Locks and Keys

A few years ago a man on my street told me that after he dies he wants to come back as my dog. You take such good care of your dogs. I see you walking them everywhere. Wow that's quite a compliment I thought, to appear in someone's afterlife. I don't even know his name.

A year ago the afterlife man adopted a German Shepherd puppy and now it is mature. I see him standing in front of his house with his dog, but not walking him. That makes me sad. He wants the dream but can't quite reach it. I do understand. My husband jokes that everyone is special education, but it's true. We all have to crack the codes that allow us to learn and grow. Like a locksmith trying to pick a lock.

Speaking of locks, I know two women who both drive very old orange-red Toyota sedans. One is from Chicago and the other lady is originally from Bosnia. One is tall and the other is short. They both swim at the YMCA. One day the short lady from Bosnia used her key and opened the car door to her red Toyota but the seat was far back. She realized it wasn't her car. She jumped out. The key had worked but it was the car belonging to the lady from Chicago. The Bosnian lady was so embarrassed. She feared the Chicago lady would think she was trying to steal her car. I told her that we all make mistakes and you had no idea it wasn't your car. Who knew the key was going to work? It's funny, actually. Did you tell her? Noooooo never.

My drummer Steve told me the same story. He went to the grocery store and when he came out he got into his van, a brown Econoline. He glanced at the ash tray and saw quarters in place of the usual cigarette butts. He realized it was not his Brown Econoline van. He jumped out and continued searching for his van.

On my walk down the street early this morning a lady holding her infant was outside, waiting for the school bus with her daughter. Her daughter has a unibrow that makes her look like Muriel Hemingway but she is age 8. She is adorable. "You are beautiful," I said to the daughter. She gets teased about her eyebrows just like I did at her age. "Don't listen to them, they are just jealous," I said. "I plucked mine," said her mother, "and they never grew back." Tragic, I thought. "So now I have to draw them on."