SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 90
needed to practice sounding like him. Maybe telepathy was starting to kick in after all.
After a few minutes—or more, I don’t really remember—I felt confident I could sound
just like Pal. So off I trotted to Jimmy’s front door and started whining, softly, Pal-style.
Finally I heard footsteps inside. By the time he got the front door open, however, I was
already next door, whimpering with Pal—in unison, but double the volume what with two of
us involved, so that he would simply have to hear us. This brought Jimmy over to Pal’s front
door, by which time I had already ducked around to the side of the house to hide. Anyway,
Jimmy opened Pal’s door again and said “Full moon got you, Pal?” and then I knew Jimmy
was “on it” at last. “Wanna watch TV with me? OK, Pal, let’s park it up here.” And sure
enough, I heard music and voices and the sounds of (what I later would realize were) channels
being changed. And I knew, as sure as I knew anything, that Pal would be all right that night.
But just to make sure, a few hours later, after Jimmy went home, you bet I delivered a few
well-aimed whimpers until he came back outside, went in Pal’s house again, and turned the
TV back on to keep Pal company during the night. Phew. Finally he figured it out.
I was pretty proud of Jimmy, but all the while, I had been noticing that his front stoop
had a very ample awning. In fact, he had nicely trimmed shrubbery all around his house and,
in back, a toolshed with an overhanging roof, plus a stack of logs with a very nice tent over
them. In other words, plenty of places I could camp out at night without worrying about
being seen. So, as you’ve probably figured out, that’s what I did.
Sleeping outdoors, you always keep one ear awake, even when the rest of you is asleep.
It’s just a skill urchins develop over time in case a gang of hoodlums or cops comes by with
mischief—or law and order—on their minds. But at Jimmy’s house I started to feel pretty
comfortable and, more importantly, safe. So I started to sleep rather deeply. Too deeply, as it
turned out.
Meanwhile, Pal’s family came back. Besides the parents there were two kids who took
turns taking walks with him morning and evening. Once more Jimmy was free to sleep in
or stay out, as he wished. Me, I got in the habit of checking on him sometime during the
day, or night, or both. But I never heard any noises coming from inside the house, like other
voices. Just the occasional television. Smells? You bet. I could tell when he made steak or
fish for dinner, for instance, and knew when he just made himself a salad (no smells). But
I had plenty of food for myself from my friendly deli tossaways, restaurant back alleys, and
occasional picnickers in the park who didn’t mind if you crashed their party.
Now, if Jimmy was quickly becoming something like the love of my life, well, I certainly
didn’t know it at the time. Still, I was concerned for him, concerned for him like I was for
nobody else. Because not only did I never hear voices in his house, I never saw anyone else go
in or out his front or back door. And by this time, I was pretty much paying attention. He
seemed as alone as I was—but at least I had the great outdoors, my friends at the delis and
restaurants, and a pack of homeless urchins just like me to pal around with all day, even if no
one particularly special. Jimmy, happy-go-lucky as he was, seemed to have no one in his life.
And I wanted him to be as happy as he was nice. If you call that love, well, I suppose there are
as many ways to love as there are people—or creatures of any kind—in the world, aren’t there?
So if you’ll concede that the word might not mean precisely what you think it means, I’ll
concede that I loved him. What’s wrong with that? Not that I was in a position to do anything
about it. But I could watch over him. From under one of his windows. Or from the woodpile.
And maybe then he would be able to sense somehow that someone nearby cared about him,
even if he didn’t know who, and wouldn’t feel so alone, even if he didn’t know why.
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