bill_and_maggie tender_square “i went through my things and i have so much stuff: six hammers, four ladders,” bill said. “you should have a yard sale,” isabelle suggested. “earn some money and take your wife out for dinner.” maggie lay on the grass between the three of us, letting the breeze bathe her fur. “my wife doesn’t like to go out for dinner.” “you could bring in takeout then,” isabelle offered. “no, she only likes when i cook for her,” bill said. “her favourite is potatoes and green beans with bacon.” “mmmmmmm, that sounds good,” i said. isbelle turned to me. “it does, doesn’t it?” “it is good!” bill said. he reached into his pocket to grab a treat for maggie who had ambled over to him. “my wife’s not particular.” i waited a beat, half-expecting bill to make a quip about his marriage. he looked up at isabelle and me and delivered. “that’s why she picked me.” 220612 ... tender_square on my way out of the park, maggie was lying in the middle of the main trail while bill stood nearby, hands in his khaki pockets. i had seen them at the start of my stroll an hour prior. “well, we didn’t make it very far in today.” i bent down to pet maggie’s back and she pressed her face against my knee, her dark eyes rheumy and dripping. “awwwww, she’s just tired,” i said. “no, she’s not tired.” i looked up at bill. “you think it’s the cough thing?” maggie was already a 12-year-old lab. bill suspects that she has laryngitis. he took her to the vet and got her pills he’s been mixing with liverwurst to treat it. she’s hoarse and sounds like she’s trying to cough up hairballs, punctuating our conversation with bursts of dry honking. “i think she likes laying here because everyone coming to the park has to stop by and fawn over her,” i said as i rubbed her belly. “you know, you’ve got a point there.” bill showed me an old picture of ann arbor on his phone, the corner of north u and state. the buildings are the same today, only the businesses are different. his father owned a laundromat in the 60’s that bill worked at. he also revealed that his wife’s name is donna, that they’ve been together for 46 years (and married for 40 of them). “now you know everything about me,” he said. “except for your social security number,” i joked. 220614 ... tender_square “you should see the card my wife made me for father’s day from the dog,” he said. “it said thanks for taking me out,” bill cupped one hand around his mouth to whisper, “to shit.” i cackled. “i’ll have to bring it in and show it to you. my wife writes 50 cards a month to people, just to let them know what’s going on. and her handwriting! it’s so precise i call it ‘nun’s hand.’” “my handwriting is terrible; half the time i can’t make out what i’ve written,” i said. “oh, i can’t even read my grocery lists.” i rubbed maggie’s ears with my hands and she pressed her face into my knee. “maggie’s not doing so good,” bill said. “all she wants to do is lay on the lawn.” “i walked by the other day and saw her on the grass.” she was lying in the shade in the middle of the afternoon. “yeah, i’m taking her to the vet on thursday.” i’m quietly worried about maggie given her age. bill says the pills don’t seem to be helping her throat, and i’m hoping it’s not something worse than laryngitis. he’s told me he’s at the park each morning with her but i don’t always see them. if it’s been a while since our last chat, sometimes i fear that something has happened to maggie and that bill is away because he’s grieving. but by the end of our conversation, maggie was slowly getting up and moving around. “you ready for our walk?” he asked her. we parted there, the two of them taking the asphalt path to the playground while i cut through the parking lot toward home. 220619 ... tender_square bill mentioned that he heard from someone he’d gone to high school with; their 65th reunion was coming up. “we’d both been into track, and my friend was pretty good. he was a hard worker, he tried. but i was the better runner,” he said. “i used to run the detroit marathon through the tunnel, i did it for years.” maggie lay on a patch of cool dirt drinking out of bowl bill brought to the park for her. he turned back to his red sedan to get a bottle of water for himself. “my friend went on to go to western where he was on the track team and he won a national title in the sport,” he said. “and me…well, i guess i’m confessing to you now…i wasted those years after high school.” earlier in the week, he said he'd been in the army, that he fought in vietnam. “all i did was drink for ten years,” bill said. “and smoke dope.” “i think we all go a little crazy in our twenties, don’t we? i know i did.” “you did?” “yeah. the drinking and the smoking dope,” i said, to borrow his phrasing. “i’ve been sober for almost eight years now.” “get out! i haven’t touched a drink in 40.” maggie hoisted herself up on her front paws and stood in the shade, ready to take her short stroll into the park. bill and i walked slowly up the entrance path while maggie sniffed the grass beside us. “i remember you saying when we first met that you used to have a lot of bad habits," i recounted. "and i said to you that i had too.” “and now i don’t have any anymore!” bill laughed and i laughed with him. “i tell ya, the lowest day i ever had was when i went to the va, drunker than a skunk, asking for help. they refused to let me in. and i told them i wasn’t going anywhere. i sat on the floor and waited for three hours. all these people passed by me and looked at me like i was worthless. finally, they took me in.” “i guess they had to see that you were really serious.” “one day, i was saying hail mary’s in the hallway, praying to be let out of there, and the psychiatrist confronted me about it. ‘bill,’ he says to me, ‘i heard you were in the hallway talking to yourself, are you okay?’ and i told him that i wasn’t talking to myself, i was praying to my guardian angel to get the hell out of there!” maggie crouched into a squat and relieved herself. we paused and waited for her. “well, he thought i was even crazier! ‘bill, you’re telling me you believe in guardian angels?’” he punctuated his story with his smile. “my wife, we were dating at the time when i was in there. and she’s a tough lady—and a good catholic!—she comes to see me and the doctor says to her ‘do you believe in guardian angels too?’ and she said ‘yep’ and that conversation was over.” 220622 ... tender_square "the vet says that maggie has fluid in her lungs and an enlarged heart." i wanted to say that of course maggie's heart was so big because of all the love she has in it but i didn’t think it was appropriate. "so i'm just going to keep feeding her hamburger and treating her good." i scratched behind maggie's ears. "did the vet say that…she has a limited amount of time left?" "oh, no," bill said. she's got to get x-rays sent off but he didn't say whether she needed some course of treatment or surgery. i mentioned that i wouldn't see him for a few days, since i'd be in my hometown. while i'm in canada, i'm going to try and find some mackintosh's toffee for bill, something he hasn't had in years. "i'll give you some money for it," he said. "nonsense! it's friend tax." "friend tax?" "yeah, it means that it's something nice you do for someone because you're friends and the other person will get you back in future." "oh, i like that!" he said. "and i like that i can bullshit with you." we always get into the serious discussions, not for long, rather we just happen to mention the history of our lives in passing. today he said, "my mom died when i was 13; pancreatic cancer." "bill, that's so awful. i'm really sorry." he shrugged with his hands in his pockets. a silence passed between us. i felt the loss in his heart six or seven decades removed. "you know, i have a friend who says—and pardon my language—'life fucks us all.'" and we laughed because laughing is better than crying and i did enough crying when i was out alone on my walk, telling the trees my secrets. it's refreshing to talk to someone who accepts the hardships of living as they come, who doesn't complain about how everything is more difficult for them. i get enough of that at home. 220624 ... tender_square after i finished my walk, i saw maggie lying in the shaded grass while bill stood with his hands on his hips. i waved from afar. “how are you doing today, bill?” “as long as my dog is good, i’m good,” he said. charles joined us in conversation, we triangulated around maggie and he asked after her cough. “i’ve got her on two different medications; one for the phlegm and the other for her heart,” bill explained. “i don’t like talking about the end,” he said. “but i researched how long a dog can go on these pills and people said it worked for about a month or two.” maggie rolled onto her side, sidled up to the grass. a smear of dirt stained her right hind leg. i rubbed her belly and she wheezed, hawked, and opened her mouth wide to ease loose whatever stuck to her insides. “so long as she wants to get in the car and come to the park,” bill said, “i’ll keep bringing her.” 220630 ... tender_square "last night i put a loonie under my pillow," i said. "a loonie?" "yeah, it's a gold coin that's worth a dollar in canada." "isn't that something?" "anyway, i put this loonie under my pillow and when i woke up, the canada day fairy left me this." i handed him a bag of mackintosh toffees i had carried for the whole walk, hoping i'd run into him. "you didn't have to do that! look at your hat!" he laughed. i swapped out my regular detroit ballcap for a new one i bought last time i was in windsor. i stepped closer so he could take in all its glory. it has a moose, a bear, a beaver, a woodchuck, a squirrel and a fox that all look doped up with goofy smiles, 'canada' and a maple leaf on there too. "isn't it amazing?" i said. "i got it from dollarama." "wait--is it canada day?" "it is!" "so that's why mary lou was singing 'o canada' to me when she came into the park! i feel like such a dummy." 220701 ... tender_square "you're doing really good with your walking," bill said. i've become a park regular, getting three miles in per day. "what made you start?" "well..." i sucked the air through my teeth. i knew this question would come up eventually. "it's the only way i really get time for myself. my husband doesn't know i take these walks; if he did, he'd insist on coming with me." "so, what's he doing right now, sleeping?" "yep." "that's just like donna. the mornings are mine; i get ready and bring maggie to the park, i eat breakfast. my wife doesn't get up until noon." "i started walking as a way to get some space." "you know, there's another woman who walks here and was saying the same thing about her boyfriend the other day, that he never gives her enough space." "i can't even run errands on my own." "that reminds me of my first wife," bill said. "yeah. and the more space i get, the more i want. i'm just like, 'get away from me.'" i made a forceful shoving motion with my arm. "me and donna do our own thing. she's up late and i'm up early and i don't bother her," bill said. "we don’t fight, though," he added. "well, it sounds like it's working for y'all." "listen to us, having a morning therapy session," he said. maggie rolled onto her side to cool her body in a patch of dirt where grass had worn away. she closed her eyes with an audible groan. 220706 ... tender_square "you got to go to work today?" bill asked. "yep." "good for you," he said. "you know, i worry about you. you should really try to get in with the university if you can." bill was referring to my temporary status as an employee there, something i mentioned a while back. "i don't want to be permanent." "why not?" i teetered my heels on the curb's edge and started to cry. "because i want to go home." "to windsor? to be with your family?" "yes." i disliked that it was leaking out of me, this wish, and the tears that came with it. "he doesn’t want to go." "it's okay, it's okay," bill said. "please don't cry," he clutched at his heart. "it always upsets me to see a woman cry." maggie’s dander was on my fingers; i used my wrists to wipe away the tears. "i'm sorry. i'm okay," i lied. "you're not that far," he tried to reason. "i know." i kicked at the dirt and looked at the flies buzzing around maggie. "why don't you just say to him, 'i'm going and you're coming with me'?" "it's not that easy, bill." he shook his head like he understood what i wasn’t saying. "i know." 220708 ... tender_square i was turning a corner on the empty trail. a man was walking toward me, dressed in khakis, a plaid shirt, a utility vest and a panama hat. it was bill. i took my earbuds out as i drew closer. "you're walking today," i said. his lips were moving, or trying to. "maggie...didn't want to come this morning." his eyes were dewy like the surrounding grass. "oh, bill. i'm so sorry." "here i told you not to cry," he said. he rummaged through his pockets for a handkerchief. "it's okay," i assured him. "i just needed to go for a walk," he said. then, his voice broke open. "i couldn't stay in the house. i had to get out." "of course," i reached for his arm and gave a gentle squeeze. "i don't know if she'll be here tomorrow,” he shrugged. "we'll have to see." i wanted to offer to walk alongside him, even though i'd just come from that way, but i didn't want to impose. i can never tell which is kinder, to give people space when they're grieving or to insist on staying when they say they're fine. "i hope you enjoy your walk," i said, regretting my choice of words after. who would enjoy dragging what he had on his mind? "i just need to think," he said. and i nodded, watched him turn away. in all my morning walks i have realized the time alone isn't about thinking so much as it is adjusting to new realities. i cried for my friend as i hiked the remaining half mile ahead of me. it didn't feel right to pass his red corolla in the parking lot without seeing him sip coffee, standing over maggie while she lay weakly in the shade. i sat on the curb near his bumper and waited. i needed to know that he was okay. bunnies arced in the air, flicking their hind legs up and out in jeté. squirrels scrambled and twirled around the twigs of an oak tree, nibbling seeds. sparrows coupled up to dine on crumbs left on asphalt. i had forgotten what stillness was, having been too consumed with movement. after fifteen minutes, i stood, turning as bill was descending into the lot. "life's a kick in the ass," he shouted as he neared. "you love something only to have it taken away from you." "i know." "it's fucked," he said. "i'm sorry." he was old-school, he didn't like swearing in front of a woman. "it is." "i'm sorry i'm crying," bill said. he lifted his glasses and wiped the handkerchief around his eyes. "men aren't supposed to cry." "i don't believe that; i think it's a good thing." "no, you're right," he said. "i didn't cry when my mom died; i was too young to understand." we stood apart from one another in silence. "i don't know what i'm going back to," he said. "i guess my wife and i have to talk about whether it's time to put maggie down." he reached for his car keys. "but she's happy! i don't think she's suffering." i nodded as he unlocked the door. "well, i'm going to get back and feed her some hamburger." "of course." "thank you for being here," he said. "you're a nice lady." "that's what friends do, bill." 220710 ... tender_square each morning, bill drops a wooden riser on the ground in front of the driver's side of his car; it's maggie's prompt for park time. bill uses it as a way to measure where she is with her health; if she responds, coming to the door to climb into the car, he takes her to county farm, lifting the riser into the trunk to take with him as a ramp. in the front seat of his corolla, bill filled the floorboard space to extend the passenger side to give maggie more room. and she rides on a bed of towels, a shotgun queen next to her fur dad. bill always parks in the same spot, next to a curb, beside an island of shaded grass. yesterday, they were both waiting there on my way out and i was overjoyed to see them together. i crouched to the ground and rubbed between maggie's ears, massaging her head. she leaned back on her side to give me her belly, the softest butter fur. "her stomach's bigger," bill said. "that's the fluid collecting in her system." bill and his wife had discussed that they thought it was time to put maggie down. i don't know if that day was her last at the park; bill's corolla wasn't in the lot this morning. when i walked away from them yesterday, i had to convince myself that i would see maggie again to keep myself from crying in front of bill. she's the sweetest and most gentle dog i've had the pleasure of knowing. "don't worry, i'll still see you," bill assured me. "i have to get my walks in at the park, too." i was halfway out the lot this morning when i noticed a red rusted sedan parked in a faraway corner. and i worried for a moment that it was bill's car, signaling that maggie was gone by being in a different spot. i reversed course to check the make of the car; it was a ford, not a toyota. "pray for me," he'd called as i was taking my leave yesterday. i turned away from the unknown car, bowed my head and thought of him. 220712 ... tender_square "did i tell you i found another dog?" "no!" "my wife, she's so detailed," he said. "she came up with a list of fifty names. fifty!" "what did you decide on?" "i think we're going with millie." i wanted to tell him that i liked the name, how it ended in a vowel that caused your voice to lift when saying it aloud, like maggie's name, a sound that made an impression but was also soft just like her personality. "it's funny, i used to work with a woman named millie, years ago." bill looked ahead of the path, remembering. "she was a few years older than me, and she used to give me a few bucks and let me sneak out to buy a bottle of vodka, and we'd drink it together as the work day ended. can you imagine!” he laughed at his youthful brazenness. "i know she's not going to be like maggie," he continued. "i'm going to have to see if she wants to come to the park." "so, you're picking her up today?" "yeah, she's got to get spayed and then i pick her up at the humane society—did i already tell you this story?" i shook my head. "i prayed to st. francis and said, 'please help me to find another female yellow lab.' and when i got to the shelter, there she was, in the first cage. she's seven years old." "how long had she been there for?" "since july 2. i think people passed her by because her titties are hanging low—she just gave birth to a litter—but those'll shrink right up again." bill didn't want to keep me any longer, and urged me to finish up my walk. "happy gotcha day," i called to him and he smiled and waved. 220718 ... tender_square bill gave me a horn toot from his corolla as i was cresting the sidewalk on platt. we’d be arriving at the park around the same time, an occurrence that hasn’t happened before. i didn’t know if his new lab, millie, would be with him. i could see him doing pushups against his car trunk when i landed in the lot, his was the only vehicle parked. he was waiting for me. “beautiful sunrise this morning, huh?” there was a streak of purple clouds smeared across sky, with neon pink dabs. as i crossed the creek bridge, the light streamed in infinite rays above the tree line. “it was! it’s getting darker in the morning now,” he observed. “i know, i love it!” “me too.” “can i walk with you today? i’ll keep pace with you,” he said. i didn’t want him to rush for my sake. bill has excellent mobility, but his feet tend to drag with his steps, the way my grandmother’s would when she started falling, before she needed a walker. i slowed to round a corner with him. “there’s no need to rush, we can take our time.” we entered the fitness trail at the final station, working our way backwards. “i’m going to do the beam,” bill said. “i get two tries; if i can’t get it in that, i leave it alone.” he stepped a six inches off the ground and onto the wooden platform, holding his arms out for balance. he took a wobbly step before he reset himself. his second go was the same. “not today,” he grumbled. i pointed to a baby bunny munching on the grasses before it bounded into the underbrush. “my grandmother came over from ireland with six kids; four girls and two boys. she had married a german. can you believe it?” “they didn’t have birth control back then!” “they did well for themselves; they owned a house on seventh. i remember seeing her sit on the porch with a beer listening to the tigers on the radio. ain’t it funny what you remember?” i told him about my grandmother coming over from england aboard the queen mary with my uncle jim, how my grandfather, whom i never met, was a rear upper gunner for the rcaf. “he was a real son of a bitch; beat the shit out of my grandma,” i said. bill plays pinochle on tuesdays with his wife and some friends. “one of the guys brought over a dozen ears of corn. and we ate that for dinner, fresh with butter and salt.” “i love corn on the cob,” i gushed. “you know, for years there used to be this festival, the tecumseh corn fest, that was held a block away from where my parents live. further up the road is the green giant. and they would sell fresh corn there. we used to go all the time as kids, but i think the thing went bankrupt before covid. it’s never been replaced. i miss it.” we kept a good stride, bill and i. the conversation flowed and we followed the path we know by memory. in the western parking lot, we ran into charles on his way in. “i pick up maggie’s ashes today,” bill said. “my wife and i are renovating a bathroom and our laundry room,” charles said. “and we just found the ashes of our first dog, still in the box. i don’t know what to do with them, if i should get an urn.” “i get maggie in a velvet bag.” “i guess you went for the upscale package!” “not really! they were offering cedar boxes but i didn’t want to do that.” charles left, promising to converge with us further up on the trail, but we never saw him again. “i’m jealous of his hair,” bill confided. “he’s got a full head of it!” charles looks like santa claus. he has a full white beard, and a full white head of hair he keeps a little shaggy. “the colour is so pretty, i wish i had grey hair,” i lamented. “i do too!” bill removed his fisherman’s hat to show off his bald head. he guided me through britton forest, on a path i didn’t know that well. “the last time i took this, i ended up near the water tower and out of the park somehow,” i told him. “don’t worry, i’ll show you,” he said. “just watch where you step, there’s lots of roots.” the trail was wide, covered in mulch, with holes made by industrious squirrels throughout. bill made his way through with a confident, steady stride. “watch out there,” he pointed, as i descended a tiny set of stairs made by the tendons of roots. when we made it out of the forest trail, i stopped and pointed to an area by the northern entrance. “that’s where i saw that deer a week or so ago,” i recalled. bill made a motion with his hand to indicate beyond the road. “i used to live about a quarter mile from here.” “you know this place used to be an infirmary?” “yeah! my dad used to threaten me all the time, say that if i didn’t pull my weight he’d send me to county farm, and now all i want to do is laugh and tell him, ‘i’m here every day!’” a nearby trail no longer had a “do not enter” sign. it had been closed for months, warning of unforeseen danger. “i’ve never been on that path,” i said. “i have; let’s go check it out.” we entered a trail of grass that bordered a marshland, full of reeds and wildflowers. “it’s pretty, isn’t it?” “yeah, except for all the traffic.” the morning commuters on washtenaw were zooming by, hidden by the prairie and wetland. a bird shot out of the fronds as we stepped nearer. “i’ve never seen a bird like that before!” i exclaimed. it was black but had a flash of bright red in its feathers, right by its body, visible when its wings were expanded in flight. “that’s a red-winged blackbird,” bill explained. we crested a hill of newborn grass growing out from the matrices of straw mulch. “the last time i was up here, it had just rained, and there was this mist that had blanketed everything. and out of the mist i saw this huge buck.” “that must’ve been incredible!” “when it rains a lot, the water would come up to here,” he tapped his toe on the lip of the trail. “maggie loved it,” he recalled. “she’d go swimming in there.” we descended the broad hill with careful steps, side by side. further up, at the end of the fitness trail, he waved to mark who was watering his garden bed, saturating soil before the onslaught of the heatwave’s slap. bill and i parted under the arches of the east parking lot. “thanks for walking with me,” he said. “i don’t know when i’ll have my dog, or whether she’ll walk with me. but if you see my car, wait for me.” 220720 ... tender_square i ran into bill at the halfway point of my walk, taking the reverse route in the hopes that we’d run into each other. “hey, stranger,” i called out. he pivoted and asked if he could walk back with me. “it’s my birthday today,” i confided. “well, happy birthday!” he said. “how old you turn, 29?” “no, 38 actually.” “thirty eight was the worst year of my life, so you’re way ahead of me. thirty-eight is when i got divorced and went to the va to dry out. things didn’t get good for me again until i turned 40.” 220725 ... tender_square bill's burgundy sedan came puttering up platt on my left as i ascended the hill. i gave him an exaggerated wave, hoping he'd see me in the rearview and wait at the park entrance. when the lot came into view, i watched him do push-out's against the stone pillar in his white t-shirt. i nearly began to jog, believing he was walking away. typically, bill arrives at county farm earlier than me; his route takes him south on the fitness trail and then west. i take the opposite track, beginning in britton forest, knowing that we'll intersect. sometimes, he'll wait for me back in the parking lot and we'll "bullshit" (as bill calls it) a bit more. but arriving at the park at the same time meant we could walk together, talking all the while. those days are rare. and i needed that. bill's only brought his new dog, millie, to the park once. in the morning, she nuzzles up next to his wife in bed. millie raises her head from slumber and gives bill a brief look before going back to dozing, uninterested in getting up. "i've got to walk," he tells me. "it's my routine." he's hobbling at first; his ankle has been giving him trouble. his feet drag and i worry he may fall with me, and that i don't have enough upper body strength to lift him if i need to. i can tell he's pushing himself so i won't have to slow. "we can take our time," i assure him. and he relaxes, finds his pace, and pulls his hunched shoulders back when he sees my posture. yesterday, he was walking with a woman, another park pal, when we met on the trail. "dawn’s a good woman," he tells me. "and a great gardener. but when she gets off her medication she starts to say weird things." he gives me an example. when the leader of al qaeda was recently killed in a drone strike, dawn remarked to bill, "i’ve met him before." "sorry," he tells me. "i know you don't watch the news." "my wife tells me to be patient," bill says. "to be kind when i get annoyed." it's good advice. i wish i could be better about it. i air my recent grievances about my husband. i know i shouldn't, but i'm baffled and in need of a sympathetic ear. "what is he searching for?" bill asks. "i don't think he knows where home is," i say. after katrina, after his mom's death, after the space that's wormed its way between us, he is unmoored. moving again won't solve that. "why won't he go to windsor?" "i think it's because i could so easily be dropped into that life as though i had never left. and he doesn't have the same relationship with that place and with my family." it's a looming threat to us. my husband said as much the night prior. that we should be our own unit, separate from the rest. but my father's diagnosis will not improve. this is the long goodbye; i want to be there for the increments. "you know what my wife says to me? 'things would be a whole lot easier if you just did what i wanted,'" bill says, half-joking. "you mean, like, 'happy wife, happy life'?” "you tell your husband to go with you," he calls when we're parting. if only it could be that simple. the problem is, i want to go alone. 220804 ... tender_square i was cursing bill when i got to county farm because i was holding a bubble mailer with a gift for him that i'd have to take with me for my whole circuit. i was hoping i could leave it on his windshield but his car wasn't in the lot. out of spite, i walked the opposite route, figuring i wouldn't see him anyway, trying to recall if i have ever run into him on weekends. it was quieter than usual. no bodies on the trails; no traffic on the bordering streets shuttling people to important tasks. i didn't listen to anything except my thoughts, which were multitudinous and competing. a deer was hidden in the forest field and we watched each other through branches from afar; i waved before continuing onward, before crying for a few seconds while feeling sorry for myself. near the playground, park employees picked trash with claws and changed the liners in garbage bins. bill's car was in the lot and so i sat at a picnic table to wait, knowing my hip would scream upon standing. in the envelope i carried was two pictures in two gold frames: one of maggie from her last day at the park, and another of millie and bill on her first day at the park. it was something i'd been meaning to do for some time but had only gotten around to arranging the day prior. outside of the community gardens, i caught sight of a man in a panama hat and a plaid shirt come into view—bill!—and he was holding a leash—millie!—it was only her second visit to the park, and it was bill's first time walking her on the trails. i stood and raised both my arms in triumph as i strode toward them. "i don't believe what i'm seeing!" mille was shy; it had been over two weeks since we’d first been introduced, she scampered from my touch. but on the walk back to the car she was darting back and forth between the two of us, tail wagging steadily. i held onto her leash while bill peeled back the adhesive on the envelope. "you’re a class act," he said to me, and he clasped my hand in his. 220813 ... tender_square "how was your high school reunion?" "it was really good; i saw a lot of my old girlfriends," bill said, raising his eyebrows. "i've still got it." he gave a little swing of his hips. i smiled and gave him a swat. "of course you do!" "i got so many hugs, which surprised me because i didn’t think women hugged anymore," he said. "and i'll tell you something else i learned," he went on. "everyone, at one point or another in their lives, has experienced something terrible. and it's the people who face it that get to the other side." 220823 ... tender_square "i didn't want to get out of bed this morning," bill confessed. "but then i remembered that the dog was waiting for me." i've taken to calling his new woofer millie vanilli. she's so excited to walk beside bill that her tail wagging moves her whole body off course and she ends up in front of his shuffling feet, smiling up at him. bill and his wife have given that dog a whole new lease on life after she was abandoned post-pregnancy. "it's good," he continued. "because millie keeps me walking even when i don't feel like it." bill and i said our goodbyes and thanked one another for friendship, for listening. "i hope you have a good day," i called over my shoulder. "it's always a good day because we're sober," he said, and he flashed me his dazzling smile. 220826 ... tender_square "i'm reading this book and the author is very descriptive. almost too descriptive," bill says. "like she spends pages and pages describing flowers and the way the leaves look. and i've stuck with it because the main character is a park ranger in montana, and i've always wanted to do that sort of thing. but I keep thinking 'get to the murders already!'" 220828 ... tender_square "your husband seems like a good guy," bill said as i crouched to pet millie. i looked up. "i'm leaving him." i stood up and wiped my hands on my pants. "when did you make that decision?" i shrugged. "i don't know." my eyes misted and a few tears slipped. "does he know yet?" "no." "does he know it's coming?" "i don't know." "it takes two people to make a marriage work," bill said. "it took me a long time to learn that." "yeah," i croaked. "you're the most important person, you've got to put yourself first." he was genuine and reassuring. "thank you," i said. "i mean, at least you're not drinking! that's why you've been walking so much, huh?" i nodded. "so what are you going to do?" "i'm going to go home and i'm going to start over." 220831 ... tender_square bill asked, “how did your weekend go?” “it was alright,” i said. “long weekends are always hard for me; i’m ready to get back to work.” he nodded knowingly. “it was like that for me, too, with my first wife. i couldn’t say that i wanted a divorce. so i drank and acted like a jerk—” “in the hopes that she would end it for you.” “exactly.” “i’m telling him sunday, when we get back from seeing my family.” we passed under the park arches and walked towards his rusted car. “i’ll say a rosary for you,” he said. “thanks, bill. i appreciate it.” “you’re a nice lady,” he said. “and you’re smart. you will get through this.” 220906 ... tender_square we crossed paths in the forest, route caked in mud. "i told my husband,” i said to bill as i climbed toward him. he paused as millie darted back and forth hyper-sniffing. "how'd he take it?" "he thinks the matter is 'unsettled.' " "no!" "i know." i nodded gravely. "i'm trying to be patient; i think he may need some time." we began walking in the same direction, back the way bill had come. "well, you're a good woman. hell, i'd consider myself lucky if you were breaking up with me! and you're handling your divorce better than i did mine!" he elbowed me as he swung millie’s poop bag in his free hand. "i'm still here, i haven't had a drink yet!" he cackled. "you scorched me!" 220912 ... tender_square bill asked me how my spouse was doing. "meh? i think okay?" i said. the leaves littering the forest floor swished beneath our shoes. "is it bad that i don't really care?" bill talked about his divorce, how he drank to deal with the stress, how he wanted to move on and be with someone else while at the same time perferring to be alone and miserable. "you just keep smiling," he said as we parted. it's how bill says goodbye. "i will," i promised. "you keep smiling too." as i walked away, i caught myself muttering into the cold, "i have to keep smiling, but if i wasn't i'd be crying." 221109 ... tender_square "it reminds me of that girl who promised me she'd stay true when i went away to camp and she didn't," bill said, a story he's brought up on multiple occasions. "i'm a faithful guy," he went on, boasting of his fidelity. "and maybe i shouldn't have been; who knows what i could've been missing out on." something tells me that those who speak so highly of their own loyalty are those who are hiding something. 221223 what's it to you? who go blather from