October
14, 2019
Greetings from
beyond the pane,
Howard sat in
his chair, his thumb in the pages of a book, keeping his place as he thought
his way through the words and images the book had given him. He was smiling, a content man, but in his
eyes there were questions. In this
moment, one that was as simple as eternity, he wondered. No one he knew wondered.
The room was
cozy, not a word that Howard would have used, but he felt it, nonetheless. On this wall there was a fireplace, where his
favorite chair was, and a place for his book and his favorite cup, which held
his coffee, exactly as he liked it.
Howard had few desires, and those were met easily.
On that wall
there was two windows and a door. Howard
walked past that wall every day for as long as he remembered and each time he
looked and was curious and amazed. Not
because of the view, the view out of any of his windows was inspirational
enough; some days mountain peaks, other days the ocean crashing on the shore of
green cliffs.
That wall and
those two windows held another treasure. The first window was a rectangle of
glass, divided by mullions into twelve smaller panes. He often leaned on the sill, put his hand on
the small lock that kept the window secure, but was never latched. If he wanted, and sometimes he did, he could
raise it easily and feel the world on the other side.
The other
window was low on the wall, so low that Howard would have to sit on the floor
to look comfortably out of it. If he
wanted, and sometimes he did, he would unlatch the lower window just to feel
the breeze across his legs, hear the noises of the living going on.
Howard might
be walking past that wall and notice people walking by on the other side of the
glass. He would sometimes stand at the
window and watch them. He would try to
imagine why they were happy, or why they were angry or sad. Sometimes, rarely, but sometimes, he would
see them pause, as if they heard him wondering, or saw a glimpse of him. Yesterday, or perhaps ten years ago, he saw a
woman stop and look directly into his window, as if she could see him. She smiled slightly, raised her hand to the
glass and then pulled back, instead hooked her hair behind her ear. And she winked.
This delighted
Howard to no end. He knew that the
windows were there for him, mostly, but once in a while, in just the right
moment, they were also for the people on the other side.
The lower
window was his favorite. It was there he
saw the little children and the dogs, and they would see him. He would sit in front of the window and wait
and before long a dog would come by. The
dog would always, always, stop at the window and put his ears back and wag his
tail. The dog would press his nose
against the glass, fog the window with its breath, sometimes lick the glass
until it was almost impossible to see through.
Occasionally
Howard would edge the window open and reach through and pet the dog, and the
dog would smile and its butt would go berserk with pleasure, the tail
practically throwing the animal into circles.
Children were
almost as wonderful. Toddlers would come
by the window, point at him, and he could see them mouthing his name, showing
the few teeth they had, and sometimes laughing and falling back on their diaper. Someone on the other side would come along
and stand them up, steady them. They
would stagger off out of his sight and Howard would sit on the floor and giggle
like a two-year-old.
But the dogs
were dearest to him. Like the babies
they never questioned seeing him, they simply accepted it. But with the dogs it was a joy without
reservation. There was no desire to
understand more, or to make sense of what they were seeing, they simply knew
they saw him and knew him and loved him.
He sat on the
floor, his coffee behind him on the small table, the steam rising from the
liquid, a white cloud holding just a hint of sugar and a soupcon of cream. He sat waiting, perhaps for a year, maybe a
lifetime, and then a dog appeared in the grass on the other side of the
window. The same place where sometimes
it was a sidewalk or a carpeted room, but now was freshly mowed grass.
The dog
trotted past the window and circled back and looked at him, now his tail
ferociously wagging. His tongue lolled
and flipped, his face light with the smile, as he stood with his nose against
the glass. Howard slid the window up and
scratched the dogs head. His coat was
thick and grizzled, he saw his eyes were coated and weeping. Even as the dog’s tail twitched and he moved
around, Howard sensed his pain.
Somewhere, someone wondered if it was time. Howard answered, in his way, that it was.
He rolled onto
his feet and went to the door. He stood
there for a moment, and then turned pulled the solid oak door open, felt the
world, heard its pain, smelled the life and the death, the yearning and the
joy. And there was the dog, sitting
there on the small paver stones, looking at him, his tail pounding the earth
behind him.
Howard nodded
and the dog bounded through the doorway into his life there. And in that moment, both of their eternities
changed. His name was Beau and so that’s
what Howard called him. They wandered
around the little house until Beau had smelled everything and found where he
would sleep. And then they went out the
front door, into that amazing world.
Howard watched
him chase squirrels and butterflies, and then they wandered into the forest and
Beau smelled everything and then everything.
They roamed to the edge of the land where the blue water splashed and
Beau chased the waves and barked at the purple crabs. They ranged across the veldt, Beau bounding
with the antelope, and then racing back to pant at Howard’s feet, proud as a
lion, and exhausted. At night, Howard
would sit by the fire and read, and listen to music, and Beau would lay at his
feet, full of his favorite food, his coat shiny in the firelight.
Whatever
Howard had wondered was answered. Whatever
pain Beau had was eased. Some days
Howard would look through the window and watch the people there, and Beau would
sit at the lower window and greet the dogs that came there. And on the other side of the glass, the world
felt them and wagged and smiled.
Hope
this finds you with your best friend,
David
Copyright
© 2019 David Smith
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