Faye didn’t have time for poetic thoughts this morning because today was going to be different. She could feel it.
While it just may have been the sweet scent of spring in the morning air – hints of lilac and warm moist earth. She didn’t think so. A typical, if glorious, spring day was not what she had in mind. Not what she felt. Something different…
Lulu, her dog, took a much broader view of the spring breeze. Lilacs and mud – sure, but also traces of worms, robins, bunnies and the much hated squirrel. Lulu knew the squirrels were around and rodent mischief would soon follow. While, typically an animal lover, Lulu did not much care for squirrels.
Faye took her breakfast of yogurt and fruit (blueberries and bananas) out on the patio. She briefly considered cooking an egg as a routine break, but decided on the usual. Why change the trivial when something else, big, would be happening soon?
While health food tolerant, Lulu had no interest in the yogurt or the fruit. No, not while she could smell bacon frying in some stranger’s kitchen a quarter mile down the road. She longed for the days before Faye’s latest health kick. An optimist by nature, Lulu knew the red meats and salty treats would one day return. Faye’s resolve would pass. She could wait.
Lulu had the patience of Buda in dog years.
Until that day Lulu would dream of bacon and diligently defend, even yogurt, from those damn squirrels. Focusing ten thousand year old instinct, she patrolled the patio perimeter.
Faye didn’t bother with her mourning routine of writing a poem during breakfast. No time for poetic thoughts today. Introspection and anticipation are mutually exclusive, she thought to herself. Then realized she was having a poetic thought, so crushed it by not writing it down. There, she thought. I’ve killed an idea with inaction. Realizing she was still waxing poetic, she decided to stop thinking and get dressed for work.
Lulu continued to circle the patio – ever vigilant. The squirrel apocalypse could begin at any time. (Bacon…)
The day proceeded uneventfully for both. Faye worked producing obfuscated sentences for a multinational company. Propaganda, she once quipped; knowing full well propaganda would be a full step up from the jargon laced copy she produced at an alarming rate.
Lulu spent her day as the self appointed dog therapy dog at the local canine day care. She had a talent for calming down high-strung herding dogs. She also had the muscle and speed to mix-it-up with the two year old bad-boy labs – anytime they were up to it. Lulu lived the life of a second wave feminist having never heard the term.
After work, Faye picked up Lulu. They went home and Faye practiced bass fingering for exactly one hour while Lulu munched on a frozen buffalo bone. In other words – the usual.
Faye needed to learn the bass part to an old jazz tune by the weekend. Lulu didn’t know anything about deadlines, but enjoyed the low creaky sounds Faye made with that big, odd smelling, chunk of wood. The low tones reminded her of father’s bark. The sound waves penetrated her hide massaging her spine. Heavenly. Lulu felt they could really use more male sounds in their lives.
After diner (grilled portabella and mixed raw veggies) Faye had her usual glass of wine while writing in her journal. She entered three paragraphs about change and the first two lines of a poem while Lulu patrolled the backyard. (Squirrels…)
Finally at day’s end, Faye gave up on expecting big change and undressed for bed. Lulu jumped up onto the queen size mattress and waited for the mandatory pre-sleep belly rub. Sometimes Faye would recite a poem while rubbing Lulu’s belly, sometimes she would talk about her day. Lulu preferred the sing-songy poems.
Drifting off to sleep
That’s when the phone rang
Half asleep, Faye grabbed the phone without reading the caller ID. And found herself talking with Brad – an ex-boyfriend, who left (dumped) her six months ago and moved to the West Coast.
The words “Hey, babe! How ya doin” sounded from the phone. Faye had no immediate reply.
“Hey, babe, you there?”
He has such a nice voice. Remember it’s a trap, she thought
“Yes I’m here Brad,” she finally said, “Why are you calling so late – or at all!”
“Hey babe, I’m in town…”
“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted.
“Sorry Faye, I just got in and thought we might get together. Play a few tunes – make some music.” He didn’t sound sorry.
“What, now?” she asked – don’t fall into a trap.
“Not now Faye, later this week. I’ll call.” He actually sounded hopeful.
“Yeah, right!” Faye replied and hung up.
As Faye rolled over Lulu stared at the phone. Was that Brad she heard? Lulu liked his low dark voice. He used to wrestle with her – rough, but not too rough. And most important, he smelled of meat and fed her bacon.
Faye drifted off
Into the dark warm spring night
Old loves floated on the breeze
Good times mostly bad
Her last thought for the day was
Maybe tomorrow will be different…