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My Dear You

By Grey T.J. King All Rights Reserved ©


The First of Many

My Dear You,

I have often pondered, what has more weight, words or action? I am yet to find a satisfactory answer but seeing that I am writing you these letters, I dare not say that at this moment action overshadows words.

When we are in the company of self and our thoughts flooded with that of another, the cogs of the clock turn, an arrhythmic clang of keys hilariously followed by the symphonic clicks of the locks opening and in the near distance, the floodgates froth at the mouth as the memories gallop forth.

Like always, I was running blind, all I could think of was catching up to Cupid as his surprisingly agile sausage roll of a body sped across my neighbour’s deceptively mile long garden till he decided to oh-so-graciously jump across the fence that marred the beautiful lush green earth.

A flicker, that is all I remember. I caught nothing more than a glance of sheer ghastly yellow as my face won the race against the dog and personally greeted the stoic sentinel fence.

The fence continued to stand guard and play goalie to the rolling ball of fur who was thrown onto his back like a helpless cradle. I would have laughed if I were not helplessly rolling myself; the triumphant fence smirked at my misery as my caped granny neighbour came to my rescue, and we began our desperate search for the infernal culprit but how can you find something if you don't even know what you are looking for? After a few minutes of huffing and puffing, we abandoned the search and resigned to watching Cupid as a packet of peas thawed against my head. God bless this woman for keeping a steady arsenal of snacks, medicines and whatnot for whenever I hopped over her gate.

Dressed in her Goofy pajamas (yes, the Disney Goofy) and floppy slippers, her pinned grey bob hair, face aglow with warmth and her ever animated hands, she looked exactly as the person I would like to be when I grow up. We shared a reckless love for all things sweet and furry; we often tried to one-up each other in regard to the number of cute animals we met that day. Yes, it is juvenile; yes, I should be ashamed of myself but am not. It is so rare to find people you can let go with, so enjoy every darned moment you get with them.

We laughed until the peas turned to mush and her jaw fell open in shock as she slapped my knee like a drum. “I forgot to tell you something! My grandson and his friend would be staying here for a while! You will love them!”

Tick went the clock.

I may have lived only a few doors down from her but I missed the fresh air of change as it brushed past my shoulders. With my dog, who weighed as much as the packet of dog food he gobbles down with ease, tucked under my arm while the other fumbled for keys, I only caught the dispersing scent of cologne as it clinged to a sprinting shadow. Oh, how wrong I was going to be for ignoring it!

I think it was only a few days later I had the immense joy of chasing after my dog as he galloped after a balloon into a nearby park and I did the grave mistake of attempting to jump tackle my dog, my arms found themselves wrapped around another as I took them down with me. You see for a Bulldog, Cupid was excellent at maneuvering and as usual, I did the ungracious thing of literally stepping over the person as I unapologetically ran after my dog. I want to die of shame. I should have slowed when I heard the voice behind me but things have a weird way of catching up to you.

I practically yelped out of my skin when a hand grabbed my shoulder and my legs tripped on nothing and sent me facedown into the mud. My ears were filled with sound of a dead engine as you are trying to start it up but as the blur cleared; I realized it was actually someone laughing between wheezes. My defeated dog sat near my head, threads of drools hung from his panting mouth. With whatever dignity I had left, I pushed the person off and ran to the safety of my house and my bed.

As luck would have it, that evening I walked up to my neighbour’s house for movie night and whom should I walk into, the laughing hooligan! Okay I admit that in the light they had a pleasant face with milk chocolate hair and dark eyes. Since it took so little effort to look at them, am guessing they were only few inches taller than I was. I think once they recognized who I was, their mouth opened like a seal and roared with laughter which brought my startled neighbour to the door armed with bananas. Who even thinks of defending themselves with bananas? BANANAS! An orange or apple would have more force and impact!

The calmed woman went back to making her delicious pasta in pesto sauce and mouth-watering bruschetta with cherry tomatoes infused with garlic oil and olives and rained upon with grated cheese…just remembering it makes my stomach growl. Thrusting his hand out the stranger introduced himself as Al Jones; it was at dinnertime did I find out that he was the friend of her grandson, who was to join them within the next few days.

Not that he was bad company, he kept me updated of his “fans” and adventures but I think the only reason I am thankful of him is that I was able to find you, you my neighbour’s grandson.

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