Dog Dream

I’m in Tucson today. I was thinking how I would go there for grad school and drag the Lad with me and he and I would get a little house up in the hills just outside of the city. It would go like this: Our kitchen is painted yellow. The house is NOT filled with Southwest paraphernalia, it’s filled with his electronics and the stuff that reminds me of California. Our fridge has a picture of Michele and the Lad on it and a menu from a pizza place. (We just moved in a few months ago so I haven’t really had a chance to get going on my fridge decorations.) He is uncomfortable with having this picture of himself on the fridge. I think he’s weird. We have a patio outside where we can sit wrapped in sweatshirts and blankets at night and watch the deer come down from the hills to eat the basil out of my garden goddammit. We have a fold-out couch for our potential guests that is very uncomfortable to sleep on according to me and perfect to sleep on according to the Lad. He got this couch from a guy at the place where he works in downtown Tucson and it only cost $20 and we needed a couch. We have a washer and dryer but the dryer takes forever to dry anything. I’m trying to talk him into getting a dog. I say, We could call her Honey and she could be a golden retriever and wear a red bandanna. He is unmoved by my beautiful dog dream. I wear a red bandanna instead of my imaginary dog.

It’s Sunday. We go hiking in the hilly, non-agoraphobic part of desert near our house. I say, If we had a dog, she could chase those damn little marmoty squirrelly things that keep eating my garden. I say, Maybe they’re prairie dogs. He says, But we’re not on the prairie. I sigh theatrically to show that I know darn well he is wiggling out of the dog discussion. We discuss possible ways to fence in the garden effectively.

We go back to the house where it is much cooler because the house is mostly made of stone. He sits at his computer and I lie on the cold stone floor, which is dusty. I sing the Fugees. He tells me about a new kind of telescope that has been invented. I sing a few bars of the theme song to the once-popular children’s television show “Gummybears.” Michele calls and I talk to her while lying on the floor. From the Lad’s end, the conversation seems to consist mainly of vowel sounds and giggling.

I make a salad for dinner with feta and cucumbers and we eat it outside in the interesting period when the heat has faded but the cold hasn’t really hit. I tell the Lad that I was looking online at houses in Maine. I say that we could buy a house for not very much money. He says, I thought we were going back to San Francisco after you finished school? Wasn’t that the deal? I say, I’m just looking around. I say, we could wear yellow rain slickers and learn to catch fish. Everyone fishes in Maine, I say. I tell him that we could get a little house and decorate it with old photographs of lighthouses. He suggests that my mom could decorate a house with old photographs of lighthouses. His witty repartee shames me.

It’s Monday. He goes to work and I go to school all day. We go downtown for dinner and then play pool at a bar with some people he knows from work. I am shy, but pretty. I have a beer. I am less shy. We drive home and I sing the Fugees. I say, I hope Honey wasn’t too lonely without us tonight. I tell him that I have decided to get an imaginary dog. I tell him that our imaginary dog has worms and needs to go to the imaginary vet. He is completely disgusted. I laugh like a goblin and we go to bed.