October 10, 2013
He appeared angry and sullen,
my new short haircut is a personal affront to him. I did not get my usual
exuberant hug when I walked in the door this time. An incredible reaction to witness
and absorb from a longtime friend who believes women are unattractive unless
they have long locks. His unwavering disapproval and smirk are a dead giveaway.
I bear no grudge. Still startles me to glimpse my reflection and extremely dark
wavy bristles.
Glided through security
yesterday afternoon at the SeaTac
Airport. The free pass no
visible sweaty socks, no jewels to remove, no need to extract excess coins from
my pocket, no baggie of liquids to scrounge for, no laptop to mine. I did not
have to swirl around with my arms above my head nor be pat down like a
fugitive. A test for the lucky passengers who made reservations for the
Wednesday afternoon flights from Seattle.
The crafty agent sounded like a used car salesman, working us to purchase the
extra expedient service in the future. I was relieved to find non-Starbucks
coffee in the gate area and settled down with my paperback, stack of magazines
and sufficiently small carry-on.
The flight is far from full
and yet, little room to stretch out for a nap so I pile up my materials to read
and drown out the neighboring fellows who insist on blabbing the entire two and
a half hours. I found out about their family histories, personal career efforts
and financial advice whether I needed it or not. Anxious to be home and in bed,
I made a list of things to do upon my arrival, preparing for the day of work
and errands ahead of me.
Too many things on my plate
to relax and fall asleep, once home.
The cat refused to let me out
of his site. I could tell by the chart I manufactured, the neighbor had already
been by to feed him so I ignored his whiny,graspy meow.
At 12:38am, I heard footsteps
moving above me. Scratching sounds from above that startled my skin. No one
lives in the upper unit. I made my way in the dark to the front of the house.
An extended cab was idling on the street, just across from my front yard. I
heard someone coming down the stairs so I stepped away from the window to see a
man run down the sidewalk and into the car, lit flashlight in hand. I believe
it is my landlord. He could not have been upstairs for more than ten minutes
and gone, dashing down the street into the dark of night. I lay awake for a
long time after that, insufferably conjuring up a best selling short story of
Dan, the insane landholder.
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