She used to scare me, that one. Back when I thought she was a ghost, when I thought she was all in my head. Back when I was ashamed of her.
A few months ago, I exorcised her. I haven’t been scared of her since.
Well, maybe a little.
She’s out there about as often as not, in the park across the street from my building, walking her dog in the morning. I don’t know what kind of dog it is, but it’s a cute one. White, short hair, full of energy. The dog walks her, not the other way around.
Today the dog got into the bushes. She put the dog on a picnic table to pull twigs and stickers from its fur.
That’s where she was when I walked by. One foot up on the bench, her elbow on her knee, leaning forward to pet her dog, just-out-of-bed hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Sunglasses over half her face making her look empty, spectral. Backlit by the sunrise making her burn, burn.
If Hell’s principle export was fine clothing for upscale female professionals, that’s the picture that would be on the cover of the catalog.
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