Layers

Today, when they pass, people see a middle age woman and an old dog. They weren't there the day the Los Angeles Pound had an adoption fair and that lady saw the little puppy stumbling around on short legs. In an instant, she was smitten. There is no way to know how these moments of falling in love arise so instantaneously, but arise they do. It might have been the sad eyes, or the ridiculous motion of a little body on uncertain legs, or perhaps the long ears. Whatever it was, within seconds of their connection, little did they know they would be with each other for the next 15 years. Today, when they pass, people see a geriatric dog, they don't see an athlete who could run hard and fast for miles, and leap across creek beds. They don't see the goofy girl who would for years entertain those around her by showboating her chase and throw skills, all by herself, responding with open mouth and cocked head at the laughter. They miss the dog that loved to look at you through the mirror and then back at you in person, wagging her tail furiously, as if she was discovering both you and the mirror for the first time. That trick would go on countless times, ceasing to get old. Today, when they pass, people see a dog that is remote in her advanced years. They weren't there in the truck with her and the lady, moving from house to house, from Los Angeles to Sacramento, Sacramento to South Dakota and South Dakota to San Diego singing songs, heads in the wind and holding onto each other. They don't see the dog who loved the lady's mom, staring longingly at her and putting her head in her lap for the soft pets. They don't see the pup that was ever watchful and knew exactly how to handle it when this mom died. She was a blanket for her lady that day, never leaving her side, head buried deep in folded arms. Today, when they pass, what people see is a middle age woman and an old dog, and what they see is true. Over the years, from young adulthood and puppyhood to middle age and the golden years, they have stayed together. They are a part of each other now. They are family, made of one strand. Sisters, mothers, and best friends. Woven together by time and experience and love. Today, when they pass, what people see is a middle age woman and a geriatric dog but what they might not know is that these are two souls who rescued each other.

Me and Bella circa 2011

"A" Begging

"I want an A", he stares at her with a kind of unstable urgency, unblinking, pupils wide. "I really like your class, I'll do anything." It's a week before the end of the semester, and suddenly it's dawned on him that he has likely killed off any possibility for an "A". "I think you are a great teacher. What can I do to get an "A"? He breathes these sentences together like he is walking a tightrope of thread, his desperation dangles precipitously over a yawning hollow inside of him.

"Well, you are getting a "C" for participation, as we've talked about, because of your daily and incessant cellphone use, throughout the semester, despite having both addressed this problem both to the class generally, and to you personally and..."

"I'm so sorry!!" he strains toward the instructor waving her off with his hand, her explanation like a noisome fly he has no time for. "What can I do to get an A? I work really hard."

Students mill around after class collecting their personal luggage for the day: keys, phones, backpacks, and even their thoughts. She can hear the final reckoning with class topics filtering back to her through the end-of-class noise. "My dad and I kind of have an either/or power relationship." "Did you hear about the study that said gender differences in power are structural, not natural?" They bustle out of the door into the teeming hallway beyond. New students are already arriving, unpacking their daily luggage or, rather, dumping it into piles on the floor, or on their desks, or both.

Stuffing her leather shoulder bag with her teaching paraphernalia, and nodding goodbyes to the other students, she manages the moment. Turning her attention to Nate, she privileges his ears with the classic, perhaps cliche refrain, "I don't give "A's", you earn them." She stares directly at him and says with as much clarity as she can muster, "You still have 2 assignments left to turn in, and those assignments will impact your grade. I can't predict what you will get on those assignments, but focus your energy on them"

Nate begs, "Can we talk?" His book bag and books lie in disarray around him, and his open notebook, hanging limply off to one side of the desk, is filled with doodling. The pages look slightly damp.

He has stepped closer and she can now smell his unwashed privacy. She can't see the pores in his face, but given his physical trajectory, it isn't out of the realm of possibility that she will eventually, be given this insight as well.

"What can I do to get an "A"?"

She now had managed her bag onto her shoulder, the thin strap cutting into her jacket. It was uncomfortable to carry, but its weight triggered her movement out of the classroom. "Nate, you'll just have to finish your work. You have 3 classes left in the semester. Finish the work." The 3 other students who had wanted to talk to her trailed behind. "Listen, I have to talk to these other students now, so email me if you have any questions about the assignments."

"OK, OK, OK. Bye! I'll see you next class! Thank you for your help! I'll do my best!! Have a good day!"

He melted into the background almost as quickly as he materialized at the front of the classroom at the end of every class. An anxious cloud of solid underachievement nursed by years of somebody (or bodies) doing his work for him, supporting him in his belief that he was not capable on his own. He leaned on that belief as he skirted the water fountain and shedded the conversation with his teacher. It landed somewhere on the floor behind him, propelling him forward as he careened into the next classroom. Just as he settled into the blue seat he usually occupied by the window, his English teacher walked in. He'd try a different tactic this time. He'd talk to him now, instead of after class like he had Professor Weber. That way, if he thought of anything else to tell Mr. Trujillo, he could re-visit the topic with him at the end of the class period as well.

"Mr. Trujillo, I was wondering, do you think I am getting an "A" in the class?"

Tired, the 30 year teaching veteran, looked up over his spectacles. He brushed his hand through his stiff curls. "I think so."

"Oh that's great!! Thank you. I love your class so much. You are a great teacher. I learn so much in your class, and I work really hard."

Mr. Trujillo nodded absently. Nate eagerly plucked his phone from his back pocket. He was a good student. He worked so hard. He had to tell his girlfriend.