I am in such a groove I will probably write more later tonight
Tuesday, Nov. 22, 2005 - 18:27

I am in a groove and it is awesome and I blame it all on acupuncture, which is magic and no I don't really think that's the reason but I'm saying it is. All day at work I've been writing like crazy. And a man is coming to look at my truck in one half of an hour, what do I do, how do you sell a car? Here is what I wrote today at work, it was commissioned by the Swordsman:

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Hey you curly-haired man walkin cross the street, you gon get yoself hit.

That's a thought that went through her head as she waited for the cars to stop for her. She thought it over and over. She thought it was something she should write down because she liked it so much but she knew she wouldn't because 1. she had no pen or paper and 2. it sounded like something a black person would say and since she was a pale white lady maybe it was racist of her to even think it. Also anyway besides those two points she would forget it before she ever got to any paper, or if she didn't she'd just be too lazy to write it. And anyway even if she did what would be the point?

Ho hum such is life, she thought. Someone stopped and she crossed the street.

Oh it was such a cliche but what was she to do? She liked the water, she was drawn to it. How could she help that it was lined by a sandy beach? And how could she help that her name was Sandy Beach, her god-given name? How could she help it? Well she could help it by getting married and becoming Sandy McAllister or Sandy Brighton or Sandy Jones but until that happened there she was, Sandy Beach on a sandy beach. If she had a sense of humor she'd laugh about it, but she didn't. When your name is Sandy Beach you don't laugh about it, ever.

Her brother's name was David! Why couldn't her parents have given her a name like Linda or Trudy or Suzette? Why would they call her Sandy? They hadn't been into drugs, they had no excuse.

Sandy Beach kicked at a seashell but it smashed rather than launching into the atmosphere like she'd intended.

Suddenly a dog barked.

No dogs on the beach! Sandy thought. Dogs were not allowed, no one wanted poo mixed into the sand. However there was a dog.

The dog was by itself with a leash trailing behind. Sandy hated dogs but hated people more, and she jumped at any chance to get self-righteous, so she tsk tsked and took the dog's leash. She would call its owners and make them feel bad.

She walked home carrying the leash. Cars stopped for her and the dog to cross the street. She liked that.

She got to her little house and took the dog to her back yard. She knelt down to look at its tag. Ralphie 255-9195.

Who was Ralphie, the dog or the owner? Should she call and ask for Ralphie, or call and say she'd found Ralphie? There was so much potential for embarrassment.

"Sit here, Ralphie or not," she said, and the dog sat. It was a gray little thing. She didn't know dogs but this was the kind of dog that she'd seen in movies accompanying orphans and things like that.

She went inside and called the number and it was busy.

It was lunchtime. She made some macaroni and cheese.

She went back outside. The dog was still sitting there, looking at her.

"Ralphie or not," she said, and the dog came to her wagging its stubby little tail and smiling.

"Ralphie or not," she said again, opening up her arms. But the dog did not jump into them. They would have to work on that trick.

She went back inside and dialed the number again. It rang three times. "Oops, they're not home," she said, and hung up.

It was a cold and windsome day and the rain started to fall. "It is a good afternoon to watch a movie," Sandy said.

She went to the backyard. "Ralphie or not," she said, and the dog came and sat at her feet. "Let's go to the video store." The dog consented.

Once again cars stopped for them to cross the street and they made it to the video store in record time. Sandy tied the dog's leash to the bike rack outside and said, "Stay, Ralphie or not." She rented Gone With The Wind and got a delicious latte at the coffee shop next door. They walked home in the spitting wind and when they got to the front door Sandy looked at the dog and the dog looked at Sandy.

"Well," she said, "I suppose you can come in and watch the movie too, but you will have to wipe off your paws. Stay here." She went inside for a rag and when she returned to the front steps the dog was still sitting there. She wiped off his paws and said, "Come in, Ralphie or not."

They watched the movie on the couch and went to bed early. The dog slept at the foot of the bed on Sandy's grandmother's afghan.

The next day they decided to go to the store. It wasn't raining anymore and they walked.

Sandy left the dog tied up to a sign in front of the store and when she came back a man was standing there talking to him.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Where'd you find him?" the man asked her.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"He's been lost for three days," the man said.

"Oh. Ralphie?"

"That's right!" the man said in a high-pitched voice. "That's right! That's my little Ralphie! Who's my little Ralphie? Who's Ralphie? Where is he? There he is! There's Ralphie!"

Ralphie and Sandy grimaced.

"Okay then," Sandy said. "Well, okay then." She turned to leave.

"Hey wait," the man said. She turned around hopefully. "Here's five bucks."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."

She walked home and it took her forever. Cars weren't stopping again.

The next morning on her beachwalk she looked for Ralphie or any dog but only saw seagulls and pigeons. "Fucking pigeons," she said to herself. She walked home alone, slow and despondent. But when she got to her house there he was, sitting on her steps.

"Ralphie or not!" she said, opening her arms, and Ralphie jumped into them. "You will stay with me and I will never take you to the store again." Ralphie smiled and they went inside.