SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 91
SINE QUA NON
***
In my newly-achieved deeper sleep, I began to have dreams. (At least I think so. You
never can tell with some dreams, can you? They’re so life-like.) One night I dreamed that
the light went on in Jimmy’s kitchen, and the back door opened, and he leaned out and
whispered, sort of—well, shouted, but just loud enough so only I would hear it—“Buddy,
is that you?” By the time I heard the screen door shut and his footsteps come down to the
back yard, I had already woken up and scurried behind the woodpile so he wouldn’t see me.
Still, I heard him approach. “Buddy, you there? You can come inside, if you want, you know.
Anytime.” Was I hearing right? Of course not, I was dreaming. But when I woke up, a bit
before dawn, I found myself behind the woodpile, not in my usual place where I kept vigil on
the back door. So even if only a dream, it did get me to move my sleeping spot.
This dream-or-was-it-a-dream repeated itself for a few nights, maybe a few weeks, with
slight variations, until one day I noticed that the toolshed door was not locked. And it was
partly open. I nosed my way inside and found it small but cozy, with a pile of blankets and
water, just about enough for one night. Was I imagining this? Had Jimmy just made a little
home for someone like me, right by his? But he couldn't possibly know that I was nearby,
could he? I was so careful! At least I hope he didn't know because, remember, what is the one
thing an urchin needs more than anything? Answer: Not to need anything.
Still, when the nights were windy or rainy or both, you bet I didn’t hesitate to park
myself inside that shed. And other than the sound of the occasional chipmunk or squirrel, I
felt totally safe and—for the first time, I suppose—at home. But I did feel like a squatter. Just
a little. After all, my couple back at the deli actually opened their basement door for me. On
purpose. With a smile. A smile just for me. You see what I mean?
One morning, though, he greeted me with breakfast in bed—breakfast in bedroll, you
could say, ha ha. The jig was up. I bet he knew all along I was there, that sly devil—no, angel,
really—and now I knew he knew, and he knew I knew, so there was no longer any reason to
pretend otherwise. And guess what. I did not feel like a squatter anymore. I felt like a guest.
Over the next few days and weeks, we started doing things together every once in a
while, like playing chase and catch (the back yard had a nice flat lawn), going for walks and
jogs, and wrestling in the park. Other than that first morning, though, we didn’t eat together.
I never dreamed our friendship would—or could—progress to anything more. Nor did
I necessarily want it to. I was content. At least, for myself. Though as I said, I did want
something more in life for Jimmy. Wouldn't you? Answer: Of course.
***
The thing that ended up bringing us together, or more together, I suppose you could say,
was something I didn’t dream we had in common. Something powerful indeed. And that was
an absolute loathing of thunderstorms.
One night, when the lightning and thunder were particularly terrifying, and accompanied
by sheets of sheer rain, I saw the kitchen light go on, heard the familiar voice yell out, probably
for me, though the storm was too loud to hear what he was saying. But in a few moments,
I saw those familiar friendly feet right by my head. “Now come on, Buddy, friends don’t let
friends sleep outside in a rainstorm like this—not even in a shed. So come on.” I didn’t move.
“Aren’t I your friend?” I didn’t move. “Buddy, you’re making me feel terrible.” Now that is
something I cannot bear, making someone feel terrible, so of course I acquiesced at last. But
the rain was so fierce that, even in the short distance from the toolshed to the kitchen, I got
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