing but fluff, who refuses to do anything but stand on his hind legs.

She says a few commands to him that he eagerly dismisses.

Choosing instead to jump on my leg.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and I let her leave first.

The dog reluctantly starts out the now open doors and heads to the front of the building. I watch her walk away.

My eyes move from the bottom of her ankles, slowly up her thighs. Round thighs that barely touch at the top. Her leggings are tight, so tight they cup each one of her butt cheeks perfectly. I'm lost in a gaze.

At the top of her leggings a gold zipper darts down two inches from the top band. I wonder if I was to unzip it, would I see the beginning of her butt? I imagine the weight of the zipper in my right hand while my left cups her perfectly perky cheek. Squeezing it, kissing where the zipper exposes skin.

She continues to walk away while I'm still holding onto her skin in my mind.

moments of guilt

It's raining outside. Well, more like misting. I have a leash wrapped tightly around my right arm, attached to it is a 50lb mut of a dog. My left arm has a boston terrier and a papillon fighting over who gets to walk first. I'm stopped at an intersection getting ready to take a right and cross the street. A black nondescript car comes to the intersection. Without so much as yielding the car full of people takes a right and cuts me off. I take a step backwards and shake my head, so much for pedestrian right away. I watch the two smug business men in the front not even skip a beat in their conversation. "Assholes" I think to myself.

I catch a glimpse of a woman sitting in the backseat. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail, or maybe a bun I can't tell. She looks young, her face isn't worn. As she passes in the car, I watch as she mouths the words "I'm sorry." I can see the guilt in her eyes for what the assholes up front had done.

I often have moments like this. Times where I wish I could rewind just two seconds of time and take back the smallest of actions to alleviate guilt that I know is going to weigh on my chest.

Yesterday I was standing on the lawn of one of my clients. I had just set the meatball of a pug down when I saw a silver car pull up to the fence. A woman leans out the window and asks if I've seen a loose german shepard. I tell her no, unfortunately. She says thank you and to keep my eyes open, then drives away. I take the meatball back into the house and think on how awful it is to worry about a missing pet.

I leave a note for my client, set the security alarm, and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and start the engine. The metal cd I was listening to blasts in my face and I turn it down just in time to see a large furry creature moving to my left. I give a start and shut off the car. It's the german shepard.

I get out of my car and join in with a young barefooted woman that's in pursuit of the dog. The dog speeds up, so leaving the barefooted woman behind (a friendly neighbor who doesn't want to see the dog get lost) I speed up and follow the dog. I'm not a jogger. My throat starts to burn, I'm sweating and my shins are killing me. My worn in pumas aren't the best support for this sort of thing. I lose the dog at a fork in the road.

I turn around reluctantly and start the over 5 minute walk back to my car. Heeving and hoing. I run into the barefooted woman. She's in her red suv now, still determined to be in persuit. I tell her where I last saw the dog, in between panting breathes. I get back to my car and have a moment of internal dialogue. Should I go after the dog or not? I choose not to, and drive off.

I've felt guilty for the past day and a half over not returning to the dog hunt.  

Today.

I'm stopped at a red light. It's a 3 lane highway and I'm in the 4th lane, it's a left turn only lane.

There's a green arrow blaring in the traffic light. The silver car in front of me won't move. I honk, it inches forward. I draw my attention to the far left. Over the other 3 lanes of traffic on the other side I see what's keeping the car from moving.

A funeral procession is ignoring all traffic lights and forging onwards. It's prevented the woman from taking the left. Our green arrow turns to yellow, then a red light. I put my car in reverse and back up, giving the woman in the silver car room to back up as well. I want to get out and tell the woman I'm sorry, that I take my honk back.

I feel awfully guilty.

it's just death knocking

I've been thinking about death a lot recently.

My route for work has me passing by no less than 4 funeral homes. The past week I've seen 3 funeral processions alone.

Car after car, parking on the side of the street with orange flags on the antennae.  

FUNERAL in black bold font across the seemingly harmless orange. As if it were shouting at you to look at the faces of those inside.

Find the grief written on them, can you see it? Is it in the lines on their faces? The smiles as they greet those they know?

Where is their guilt? Their heavy hearts should be sinking inside their chests, forming a black hole to engulf their world.

Everyone processes loss differently and at their own speed. Maybe laughing and smiling is what gets us through the hard parts, until we're ready for them.

I've been lucky enough in my life to experience very little personal loss. I have a grandmother that died when I was around 12, and that is my only experience with true loss of someone close to your heart.

She used to teach me out to craft. She'd get a small bowl and put cloves in it, give me an unpeeled orange, and a small metal object with a point on one end. I'd stare at her, not knowing what she wanted me to do. She'd show me the steps, and soon we had an air freshener. 

She was a magician to my small eyes and even smaller world.

When I got the news she had died, we all knew it was a matter of time. Cancer was eating her alive. Once so strong she withered away. I watched her hands become skeletal and her face lose it's plump liveliness.

She gave me an angel figurine weeks before she died. I still have her. I keep her where my eyes can always see her.

I shrugged off the loss. I cried it out, and never processed it. Death is something natural, it's going through a closed door onto another adventure.

I can't say what I believe in, or what I know for certain that this life is all about. I'm working that out every day.

How can you measure the worth of your own life? Everyone says this life is a short one, so make every day count. But count to who? You? Myself? Is there a book I haven't read yet that gives me a scale of moments that you can then tally up?

I often feel like a failure. I'm a professional quitter. I have moments where I do it all, and moments where I don't do anything. Ups, and downs. Others have run cricles around me in life, leaving me to look at their tracks and wonder what I'm doing wrong. Or if I'm doing it wrong.

I want to wake up tomorrow and not feel indifferent about walking down a path. I want to have the passion that others have in one subject long enough to let me chase it.

But I don't know if I ever will.

Maybe a little soul searching is in order, to see if I even have one.

oh needy people

I walked up the 2 flights of stairs to my clients apartment.

Number 35.

It had just started to drizzle. Misty rain. The annoying kind that sticks to you everywhere but won't just commit to soaking you.

I unlock the deadbolt. By this time the (at least 65lb) yellow lab on the otherside is crying and barking.

I unlock the door handle.

The dog bounds and leaps towards me with a duck in his mouth. A stuffed dog, missing it's head and feet. A good indication of the dogs general attitude.

"Oh buddy, it's a duck day?"

He whines and jumps around.

The alarm to my left is beeping. I turn, enter the 4 digit code, and it falls silent.

But the dog hasn't. He's still whimpering and crying.

I know, he's excited.

I see a note on the table. I know it's not mine from the day before as she usually throws them away.

I lean over and read it quickly.

In short, it says.

"Hi, can you put my dinner in the fridge? It's on the counter next to the fridge. If not that's ok."

I turn my head to one side and try not to shake it. My head, that is.

I put the dogs leash on him, walk to the fridge, and pick up the small package. Salmon, reads the label.

I let myself shake my head now. I open the fridge as I do this and put it on the first shelf I see.

I enter the code into the security system, and leave the apartment. Locking the door behind me. Walking down the stairs I can't help but chuckle. It's amazing to me the things people will ask for, to see what they can get away with. And it's even more amazing the irritation they feel when you have the audacity to tell them no.

This isn't the first occasion she's asked numerous "favors" from me. I mean, why not, I'm there and she won't have to pay me extra.

Oh, people.

and it's only Monday

I get the first moments peace since Wednesday night. A 6 year old lab has been tearing up my apartment, and generally making me unable to take a deep breathe in days.

I hand him over to his owner. Walk up the flight of stairs to my apartment and throw on shoes that don't smell like rain water that's dried. I head towards my neighborhood liquor store.

The guy behind the counter smiles and asks "How're you today?"

They stopped carding me years ago. Two? Maybe longer.

They gave up asking me if I needed a pack of cigarettes in just as much time. They know I quit.

Is it sad or reassuring that your neighborhood liquor store owners know you?

I like it.

I put down the large bottle of white wine and tell the man I need a pack of Marlboro lights. He gives me a suspicious look and says "Marb lights?"

"Yep."
"Ok."

I shove everything back into my pockets and walk the 2 minutes back home.

I sit down, contemplating if I should light up a cigarette. My phone rings, it's my friend that now lives in California.

I know why he's calling. 5 minutes prior I saw someone we both knew had died. Facebook is good for one thing.

He tells me what happened. How sudden it was. How he had just spoken to him 2 days before he died. He has a bit of a laugh in his voice, I can tell he's holding back. He lets it slip that he's sick of people he knows dying. It's the second this year, that I know of, that he was close to.

I don't know what to say. I tell him I'm sorry. Bret was a fighter, and I'm shocked.

I made up my mind.

I open up the pack of cigarettes and light one.