By Joseph Wilson. Illustration by Kerry Hyatt.
Old Mrs. Salipante thought she recognized the young woman in scrubs, with her hand on a tree in front of her apartment. That looks like my downstairs neighbor, Anne Morrow. She must have finished her shift. I wonder if she’s okay?
As Mrs. Salipante approached, it turned out that it was indeed her downstairs neighbor Anne, a single mother of a ten-year-old girl, Sally. As Mrs. Salipante drew alongside, she asked, “Are you alright, dear?”
Without turning her head, Anne shook her head. “No.”
“What’s the matter, dear?” asked Mrs. Salipante.
“Max is gone,” was all Anne could muster.
Anne had lived in the first-floor unit of a row house below Mrs. Salipante for about eight years. Shortly after moving in, Anne had gone to a local shelter and picked up a rescue dog for protection and companionship. The rescue was medium sized, about thirty pounds. He looked to have no particular lineage, but the vet thought he was mostly Sheltie with a smattering of German Shepherd.
And a whole lot of mischief, Anne thought.
Max had a very serious face, seemingly contradicted by his mirthful ears. One up. One down.
Max fit right into the working-class Cicero neighborhood. Anne, Sally, and Max patrolled the neighborhood every day. Past the row houses, the park, store fronts and the “L” – prominently tagged by the Latin Kings. Anne didn’t worry about Sally going to the store by herself as long as Max tagged along.
Max was loyal and patient. He would take up his sidewalk observation post on the window-seat every day and watch for Sally to come home from school. Like clockwork, he was always there to greet Sally even if Anne was away working.
Anne and Max would watch TV together, especially when popcorn was involved. Max would sit beside Anne on the couch and firmly believed in sharing. Like a dance move, Max would turn his head towards Anne as she reached into the bowl. One for you, one for me….
Anne, Sally, and Max were a happy family. Until that afternoon by the tree when Anne told Mrs. Salipante that Max had passed away.
When Anne came home from work the next evening, there was a lasagna, covered with tin foil and still warm, waiting at her doorstep.
That was it. Anne had been thoroughly professional at work, keeping her emotions bottled up her entire shift. But feeling the warmth of Mrs. Salipante’s thoughtfulness, and the warmth of the lasagna in her hands, reminded Anne of Max leaning into her on the couch. It was too much. She lost it. She missed Max’s company. It was painful.
Sally was staying over at a friend’s house, so Anne was home alone. She dished herself a piece of Mrs. Salipante’s famous lasagna, poured a glass of Chianti, turned on the TV, and sat down on the couch. She couldn’t focus on whatever movie was on. She was just sad and lonely.
A warm bath with a book and the Chianti seemed a good idea. She was physically and emotionally drained.
That night, she dreamt about Max. He was lying on “his” side of the bed. Anne could feel him sit up. So she sat up, and they stared at each other for a while. Then Anne said, “I miss you, Max.”
I miss you too, telepathed Max. But I don’t want you to be sad. When you think of me, I know and come running. Just think of me, and I’ll be there.
Anne said, “Thanks, that’s nice of you to say, or whatever it is you’re doing. What are you doing?
I live in your memory now. Forever. No arthritis. No milky eyes. I share a cloud with Mrs. Salipante’s Beagle, Romeo. We keep an eye on you all from up here. And we know when you think of us, and come running.
The next morning, while waiting for the bus to go to work, Anne happened to look up. It was a beautiful blue-sky morning with cotton ball cumulus clouds.
There was one cloud in particular that drew her attention. There was something oddly familiar about it. As she stared, it suddenly came into focus.
It was clearly Max. One ear up. One ear down.
