Apprehension

She kept being stopped by a neighbor who would apprehend her for long periods and tell her long stories of his heroism. Most of the stories repeated details of his dog dying, his working for the city water department, and the day he got his new dog and being at the casino for breakfast that morning when the call came through. She would be walking her own dog, and then they would be on a sidewalk talking. He would ask her one question that got her to stop, and then he would get into his story. She and her dog would stand there and listen.

Each time he told any story, he included the same details of his dead dog, the repairs for the water department, the day he got the new dog, and the casino breakfast, but each time they showed up in different ways. It always took some deciphering to understand what he was getting at this time, in this telling, because some new details were added, but others just rearranged. For instance: the call could be any number of calls: the call from his wife that the dog was dying, the call to the site of the water main leak, the call that a new dog was available. He even made calls himself and mentioned who was who of who he knew who he then called or threatened to call.

“And then the call came in,” he said, and who could blame him? She didn’t blame him for anything.

To him, they are maybe not separate stories, but the context of his whole life necessary to understand any action he has ever taken. Maybe he was confessing or just trying to find the right order. To her, this was a great comfort.

_____
Kayla Blatchley lives in Syracuse, NY.