Another few short chapters from this novel in progress.

7. I remember last August; my lover and I had been sitting at the café down the road from her place in Vermont. I’d been about to describe this life of mine but the laughter of old friends of hers broke across my first breath of truth. I gulped back the confession.

“So, this is why we never see you anymore!” said the shortest of the three. She wore a sensible jacket over a pair of jeans and sandals. Her toes were painted turquoise. The nails trimmed to perfection. What was her name? Any of them? Heidi. Rashmi. And…I forget.

I’d glanced at the feet of the others, all exposed in sandals, Keens of different shades of reds and pinks. Very feminine. My own shoes hid my weathered feet, the proof that I like to walk barefoot in the woods and along the few trails I’ve found outside the borders of suburbia and better yet, all over the desert of home, crossing the scrubland with the dogs and cats as my companions. One difference between the Northeast and Southwest, I guess, is in the footwear.

Her friends had introduced themselves, all open mouths and wide sparkly teeth, nothing to be afraid of. I shook hands, bid them join us, and they did.

Miriam, my lover that is, wore a simple linen dress, sandals and a bemused look, seeing how hard I tried to talk in line with current company, mentioning travels, how we’d met, (at the bookstore), and all that introductory stuff of small talk. When the focus turned to ‘what are you doing on the weekend?’ I finished my coffee and croissant, letting her take over for me. As her friends chatted away, I’d pictured my home in the mountains with pinons and junipers shading me from view. I missed the Southwest on these travels for health, mental and physical. I didn’t know how to combine my world with hers.

The three women were friendly though, all old schoolfriends of hers, is that right? The high school basketball crew? Even Laurie, the little one? That’s her name! Haha, my memory’s not as shot as I’d thought. Well, yes, I liked her all the more for that tenacity of playing with the Big Girls. Yes, that’s right. I remember. They’d all played, trained, and grew up together and still lived in the town they’d known since being toddlers. An hour or so passed with pleasant enough conversation and then Miriam and I headed to her home, hand in hand. Why not? I looked enough like a man not to get her in trouble, small towns being how they are even in 2020.

“Was that okay?”

I nodded and squeezed her right hand. It was always the right one she offered me with a sheepish grin at the habit. “Yep,” I said.

“I like introducing you to my friends, I hope I get to meet yours someday.”

And there we have it – the elephant with the pink tusk waiting at the crosswalk, shuffling along behind us, nudging me along, tickling my neck with its trunk.

“Yep.”

Miriam, with her dark hair tied back in a pony-tail, perfect teeth, and fit little body, tugged on my hand as I loitered in the driveway, pulling me back inside her home and away from my errands. I followed her through the tree-lined pathway, thinking how I’d like to trim back the branches so tall people like me don’t bonk their heads on random branches.

The elephant trumpeted a whisper in my right ear, giggling at my awkwardness. I pushed away the rubbery lips of her trunk and asked Miriam instead, “Have I told you much about where I live?”

Miriam opened the door and took me to the kitchen, our favorite spot. I claimed my usual stool at the island. I carried on as she made us more coffee, thick and creamy.

“It’s in a box canyon in the high desert. We’re on the Continental Divide. The highway dead-ends in the town plaza, not that there is much of one, but it’s in the original design and so we’ve tried to keep true to how town was originally. No more and no less people than a hundred years ago.”

“How do you do that? Ordinances?”

“There’s a Lower Main and an Upper Main which confuses the tourists who find us. Upper Main looks out the canyon towards the mountains and mesas, a big open sky, and backs up to the National Forest. I live in a stone cabin on that western-facing side of the canyon, and I park on UM and hike in my supplies most of the year, what with the rains or snow making the tracks unpassable. Lower Main is where the newcomers live, the houses dating back over a century now and we’ve kept them all within the image of how it was. A ghost town they call it, but it never died, not really, it just had a bit of a sleep in the seventies.”

“When did you move there?” She poured coffee and passed over an apple.

“I notice the birds and the dogs and which ponderosas need to come down before they tumble onto the homes below. It’s a fine balance of letting things age and taking care of the new. Tiring but worth it,” I said.

“I want to picture it, the roads and homes and weather and neighbors. All of it. Until I make it there myself.”

She reached for me as I munched on the Macintosh and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, nibbling on my collarbone and I squirmed as she kept asking questions.

“What do the tourists do? Are there museums and historic buildings, is that it?”

The elephant outside sat on her car and stared at me through the patio doors.

“I hope you take me there someday,” she said and bit down, hard.

I threw the apple out the open doors and turned to her, kissed her deeply, and took her back to bed. I never did answer the questions though, did I? Things might have turned out better.

8. A rough tongue licks my left hand and it’s not Miriam. Hank, a chihuahua, and Frank, a mastiff, stand over me blocking the sun. Apparently, I’d fallen asleep at the gate after Ding and the new dog left me alone.

The tongue licks me again and I smell bacon. Someone’s getting treats, I wonder where. Rolling over and up, I regard them in silence. It’s the best way to understand Hank and Frank, my guard-dogs on the south side. The Battalion Chief is Frank, and Hank is his Lickylou-Lieutenant. I figure they must have news if they’ve come looking.

“Well?” I’m not a patient woman.

I’m the only one in town that understands dogs’ speech, and I can’t fathom how no one listens to them. Translating the ravens’ language, however, that was a task that took years to master. Even now, I’m not sure I completely get it right.

Franks barks out his story. “We need to address the numbers again because there’s getting to be a bit too much attention from the tourists and newcomers towards us. I heard one saying how he’d take me home if he could. Home! Hah, as if he knows what it’s like to find a decent home, housing and job all in one.”

Hank squeaks, “What an image of a stranger trying to ease you into a Prius! Or was it a Honda Fit?”

“I don’t know cars and I don’t know why you do.”

“Now, now, boys, be nice. Remember rule #1,” I remind them.

“Bullying is teasing gone wrong, therefore, if Being A teases but Being B doesn’t laugh, then it’s bullying,” they quote to me.

“Exactly.”

We all stand there, forgetting the rest of the passage but that’s okay as we only use it as an excuse for making final decisions of getting rid of someone, human, canine, or feline. The rule book sits in my outhouse and in theory I should know it well but there’s no reading glasses in there and so–

“We wanted to talk to you about Oona. She’s not fixing her cats. I checked a few girls for the tattoo, and they didn’t have one.” Frank’s voice rises at the indignation of finding out how the honorable giant doesn’t do as she’s told.

My stomach turns at the thought of confronting my friend. She’s not one to respect me in my role as the Enforcer. I need to delegate but who could I send to talk to her? I haven’t a clue. I need to expand my team and I look over the dogs at my side. The wind picks up, ruffling their ears and my cowboy hat.

“But you can’t send me,” Hank is scared of going to her place and rightly so as a little fella with sharp teeth is no match for a crazy cat lady.

“What do we do? It doesn’t help that the numbers of visitors are also getting out of control. It’s only February and town is already packed on the weekends. The word’s out to visit us. Some locals blame it on that new ‘Welcome to Cullingstown’ website but no one’s claiming to have set it up so we can’t take it down. All that hype about come to the End of the Road, find your bliss in this little slice of heaven where the locals love the company, blah blah blah.” And Frank coughs and growls as the wind that blows dead leaves into the air; a storm is definitely getting closer. My hat flies off in a gust. Hank snaps at it in mid-air. A good catch.

I shook my head, overwhelmed by it all. Everything is getting out of hand. Too many tourists early in the season. Unpredictable weather messing with my hair. Parking on the plaza is ridiculous. No empty homes. Breeding cats. Now what else could go wrong? Haha, silly question.

Frank says, “We should call a Rescue Dept. meeting. Soon.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Oh boy. Here’s another tour bus.” Hank states, tail down. “I’m off. Coming, Frank?”

“Tonight! Let’s meet up tonight!” says the Battalion Chief.

They nod and leave me to wave at the driver as she slows down for the first speed bump. I yell up at the open window, “There’s nowhere to park. Just turnaround here, that’s why– “

“I know this route, it’s fine. I’ve been in and out of here more often than you’ve had hot burritos! I can edge this little beast into the tiniest corners, don’t you worry about me, Ma’am,” says the young female driver with a bob of black hair, wearing mirrored glasses, and a confident, or is it arrogant, smile? She honks the horn and drives up into town with a puff of diesel and tourists’ eyes stare through the back window at me, standing on the rocks barefoot, wearing a beat-up cowboy hat and a deep frown.

Ma’am? She called me Ma’am?

9. I’m not sure why I’ve been writing this in the present, it’s not as if I can change anything. It’s done. I did my best. I did. I’m sorry.