i’m getting out of the car with my pizza on a chilly monday night. our neighbor sees me.
is your wife home? can i talk to her?
this is profoundly weird. i live in phoenix. in an apartment. nobody talks to anybody. it’s a rule. we’re all transients, drifting about in life, no roots. you’re not allowed to chat or learn names or socialize. if you’re looking for that you move to the suburbs in illinois, where they have porches and live in the same place for multiple generations.
sure, i said. that’s all. did i mention i’m shy?
she’s a really nice person. a hello neighbor. the person you see now and again walking her dogs. mo has always been smitten with one of her dogs, an ancient pug who has been blind for a while. he wears jaunty sweaters and hikes with a swagger that belies his advanced years. but that’s really the only interaction we’ve ever had.
so she wants to talk? i’m totally weirded out. i ask her in while going in to the other room to get mo. you’ve got company, i whisper. now she’s totally weirded out, not knowing who or what i’m talking about.
our neighbor apologizes for barging in, and then gives the incredibly sad news: the pug is in the dog hospital and it looks like he’s not going to make it. she’s been waiting a couple of days for the bad news. and she just needs somebody to cry with.
they hug. they cry. they hug some more. they cry some more. i, who never cry nor hug, end up crying and hugging. we sympathize and tell her sad stories about our pets who have died, which is probably silly but is meant to show that we understand that it’s not just a pet. this is your child.
she says her mom is set to visit in a couple of weeks and how desperately she wishes she were here now. she has nobody.
as they cry and hug, she eventually looks around and sees that mo is an artist. she had no idea. on the wall is a painting of a smiling pug holding a ball. she loves it.
can i buy it? we both insist that she take it as a gift. mo tells her how she once took a painting and dabbed paint on the foot of our beloved cat kate, making a little footprint on the back of it shortly before she left for kitty heaven. she suggests that our neighbor could do the same with this painting. she loves the idea and smiles for the first time during the visit.
more hugs. more tears. more hugs. more tears. i give her our phone number and mo tells her to call if there’s anything we can do.
how sad. we live in a place where we’ve lost the core of our existence. we moved to strange lands following jobs that no longer exist and dreams that increasingly fade away. all that’s left is the loneliness.
we say good night. we hug our cat.
we still don’t know her name.
the pizza is cold.
i don’t care.

