In fact, the only companionship I truly share is with my new best friend – probably the only thing that has saved my sanity this week. She truly loves me and I love her. We have a certain bond, an understanding of each other, that comes mostly from the fact that we both are lost souls adrift in time, struggling to stay above the unpredictable currents of life. We both have no one here, the place in which we strive to belong. We have no home. We know naught where we will sleep by the end of the month or where our journeys will take us. We are simply grateful to have each other, to have somebody to love and somebody who loves you. The poor girl doesn’t realize that – as much as I would like her to – she cannot stay. I am a guest in someone else’s house. I cannot have a guest of my own.
I look at her darling face and feel as though I might die of heartache! Her last master had to put her in a kennel after he and his wife divorced, sending both of them into cities and apartments where dogs are strictly forbidden. Though they love her, their lives come first. They have no friends who can take her. They only have a bit of money and a book of yellow pages. I rescued her from that wicked prison and whisked her away to this paradise where there is so much land to roam and so much beauty to take in. Not that she seems to take much advantage of it – she refuses to leave my side. I don’t blame her; she has been abandoned because of circumstances beyond her control, left to live her days in a tiny cage with nothing but another big dog and their shared feces.
But she is not bitter. Instead she is terribly sweet, glowingly gentle and well behaved. When little children and playful dogs prod her for attention, she simply sits still and tolerates their forceful jabs and shrieking noises. She will stay without a leash outside of stores while I go in to shop, provided that she can still see my figure through the door. She goes to the bathroom where she’s told. She never barks. She doesn’t jump or chew. She pretty much just loves me and Martine and that’s it. She’s content with that.
And I am saved by her big heart. I love her like she loves me. Yesterday we decided it would be a good idea to leave her while we went to the bar for a few hours, just so she would learn to be alone. Though she cried for a minute when we sat outside in silence, listening to see if she would break down a door or bark loudly, she was heavenly. We returned to the house to see nothing disturbed – she probably slept on my bed the whole time. But as we left the driveway and I whined gently that I worry about her being alone, Martine turned to me and said, “This is just as much for you as it is for her. You hate to be apart from her just as much as she hates to be apart from you. But you both must learn. Otherwise, what will happen when you work?”
(Hah, work. Yea, I’ll get to it. I’d rather write articles and pick up a few shifts when needed. I even received emails today from old professors, wondering when they’ll see my work in Travel & Leisure. I am hopelessly flattered that they not only remember me, but have that much faith in my writing skills!)
I couldn’t argue his logic. I’ve found he knows everything about this dog; I am lucky to have his advice and help in taking care of her.
That is another thing my dog and I have in common – our shared adoration of Martine. As we winded our way down the narrow path to the crique yesterday, I couldn’t help but to laugh at the irony. There both Tequila and I followed Martine with eager eyes and hopeful smiles, like little lost puppy dogs. I suppose the irony shouldn’t be too much of a shock. She may be the only four-legged dog but it’s quite possible that we are both bitches. ; )
Martine is an amazing man. I’ve found simply watching him has given me a new faith in people. He has a kind heart that reaches out to engulf all who is near him, an amazing laugh that’s silliness fills the entire house, and a goofy smile that is more contagious than poison ivy. He, at the ripe old age of 27, was a social worker for a year because he likes to help people (certainly no one becomes a social worker for the pay…) before deciding that there was something else in this world he wanted to do. He just finished school again. He is an artist, alluring in that alternative kind of way. (When I first met him, and even the first few days, I thought I would find none of them attractive. But their amazingly big hearts and sincere sweetness have made me look at all of them – especially Martine and his friend from home – Sarah’s boyfriend who is fantastic with her.) He wears worn-out faded jeans and big comfy sweaters that look so inviting, always folded at the sleeves because they are far to large for his size. His hair is untamed and shaggy, hanging over the most gorgeous green eyes.
I look at him and no matter how much I try to convince myself I’m being a fool and not to dream, I can’t help but melt. He is adorable and intriguing, and he is kind and full of love. Anyone who can attract so much loyalty from a dog must be wonderful – dogs can sense that sort of thing. If I could live another life, it would be with a man exactly like him, living in a place exactly like this, having a dog exactly like Tequila.
But this is a life I will never have. This man who is too good to be true cares naught of my boring existence. He will leave in less than one week and never think of me again. And though I know better than to actually fall, I cannot help but to laugh at myself and the schoolgirl crush I’ve created in my head. He is actually pursuing one of the girls here, one that I don’t care much for, and I watch their flirtations and movements with a silenced but bitter intrigue. And then I laugh because I really don’t feel anything, it’s just much more fun to pretend I do. I’m playing this game right now; the wind carries his soft voice to my ears, dressed elegantly in a beautifully foreign accent, luring me in like a baited hook. And then I laugh because really, I don’t care.
Sarah is wonderful. She just stopped in to ask me if I would join them all in the brushing-of-the-teeth party in the bathroom. It is tough to be the only one who does not belong. But she is sincere and kind in inviting me to do everything and anything. I forgot how kind and interesting people can be. I think it’s funny that all of Sara’s guest in her summer cottage (myself included) are Geminis. Not that I really believe that kind of stuff… it’s just a weird coincidence.
Ok, time to go cuddle with my puppy and try to sleep – I don’t know how I’m alive right now. I have slept less than three hours every night this week for no reason I can think of. Talk about white nights. Insomnia. Even after a heavy lunch of pasta and rosé, baked by sunlight and cooled by salty ocean waves, I could not nap on the comfy mats of L’Esquinade. But they all loved Tequila too. In fact, I think it might be impossible to have anything but unadulterated love for this dog.
If I could, I would save her. She has saved me, after all. I would take her home to my little hometown and let her be free and American. She’s bilingual, you know. She would get along just fine with Cloey Ann and my family would love another dog, especially one that is so perfectly behaved as her. She is too wonderful to spend her days ownerless in a kennel.
I’m nauseous with overwhelming exhaustion and the fear that in less than a week I will be completely alone again.
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