Chapter 1 of R.M. Dolin’s novel “The Dangling Conversation,” March 17, 20024
ISABELLE: “Do you mind my sitting here; I’ve been wandering the park with Murry for a while and bench spots are hard to come by? It’s my first time and such a wonderful place, which I guess is why there’s no vacancies, especially on a night like this. I don’t mind it being crowded, probably comes down to picking the right time; what’s the protocol though, do people have assigned spots like in grade school, or is it first come first served? You must either come early or you’ve long ago staked your claim, because this is hands down, the best bench in the entire park; a perfect line through the trees to catch tonight’s blood orange moon. That’s why I came; I’m not really a walk in the park kind of gal, but I saw in the news about tonight’s blood orange moon and Murry needs his exercise. Since I’m new and don’t have a clue what a blood orange moon is, figure I might as well come see it; only way to learn, right, maybe even meet some neighbors? “You don’t really seem like the type that’d come out for the moon, so, you must be a regular? I’m not much for walks after dark, you know, being a woman and all, but figure tonight I’ll make an exception, anything beats sitting at home watching TV during shark week or whatever other nonsense they’re pushing. I’m glad I came, I needed to get out, my apartment’s okay, but you can only stare at packed boxes so long before it gets sad; besides, watching the moon arch over the horizon and gently climb the trees as it teases toward escape is really something. I mean just look at it, absolutely spectacular. I especially like the way it casts the park in a surreal glow, it’s almost like an impressionist painting; not that I’m into art mind you, but don’t you think the entire place seems, I don’t know, mysteriously magical? “Not sure why I’m going on with such foolishness, it’s not like me at all. I’m Isabelle by the way, I know, you’re wondering, “what’s a young woman like me doing with an old lady’s name?” I get that all the time. I’m very proud of it though, it belongs to my paternal great grandma, she was from the Basques region of Spain and died fighting the Nationalists against Franco, Hitler, and Stalin. I like to think I inherited her courage and bravery along with her name. “I just moved here. Not to town, I’ve lived here several years, but for reasons I’d rather not discuss, I recently rented an apartment a few blocks away. It’s a strange thing apartments, you’re never really “moved in,” there’s always that thought you’ll be leaving soon and you’re not really home; maybe cause you can’t hang a picture or paint a wall, I don’t know. I used to have a house, but that’s a long story that would only bore you with clichés and melodramatic plot twists. “I’ll say this, they do, do a nice job with maintenance, I mean the grass is groomed like a golf course and each tree trimmed to perfection; look how they cleared away branches so we can watch the moon as she makes her grand entrance. I can’t remember ever seeing so many stars, like I can just reach right up and touch them. We'd get nights like this back home, but being up north, the sun sets so late nights are never this good; anyway, that was far away and a long time ago. It’s one of those things you surrender in the city; I mean they have lots to offer, but everything comes at a cost and metro lights really do drown out the night. City people don’t even know what they’re missing and there’s a certain kind of sadness in that. “Do you like flowers, I love the way they line the pathways, it’s the best part of the park if you ask me, especially how the lamps cast shadows of light on them; it creates a kind of fairytale vibe where each lamp is strategically set so where one shadow ends the next begins leaving a gentle transition you hardly notice unless paying careful attention. Life’s like that, don’t ya think; so much just passes by unnoticed because we’re busy not paying attention? I mean the way we move from one shadow to the next yet strategically end up exactly where we’re supposed to be; then, for some reason we wake up from our fairyland slumber and realize, we’re not where we thought we were and have no idea how we got there. At least that’s how it seems to work for me. I know flowers in the lamplight shouldn’t make me sad, but they do; not the same kind of sad as city people blinded by their lights, but sad just the same. They are necessary though; perhaps that’s my metaphor, lamplights casting shadows on beautiful flowers to make me sad while at the same time calling me out to walk their moonstruck path on a blood orange night. “Murry likes the park more than me. Mostly he comes during the day and sometimes at night, but he prefers afternoons because the park’s full of kids who’ll toss freebies and tennis balls. Sometimes he brings them back for another round; mostly though, he waits for them to chase him around; it makes the game more interesting. Murry and I are still getting to know each other; don’t ask him if I’m neurotic, not sure I’d like the answer; you can ask when I’m not around, just don’t tell me what he says. I always wanted a dog; my Ex doesn’t like em, so we didn’t have one. That’s the downside of marriage, everything devolves to the lowest common denominator. They never show that side of marriage in movies, no, in movies it’s all about logical compromise and compassion, but in reality, everything sooner or later devolves. And it’s not just Murry, if one person wants kids and the other doesn’t, you don’t, so, I don’t. If one wants to live in the country and the other doesn’t, you don’t; so, I didn’t. If one wants to be loyal while the other messes around there ain’t a gosh darn thing you can do about it and you wind up making new friends on a park bench. “At least I have Murry, he not only keeps me company, he’s also my protector. He may not look like much sleeping on your lap, but I’d not want to be you if he thought I was gonna get hurt. I got him cause my Ex is a bit of a narcissist, that’s just my diagnosis mind you, but I’m pretty sure its accurate. He doesn’t know where I live and I’m hoping to keep it that way, but just in case, Murry’s my backup. “You can divide the world into three camps, dog lovers, cat owners, and people in between. I think dog people should only be with dog people, otherwise, they’re forced to forgo an essential element of happiness. I don’t get cat people, so can’t speak to that. Back home we kept cats in the barn; we liked how they reduced rodents because I’ve never been a fan of rodentia. We never let barn cats in the house though, you can take two steps into someone’s house and know right away they have cats; or once did a decade ago. It’s disgusting when you think about it, almost medieval the way they have a designated box for doing their duty that’s usually in the kitchen or kitchen-adjacent; then there’s the way cats walk all over the counters and other places where food is prepared. Murry doesn’t like cats; I think he’s afraid of them, some kind of puppy-trauma; but he’s not only the best friend I’ve got, he’s my only friend.” KYLE: “I used to have dogs, none now, but for more of my life than not. I’m not so certain you should count on Murry to protect you though, he don’t seem like the type in a pinch; he didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I petted him. Then again, could be he senses I’m part of the brotherhood. It’s important ya know, to be part of something, guess that’s why God invented families and romance; even though we struggle to get either right. “Sure would be something though, huh? If dogs could tell us someone’s history, although I’m not sure I’d want him prying too deep into mine. Maybe we should kick Murry loose off his leash and see if he still wants to sit here, then you’ll know if you found your park bench. Before you decide to set up camp, know that as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome but I don’t make the seating chart; not sure who does but know it isn’t me. I feel I should tell you that for whatever reason, lots of people walk by every night but you’re the only one who ever sat down; not sure what that says about me, but clearly something? I can tell you’re a talker, and since I’m not I won’t have to worry about holding up my end of the conversation. Ya see, it’s been a while and like anything, what doesn’t get exercised, atrophies. ISABELLE: “My Ex used say, “slow down Isabelle, you don’t have to cram all the world’s words into the next half-hour.” He’d laugh, but I think it was mean. That’s how he was and it’s hard always being judged.” KYLE: “I don’t judge, I’ll find myself picking up a rock every now and then, but then I start itemizing my sins, in no particular order mind you cause once one reaches critical mass the whole becomes so much more profound than the sum of the parts, and I quickly realize, I’m the last person to be casting stones. Socrates contends, “the unexamined life is not worth living,” but the last thing I want to do is open up my disastrous shit-show; certainty not with so many others lining up to do it for me. “I was married once, so I don’t judge; well twice married actually, so now you can judge me. Not sure what that says, but in my defense, there’s only been one woman I ever truly loved; unfortunately, I never found a way to marry her. So, no reason to be hard on yourself you’re still just a rookie when compared to a screwup like me. I did learn a lot from each mistake though, and from life in between, and the thing that stuck most is realizing that as the road ahead grows shorter, you tend to travel back over things that brought you the most happiness and peace; that’s all any of us are really chasing ya know, little nuggets of happiness and peace. They’re hard to come by, that I can tell you, which I suppose has a lot to do with why you’ll find me sitting here most nights, this is where I mine my precious morsels. “I don’t mind that you’re here, kinda breaks up the every night monotony, plus, me and Murry are already best buds. He reminds me of Butch, a German Short-Hair Pointer I once had; damn good dog who was out of control most the time but filled with nothing but good intentions. He had a heart so big I don’t know how his body contained it; they’re big dogs, but he was all heart. His biggest problem was thinking he was a lap dog like Murry, always curling up on top of me, and if I ever even considered not petting him, he’d use his over-sized paws to nudge me in ways that left no doubt petting time was far from over. Sitting on my lap was fine as a puppy, but once he got grown, it was pretty awkward; even borderline absurd. Sometimes, I’d be sitting down, and he’d worm his way between my legs so he could plop his big head on my lap. He’d stand there for an hour expecting me to scratch his head; if I stopped for any reason, you know, like to have a sip of wine, or change channels, he’d glare at me with his big brown eyes until I’m guilted into getting back at it. “Me and Butch had more than our share of adventures. The craziest damn thing he ever did happened one time when we were up at my mountain cabin in New Mexico, I’m in the middle of morning coffee just enjoying the way hummingbirds fight with each other for control of the feeders when all of sudden something catches my eye; I’m almost afraid to look because whatever it is, it’s up on my skylight. But how can you not look, so I do, and there’s ol’Butch, standing on my skylight staring down at me like a gamecock rooster in a hen house. He had this way of looking at you, he’d roll his head to the side while staring through eyes full of eagerness and energy. Then, he’d open his mouth and out would drop this huge-ass tongue that he’d curl up in a way that made it seem as if he was smiling; he probably was, never saw a dog who was always so damn happy, happy to be outside when we hiked, happy to be inside when I lit a fire, just always happy. Even standing there on a skylight looking down smiling in way that said, “get your ass up here already, the view’s amazing.” “To this day I’ve absolutely no idea how he got up there; there was no snow drifted up the to the gutters that he could walk up, he can’t climb trees as far as I know, and there aren’t any windows leading to the roof. It takes me a good hour to get him down. You’ve no idea how hard it is to carry a seventy-pound mass of fury energy down an extension ladder without falling. The whole time he’s squirming and flailing like a cat in water to get loose; grinning so loud he can’t possibly realize we’re one misplaced foot from death. We did manage to make it down, but only after several tries and a whole lot of rope. He never revealed the magic he pulled off to get on the roof, but at least he never did it again. That’s just one of the many times we ended an adventure with the same admonishment; me sternly telling him, “just cause you can, doesn’t mean you should,” of course, he’d always apologize by plopping his head on my lap and letting me scratch him behind his ears.” ISABELLE: “Every time I asked my Ex for a dog, he’d make up a lame excuse, like he was allergic; I’ve never met a person allergic to dogs. He said we could get a cat, but I’m not a cat person; I mean you either are, or you aren’t and I’m definitely not. There’s a lot he didn’t allow, like happiness and peace. I honestly don’t know why I married him, or how I managed to stay married as long as I did. I ask myself over and over until it seems like all I’m accomplishing is to drive myself insane, but there’s never an answer. All I know is one day, kind of like Butch on the roof, I decide I can’t live like this; even now I can’t tell you how I reached that decision, I just did, as if by some sort of untraceable magic. I’m even starting to convince myself I’m not supposed to know. It’s like, I don’t know, like the universe needs to keep certain things a mystery. And besides, not every outcome needs an explanation or justification. I tell my Mom that, but its seems I’m condemned to damnation in her eyes with little cause for clemency. Me and my Mom, there’s a level of complexity we definitely don’t need to dissect. “She just needs time I suppose, me too; time heals all wounds, right? At least that’s what they say. I don’t know much about healing but sometimes it seems maybe we’re not supposed to heal all our wounds; I mean maybe there are punishments that are meant to linger. But why should I be punished, I didn’t end the marriage; okay yes, I did, but only after he did. It’s all completely convoluted and certainly there’s no value talking about it; I don’t even know why I’m telling you. I don’t usually talk to people I just met, you know, the whole “stranger danger,” thing we grew up with; and it’s not like we’ve known each other so long I can say it’s cause you’re easy to talk to you; in fact, I don’t know you at all. Yet here I am, baring my soul like a sinner at Saturday confession; not so sure I could even stop yacking if I tried. “The thing is, I’m new here and you’re the only person I’ve talked to all week; even at the grocery store I didn’t bother to say hello and that’s just rude. Do you think I’m weird? My Dad used to say, “Isabella, sometimes you talk too much.” My Ex always said I never say anything important, which is why he never listens. I didn’t really miss not talking all week because I didn’t think much about it and I do have Murry to confide in; I guess it just kinda builds though, until it all gushes out at once. I’m not boring you I hope, it’s just, well just that I find talking to you comforting; that’s weird I know, since we haven’t even been introduced but maybe that’s the reason, the more I don’t know you, the more I can say without consequence.” KYLE: “You’re not weird, at least no more than me; we all are I suppose, in our own weird way. Well, Isabella, if you intend to keep coming to this park, you’ll likely find me on this bench most nights and sooner or later we’re gonna stop being strangers, so we might as well take the plunge straight away and see how it feels. But before we do, let me preface our- I don’t know- “acquaintance,” with a caveat; whatever you imagine as being so traumatic in your life I can most certainly assure you I’ve survived, I may not have learned all the lessons I was meant to, but still the same I survived, and you will too. That being said, I’m happy to talk about whatever you want, until I don’t, and we’ll find out together what crap I’m comfortable discussing and what’s out of bounds. “I’m Kyle, Kyle from Kansas; well not anymore, but was once upon a time. I’m an engineer, because, once an engineer, always an engineer; it’s not a choice so much as a destiny. I tried being a pirate once, but that’s a story from long ago for another night when we feel like discussing things that don’t end well. Like you, I’m sorta new here and I guess on some level, again like you, I’m trying to escape stuff; a whole mess of stuff that don’t amount to nothing to anyone but me, but it’s big enough to drive me halfway across the country. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure where I’m from anymore, and it’s sad to reach this point in my life so uncertain about such important anchors, which I guess is why I’m sort of just drifting. That’s how I explain my park bench, like I’m on some huge-ass ocean liner and this is the deck chair that’s been assigned. You know what I mean, sure we’re free to walk around the deck all we want but since we’re not really going anywhere relative to the vessel, we might as well sit in the same damn chair and hope whoever’s steering this doomed ship of fools knows what the hell they’re doing. “So yeah, you could say I’m a drifter living outside gravity’s pull for now, but there are things, stuff I can’t get into, that wouldn’t interest you anyway, but are nonetheless gonna pull me into unwelcome vortexes that will soon enough have me spinning out of control. Until then I’m just waiting, a patient drifter calmly waiting for the shitstorm that’s my life steadily meandering toward me. Just don’t ask me about any of that though; if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, if you believed me, you wouldn’t like me, so let’s agree we both have Pandora’s Boxes that shouldn’t be opened. What I can tell you, what I’ve learned on my rather random journey to this park bench, is that love is the only thing that matters; falling in love, being in love, finding a forever someone to love; these are the only things that matter, everything else is just a shit-show auditioning to become your next distraction.”
