I don't speak dog, but I can tell that Harpo is a bit on edge. He's farty, and when my alarm rang this morning, he was asleep on the bed at my feet, a big no-no in our house. I don't know if he knows Emma is gone - he had a strange habit of growling and tucking his tail whenever she petted him, almost like a purring cat, possibly because of being picked up, tossed around and manhandled one time too many - but I do know that all the reorganizing, painting and getting rid of stuff has him on edge. But maybe, like me, he misses her.
She called me tonight, but it was only to tell me that she'd bought another textbook. While I had her on the phone, she told me a little about her roommate, her program, the people she's met. Then we said "Love you." Hung up. And I was by myself again for the evening. Strange how someone can be so utterly dependent on you, and then not.
I remember distinctly the first time someone asked me, "Are you a mother?" He was cutting my hair in a salon in San Francisco; I was sitting in a riveted swivel chair with wetted hair, looking at him and myself in a giant mirror. I said, "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"
"You look tired," he answered.
I'm still tired, 17 years later. Tomorrow morning, I may sleep in.
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