A Dog Barks
So, “hi.” I am watching some game with my brother-in-law and my sister has got off the phone.
So my sister says, “hi.” She doesn’t sit down. Here’s the scene: me, Lisa, Teddy and the TV. Lisa and Teddy have some furniture, a new couch, old chairs.
I know Lisa won’t sit down to watch TV because I’ve known her all my life and I never see her except that she’s doing something at a table. She gives crystal parties where you buy punch sets and goblets. She does paper work all the time.
So we’re in the dining room next to the living room where Teddy is and his brother Keebro pushes the screen door and comes in, says hi to everyone and sits down. The colors: brothers-black; sisters-white. Keebro checks the score.
Teddy pulls out the cigar box from under his big chair. He rolls one. To be sociable I walk in the living room and take a hit or two.
“You think you can handle it?” Keebro asks me.
“I’d rather handle it than you,” I say to say something. They laugh.
I stroll back to Lisa who is adding things up on her machine, a portable with a miniature, maybe half-inch tape. She brings it to parties.
“How’s business?”
Her fingers are moving. To talk she stops. She never smokes.
“I’m busy. Margie had a party last night and Ellen is giving one Sunday afternoon. It’s building. Look.” She points to the evidence: orders, receipts, invoice slips, piled high. “But we almost didn’t make the house payment.”
Living room and dining room are divided by molding, up, over and down. We figured there used to be sliding wooden doors. Who needs another wall? I look through the space at Teddy and Keebro, talking about their jobs, the game, news, dope; talking crazy.
“Why not?” Because I’m not married I expect people with more things – there’s a lot of them – to get it in on time. And Teddy’s a welder. They have some bucks.
“I don’t know.”
Our parents would be mad.
“My landlord’s dog is driving me crazy,” I state loudly enough for both rooms to hear. “He barks. And he’s small and ugly. Black.”
“Who’s black and ugly,” Teddy shouts from the next room.
My sister tells him.
Keebro laughs. “Well, I guess she should know.”
“No, but listen.” I’ve got this nice persistent buzz and it makes me want to make myself clear. “He barks all the time. I have earplugs but why should I have to bother? And when I walk up the driveway to my car he runs around me in circles, barking.”
“Kick him,” Teddy and Keebro say.
“I do.” I want to, anyway.
The phone rings. It’s Margie for my sister. They are talking and it will be a while. They talk crystal and then I can tell they are on to Margie’s husband Sam. I hang out at the table. I pick up the catalog and read it with the same interest I approach food labels, which I love to read. They use my mind but don’t push me.
My sister is pouring soda in the kitchen while she talks. The phone will follow her anywhere.
“Don’t you think I have a right to quiet?” I look at Teddy and Keebro. They are fixed on the set; their bodies make loose curves in their chairs. My brother-in-law has to break concentration to talk to me.
“Hey, it’s his property. That’s kind of it.”
“Why don’t you move here?” Keebro asks, not moving his eyes from the tube.
“She’s afraid of me.” Teddy reaches for his beer.
I stand, lean on the molding. No one speaks. Now Keebro is rolling. They’re advertising beer, and he asks, “What kind of dog?”
“Just small. Skinny.”
“I thought you said black.”
“If he’s black he ain’t small,” Teddy says.
“You wish.” My sister is back.
The game is on again and I sit down. “How’s Margie?”
“I don’t know how she does it.” My sister is talking real low. I lean in her direction. “She’s seeing someone.”
“Does Sam know?”
“She doesn’t really care. He’s seeing someone. They’re always running out on each other. I wish I could.”
She runs the machine. I stand by the table. She has these pictures of English landscapes on the walls at which I stare hard.
“It’s pretty green there, isn’t it,” I comment.
Teddy walks by. “Tell this dreamer she can move in with us. We got the room.” He puts his hand on the adding machine so it’s hidden.
“You’re crazy,” I say to Teddy.
The phone rings again and my sister is gone. Teddy’s not real tall and our eyes have no place to look but at each other. Probably we’re both red-eyed. “Why do you have to live alone? Families should be families.”
I sit. He heads into the kitchen. Returns with another beer.
“The dog sure ain’t moving.”
I sigh.
“Move in with someone. One of your girlfriends.”
“I like living alone.”
“You sure are here a lot.”
“I thought you were my family.”
He looks at me like I’m sitting in one of those English gardens and joins Keebro.
“That girl knows everything.”
“You know everything?” Keebro shouts. “I got a couple of questions I need to ask you. What should I ask her?”
“Ask her who’s going to win this game.”
“Who’s going to win this game?”
“The Dodgers,” I say.
Teddy and Keebro laugh. “They’re ahead,” Keebro says. “I’m taking you to Vegas next time.”
“Better be careful. She’s getting scared.”
My sister is still talking. I go in the kitchen. Wave. She looks at me. Squints. Nods.
As I’m walking towards the door, Teddy says, “Don’t forget what I said.” He jumps up and hands me a joint. Tightly rolled.
“How can I forget anything if I know everything?” I say and leave.
The moon is full or could be and I can see my way down my driveway without effort. It’s a warm night, still, and quiet. A miracle. My tiny apartment is hidden behind a garage so old and peeling it’s not worth noticing. I am on a hill and can leave my bedroom window open. This is Silverlake. The curtains are pulled back. I see night shades of a desert scene, a desert that has little houses and palm trees like flagpoles in front. There are no colors in my landscape. I light up, take a few drags and put it out. I am looking at everything and I don’t miss myself in this scene. I hold my still life in my vision. There is nothing wrong with this scene.
And then he barks. It is a constant yelping and serves no purpose. No one is coming. I think of my earplugs and instead choose a pillow in which I try to bury myself. It doesn’t work, so I return to the window, and look out for the people who are awake.
By Sarah Sarai. Thanks to Cassandra Oxley, editor of stet, for allowing me to reprint.
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