Easy as walking away

I didn't fall in love of course
it's never up to you
but she was walking back and forth
and I was passing through
― Leonard Cohen

Dina and I loved rain. We’d sit out on our roofed wooden verandah for hours watching rainstorms and sipping Shiraz.

She passed away five years ago leaving me and Dylan behind.

Dylan is our Australian Shepherd who's now full grown, but he's only half mine—the other half is hers—same as my life.

It’s a mild May day and Dylan and I are out for our walk—he’s in tracking mode sniffing out every step while I have my head in the clouds, admiring shoals of cumulus.

"Dylan! Hey Boy, how are you?”

It’s Natalie Brinkman from the corner house—the one with the in-ground pool and well-manicured lawn. She seems in love with Dylan and always stops us when we go past.

She’s down on her knees hugging him and he’s lapping it up—he’s such a player and loves women.

I wonder sometimes, though, if he likes the attention, or Natalie reminds him of someone.

The thought makes my throat constrict and eyes tear up, so I shut down inside until the feeling subsides.

“Dylan—that’s an interesting name—how did he come by that?”

She’s back on her feet, smiling at me. I notice the sun is auburn in her hair.

She’s lightly tanned, wearing a beige tank top and navy short shorts. She’s also barefoot—why that’s significant, I have no idea—but note it, nonetheless.

“He’s named after the poet—Dylan Thomas.”

“Ah, I see, “ she smiles. What she doesn’t see is what I conceal—Dy stands for Dina, and Lan for Laine —he’s an amalgam of the two of us.

Dina and I met in a pet shop and both fell in love with the tri-color Australian Shepherd at the same time. Since I had started the purchase, she allowed me to buy him on the understanding she could visit him now and then.

‘Now and then’ became five years of bliss before she died swimming off Florida’s Gulf Coast. I haven’t been back since.

“Dylan stands for delightful,” Natalie coos, rubbing his mane and allowing him to nuzzle her ears.

“Maybe it stands for devious,” I laugh, “look at him, lapping up all this love.”

She stands up, slants me a glance, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, “He likes women. Maybe, he’s just wise,” she smirks.

It occurs to me that maybe he isn’t the attraction, but I push the thought to the back of my mind.

“Well, I better get going—I’ve got twenty pages of edits to plow through.”

“Don’t you ever take a vacation, Laine?”

“Yeah, sure—when I’m not working.”

“Why don’t take a break—drop by the Block Party Friday Night?”

“Not my block,” I smile.

“Be my guest—I’ll provide the wine. What do you drink?”

“Shiraz—Yellow Tail,” I find myself saying.

“Good. Then, I’ll see you after eight?”

Dylan’s impatiently tugging at his leash. “Sure—after eight—Friday,” I shout back as he pulls me away.

I wonder what he knows that I don’t.

Later that evening it rains and Dylan and I sit out on the verandah, inhaling the acrid incense of dust and Maples.

Natalie’s ex- husband was a detective—said she left him over anger issues. Goes south a lot to Bradenton on the Gulf Coast where Dina and I loved to go. She’s got a seaside cottage there. It sounds nice.

Dylan gives a tiny whine. I reach down and tickle behind his ears and he presses his body tight to my outstretched legs.

If I go to the party it will placate my sister, Elle and maybe soothe her anxiety about my never getting out.

Besides, Natalie seems nice—a bit flirtatious, sensual—not like Dina, not shy and sweet, but then, these days—who is?

I groan inside. My pup senses it and makes his wuffling sound—the sound he only made for Dina. I rub his head. I miss her too, Boy.

Friday night and I’m walking my usual route, minus Dylan, wondering if I want to do this.

The stars are out and it’s a mellow night—the temperature still in the sixties and a light breeze off the lake.

I can hear the party three blocks away—light island music and laughter.

As I draw near, I see colored paper lanterns, smell barbecued ribs and hear Natalie’s distinctive laughter rising over the lilt of other voices.

A thin white cloud spreads high above the street like a wedding veil. It’s lovely night on an exotic isle where I have no right to be.

A hand grabs mine. “Laine—I’m so glad you came.”

I look into Natalie’s eyes, darker than I recall, but then again, it’s dusk and shadows are deepening into night.

“Of course I came—I said I would.”

She’s glittery and glossy and her hair has a silky sheen. She smells of suntan lotion and the beach—but it’s not yet June.

“Yellow Tail—see I remembered,” she giggles, handing me a glass of wine.

We clink glasses and she leans into me, pressing close enough that I can feel her warmth and inhale the fragrance of her hair.

A soft reggae song comes on and she adroitly takes my glass, drops it on a tray and with a knowing smile pulls me toward the patio where several couples are dancing.

We merge into the shadowy forms swaying like seaweed on an ocean floor.

And so the night goes—the essence of her—a face with flowers pressing on.

We dance to wile a way the hours, while the virgin stars young and risen sleep—sleep the lust of windfall, sleep the endless passion of dreams.

Everything is blurred, subdued and obscured—the night candle-lit and flowing with wine.

Natalie floats and glides, navigating through tangled knots of strangers, guiding me out to dark peripheries where we can dance alone.

I feel lost in an archipelago of dark murmuring islands.

It’s a magical night and by midnight the crowd has thinned out—most couples breaking off and meandering down the road in search of home. Finally, only Natalie and I are left.

A chill breeze has come up and Natalie shivers and snuggles close into me. “Do you want to come in?” she whispers conspiratorially, and we both knew what that means.

“I’d like to, but can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she sighs.

I want her, but everything inside screams No, and for once I listen to my soul.

It’s a long walk back home beneath thinly veiled stars and fragrant flotillas from the breeze freighting scents.

When I get in, Dylan leaps off the couch and is all over me.

I slump to the floor and let him lick my face and then go to the bathroom and wash away the slobber and my tears.

It’s easier that way—I’m a mess, but it’s all because of my pup. That’s the lie I tell myself.

So, I put my sorry mess to bed and let Dylan sleep, lying across my feet.

I fall into a troubled dream. I’m back in Florida and Natalie’s there. We’re on a beach but it’s stormy. The sea rises in a huge black swell.

It’s windy but in the thunder, I can still make out Natalie’s laughter rising above the storm’s din. Moving shadows surround us and seem menacing but turn out to be Natalie’s ‘friends’.

She’s dancing and flirting with strange men. My stomach twists and I feel hollow inside.

I awake shivering and panting. The window is open and I can hear the soft rumble of thunder and smell the scent of rain on the breeze.

I get up, go downstairs, light a fire and sip some wine. Dylan comes up on the couch and presses his body close to mine.

I still see the images from my dream—a time-skip to a future where I don’t want to be.

I pick up Dina’s photograph, hug it and soon fall back to sleep and awake to warm sunlight pouring through the parted drape.

Natalie told me she was heading off to Florida by the end of the week, so I deliberately don’t phone or go by her place.

A week or two passes and everything falls back into place. Even Elle, my sister, resigns herself to the status quo.

Then one day late in June, the phone rings. I see it’s Natalie on the Caller ID.

I don’t panic. I’ve prepared for this. I let the phone ring.

Dylan and I have found a new route. It was as simple as falling into our natural rhythm—as easy as walking away.

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved.

Photos: https://goo.gl/images/gxMQFH, https://goo.gl/images/LCmQrE,
Dylan by @countrygirl, https://goo.gl/images/qTiWUr,
https://goo.gl/images/giyOPO