Ralphie and Mildred

Linde was always there to greet us with Ralphie on a chain. When we challenged her about that cold metal around the neck of her "baby" she would chortle and say that even the sweetest baby needed a certain amount of discipline.

After five years together, Ralphie ran away and was found strolling the streets of Egbertshire, narrowly escaping being hit by lorries and push carts that sped around the round about.

What a stroke of luck it was that Ralphie knew to scratch on that green door near the end of Periwinkle Lane after three days without anything besides stale scraps of bread outside the croissant shop.

Mildred Crohn was at first intimidated by this creature that, when properly fed, weighed more than three quarters her weight. But he suddenly crouched on the ground and whimpered tragically. She closed the door and took a deep breath. Mildred did not believe in omens, but she suspected it was destiny scratching at her door and soon returned with sausages and porcelain bowl painted with purple pansies filled with water.

An eight year partnership had begun. And more than once on their walks they actually passed Linde in the public market who made no eye contact with Ralphie and he made no move until there was a healthy distance when he looked back and snarled.

Both Ralphie and Mildred lot most of the use of their eyesight with the passage of years. Mildred, whose early years had been dedicated to animal portraits let her canvases and brushes gather dusts, sometimes stroking Ralphie's tail that reminded her of the many bristles that she had once dipped into pallets of magenta and amber.

They never knew exactly how long Mildred had been dead when they found her clutching a copy of Collier's on her bed. Ralphie's head rested on her ankles, as if to protect her soul until it safely left the room. He lived only another week and a half as Mildred's family began organizing her modest estate. Though he surely could not see it, Ralphie spent his waking hours with his head pointed upwards towards a photo of a young Mildred with a painting of one of her subjects all those years ago.

Where Can He Be Now?

Exotic Elda in Evanston stares into the abyss, waiting.
Haughty Hedda in Hartford lets heartfelt tears fall onto her henna locks as she waits.
They both wait for his phone call that has yet to ring in the dark.
His wife Wilma in Wilmington waits numbly, a routine that has rendered her weary.Even lovely lonely Lulu lingers in the nursery.
While her baby brother stares in the dark.
Where can that man be? And why does he torture each of them with this waiting?
Is he off on his latest vehicle?
Or was he drawn to some equestrian dalliance? These questions dance aimlessly in the wind like a winning lottery ticket heading toward the storm drain.

No Access for Me

Pimp Up Your Prius

How cold do you let the gazpacho get before you know it will freeze your tongue?

This thought went through my mind as Alejandro maneuvered his stretch Mini Cooper across the Golden Gate Bridge and I saw the rainbow outlining the mouth of the Waldo Tunnel like a riotous adornment of every tube of lipstick on sale at Walgreen’s.

Indeed we’d reached the end of the rainbow and now had to figure out where to go on the other side.

“Thebathapol,” Alejandro said as I glared at him, refusing to remove my earphones as I listened to my Rosetta Stone Catalan lesson number 78D.

“Yes,” I affirmed, amazed that after not even nine months we had come to this. That most dreaded and futile moment in any relationship, the postmortem ritual of therapy.

How had Alejandro transformed from that delicious vision on Goat Beach that emerged from the July fog, his deep, raspy river of a voice flowing out over rocky vowels and garnished with that endearing Castilian lisp that had now come to grate on my nerves so tremendously. Surrounded by amateur marine biologists from the Cotati Crustacean and Urchin Appreciation Guild, he waved his thick arm forested with dark, tiny liquorish hued strands of hirsute finery. “Thith ith the motht fathinating of all cruthtathianth,” he said, holding up a misty, minty green Porcellio scaber

“Unlike the Othtracoda or the Mythtacocardia, it can eathily adapt to either a freth or thalt water environment. It hath even been found in the Utah.

A salty senior in an emerald windbreaker and skanky Birkenstocks leaned in and examined it with intent fascination. Just as he handed it to the woman, he looked up, our eyes met and the intent grip of our gaze caught everyone’s attention.

Though no ectophile, I certainly longed to find out what soft pleasures might lurk beneath this glorious denim jacket shell that he wore. Like metal shavings drawn to an enormous horseshoe magnet, I lurked forward, extended my hand and said, “Hello, my name is JunkThief, and I’d like to learn about all the life that lurks beneath these shells.”

Gripping my hand firmly and flashing a heart warming grin, he sweetly replied “My pleathure to do tho thir.”

The ardor of our passion could not wait, and he adjourned the group early. We first explored one another right there on the beach, barely hidden by the cover of tide pools before advancing our lovemaking to a sleazy motor lodge in Occidental.

The speed of our connection was like none I’d ever known. We played dress up in matador uniforms, taking bets on who would be the first one able to swing the red cape without using his hands. Other times we took turns playing the bull.

Our often rough bedroom play advanced to the more political as I came to call him the conquistador, the civilizer, my Generalisimo Francolito, refusing to speak his elitist Castiliano, one night pretending to be the conquered Basque, the next night as Catalonia. Even as I savored him mounting and invading me with such passionate force, there was a certain despair as he held me down and I raised my one spare, clenched appendage and shouted out “Guernica! Guernica!”

So we had come to this. Light and rock therapy with this woman in Sebastopol named Kagreev. She had come recommended to us by many friends, some of whom claimed that she had taken volatile marriages and turned them into a gentle, harmonic waltz. I wasn’t sure if that’s what I wanted. But I did knew that something had to change.

With our Pradas checked at the door, we sat on a dusty kilim as Kagreev entered with a basket of rocks. “Oh, thith is jutht thilly!” Alejandro exclaimed.

I hated to admit I completely agreed, but I grabbed his hand and hushed him. “Just try it, sweetie.”

Taking a deep breath, opening her eyes and smiling smugly Kagreev explained that she was named after a sacred snow monkey from Bhutan having moved beyond her original tag of Sally Ann Johnston. “Now grab a rock. Don’t give it thought. Just let your hand go to the one that is calling you.”

“Rockth can’t talk,” Alejandro mumbled as he grabbed a black stone with lightning bolt streaks. I grabbed a much smaller, ocher colored rock that felt more like a clump of fragile, congealed sand.

“Now these will be your guides during our journey of the next six months,” Kagreev said. “Now set them aside and know that they are always there for you if you get lost. But release your thoughts from them for now."

"Thixth monthth"Alejandro exclaimed. “I only have four monthth left on my vitha!"

Oblivious to the outburst, Kagreev closed her eyes again and then pulled out a yellow pad.

“Now I’m going to lead you through an exercise. It’s called the stone path of light discovery. As I say a word, imagine a pink light shining on your stone for just a fraction of a second. Release that thought, then say the first word that comes to you. I’ll ask each one of you alternately.”

“What the fuck!” Alejandro blurted out

“Just try it,” I groaned.

Kagreev adjusted on her pillow and began.

JunkThief: geese.”

I closed my eyes, had the vision and replied “Eiderdown blankets.

“Alejandro: fannel pajamas.”


“A thmelly butthole!”


“JunkThief: kittens.”

“A chocolate bar with a picture of Ho Chi Minh on it.”

“Alejandro: carburetor.”

“Burnt cotton candy.”

“JunkThief: a woman’s vagina.”

“A crispy porcellio scaber fried in mink oil.”

"I think we are getting somewhere important with this!" Kagreev said, shining a pink flashlight into both of our eyes.