allergic it would all be fine. “No,” I say.
Miranda stands up. “I’m going to bed,” she says. “I don’t feel well.” She walks past me, toward the door, then she turns around. “Please get rid of the flowers,” she says.
That night I wait a long time before I go down to Dog. I want to make sure Miranda is fast asleep. Finally I am satisfied. Miranda’s face is turned away from mine on the pillow and her cheeks move in and out a little and the blankets rise and fall across her breasts, but besides that she is perfectly still. The lights from passing cars flit across her face, and she almost looks dead, she is so still.
I go down to get Dog. It is wonderful to see her. She comes out of the closet and whines a little, very quietly. Then she rubs her head against my chest. I am very sad tonight, and even Dog cannot cheer me up. Patting her, kissing her between her eyes, only makes me sadder. Dog senses this, and lies down close beside me on the car seat.
At the A&P I almost lose Dog. She runs between two huge trucks that are parked behind the store, and disappears. It is dark back here and quiet. There is no one about. I think I can hear Dog’s tags and collar jingling, but it sounds very far away, on the other side of the tracks. I am afraid to call her, it is so quiet. The moon is out and broken glass glints on the pavement. I whistle softly, and finally Dog comes. I hear her coming across the tracks and back between the trucks. She runs across the parking lot, in and out of the shadows, like a ghost. I put out my hand to touch her, and she is there.
I go into the A&P to buy dog food. Dog is afraid of the automatic door and shies when it swings open of its own accord. I pick her up.
“You can’t bring the dog in here,” says the checkout girl. “Unless he’s a Seeing Eye dog. Are you blind?”
Since I am carrying Dog, I can hardly claim I am blind. “No,” I say. I put Dog down.
“Well, then he can’t come in. Sorry.”
I pick up Dog and go back out. Dog is tired; her body is limp and warm in my arms. I carry her like a baby, her head against my shoulder. I put her in the car, lock the door, and go back in the store.
I walk up and down the aisles enjoying myself. Pet food is always in the middle aisle, regardless of the store. This fact fascinates me. The only other person in the store is in pet food. She’s wearing a long green dress, sandals, and a pink scarf. Her red hair sticks out from under the scarf in all directions. She stares at me as I walk down the aisle. She is waiting to tell me something, I can tell.
“I read palms,” she whispers, as I reach out for the dog food. “I tell fortunes.”
I say nothing. I read the box. “Complete as a meal in a can,” it says. “Without any of the mess.”
“Do me a favor,” the woman says. She reaches out and touches my arm.
“What?” I say.
“Escort me up and down the aisles,” she says. “I’ll read your palm when we’re done.”
“Why?” I say.
“Why what?” Before I can answer she says, “Why not? I’m lonely. Please.”
“O.K.,” I say. I hope this won’t take too long.
We walk toward the front of the store. The woman consults her shopping list. “My name is Jane,” she says, as if this is written on her list. “Just Jane. Soda. Will you do me another favor?” She looks up at me.
“What?” I say.
She touches my arm again. “Pretend you’re my husband,” she says. “Pretend we’re married and we’re shopping. Will you do that?”
“Why?” I ask.
Once again she looks at her list, as if the answer is there. “Soda,” she mumbles. “What kind of soda do you like?” She hesitates. “Dear.”
We are in the beverage aisle, and all the bottles gleam around us. “I like Seven-Up,” I say, because that is the first kind I see.
“The un-cola,” says Jane. “I don’t like it. I like Coke. But we’ll get Seven-Up for you.” She puts a large plastic bottle of Seven-Up in the cart. We
Miranda stands up. “I’m going to bed,” she says. “I don’t feel well.” She walks past me, toward the door, then she turns around. “Please get rid of the flowers,” she says.
That night I wait a long time before I go down to Dog. I want to make sure Miranda is fast asleep. Finally I am satisfied. Miranda’s face is turned away from mine on the pillow and her cheeks move in and out a little and the blankets rise and fall across her breasts, but besides that she is perfectly still. The lights from passing cars flit across her face, and she almost looks dead, she is so still.
I go down to get Dog. It is wonderful to see her. She comes out of the closet and whines a little, very quietly. Then she rubs her head against my chest. I am very sad tonight, and even Dog cannot cheer me up. Patting her, kissing her between her eyes, only makes me sadder. Dog senses this, and lies down close beside me on the car seat.
At the A&P I almost lose Dog. She runs between two huge trucks that are parked behind the store, and disappears. It is dark back here and quiet. There is no one about. I think I can hear Dog’s tags and collar jingling, but it sounds very far away, on the other side of the tracks. I am afraid to call her, it is so quiet. The moon is out and broken glass glints on the pavement. I whistle softly, and finally Dog comes. I hear her coming across the tracks and back between the trucks. She runs across the parking lot, in and out of the shadows, like a ghost. I put out my hand to touch her, and she is there.
I go into the A&P to buy dog food. Dog is afraid of the automatic door and shies when it swings open of its own accord. I pick her up.
“You can’t bring the dog in here,” says the checkout girl. “Unless he’s a Seeing Eye dog. Are you blind?”
Since I am carrying Dog, I can hardly claim I am blind. “No,” I say. I put Dog down.
“Well, then he can’t come in. Sorry.”
I pick up Dog and go back out. Dog is tired; her body is limp and warm in my arms. I carry her like a baby, her head against my shoulder. I put her in the car, lock the door, and go back in the store.
I walk up and down the aisles enjoying myself. Pet food is always in the middle aisle, regardless of the store. This fact fascinates me. The only other person in the store is in pet food. She’s wearing a long green dress, sandals, and a pink scarf. Her red hair sticks out from under the scarf in all directions. She stares at me as I walk down the aisle. She is waiting to tell me something, I can tell.
“I read palms,” she whispers, as I reach out for the dog food. “I tell fortunes.”
I say nothing. I read the box. “Complete as a meal in a can,” it says. “Without any of the mess.”
“Do me a favor,” the woman says. She reaches out and touches my arm.
“What?” I say.
“Escort me up and down the aisles,” she says. “I’ll read your palm when we’re done.”
“Why?” I say.
“Why what?” Before I can answer she says, “Why not? I’m lonely. Please.”
“O.K.,” I say. I hope this won’t take too long.
We walk toward the front of the store. The woman consults her shopping list. “My name is Jane,” she says, as if this is written on her list. “Just Jane. Soda. Will you do me another favor?” She looks up at me.
“What?” I say.
She touches my arm again. “Pretend you’re my husband,” she says. “Pretend we’re married and we’re shopping. Will you do that?”
“Why?” I ask.
Once again she looks at her list, as if the answer is there. “Soda,” she mumbles. “What kind of soda do you like?” She hesitates. “Dear.”
We are in the beverage aisle, and all the bottles gleam around us. “I like Seven-Up,” I say, because that is the first kind I see.
“The un-cola,” says Jane. “I don’t like it. I like Coke. But we’ll get Seven-Up for you.” She puts a large plastic bottle of Seven-Up in the cart. We
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