Thursday, May 31, 2012

Yipi the Yard Clock

Old Walter seems less lonely now. Even though he doesn't much look at him. Even though they don't truck too much with each other. Even though Yipi is always outside and Old Walt stay inside til the sun gets low. Even then he just go out for few minutes. Stretches his long legs. Throws food in the bowl. Maybe some water from the hose. Yipi barks at him. Ra-rrrr! Rah-rrrrrg! Rrrt rrrrt rrrt! Fast, spring loaded barks that lift his tiny paws off the cement. No. Old Walter never touches him. Somehow though, they keep each other company. I can't explain it.

What do I know? Been here so many years... Walt says since the Depression, before his time.


I remember that younger woman he took up with, after Marguerite died. I didn't think they loved each other, much as they fought, much as Old Walter slept on the couch, or didn't sleep at all, grumbling low to himself at the kitchen table, gluing the old model airplanes together, up half the night. At first she would slam the bedroom door. Throw herself on the bed, cry to the point of shakin'. After a while, she was slamming the front door, loud too. All heels and lipstick, like she bad. Sucking her teeth and pretending to call someone to come meet her at the bar, even though I saw her, she'd just go down two blocks to her sister's. Tryin to make Old Walter mad. I felt sorry for her. Wish I had somekinda arms to wrap around her. Tell her he ain't her daddy. Walt was just an old lonely man who loved her pretty face, her plumpness and the way she smelled.

And old as he was-- still foolish. Oooooh! Old fashioned. Still expected, even pretty and young as she was, that she would cook. No, no. That's not how they make them now, Walter.  See how you eatin' by yaself, now. Right out of the can, old fool. You coulda stopped fussin. Get you that take out, like they do across the street. Heat you up a tv dinner. Throw a nice mix a greens on a plate with some ranch sauce, you stubborn ol' burr. You may be old, but you can't never stop learning. Never stop paying attention. Look at me, I'm old. Real old. 'lmost twice as old as you, if I knew my figures. But I watch. I listen. You know how I say. Paying attention is all I got.

Paying attention is all I got. Truly.

And I guess I got Old Walter.

But not Yipi. I ain't claim him. Can't.

Yipi's his own dog.