Take It Off, Take It All Off...

Safe now on the Lower East Side, out of breath and in dire need of food, Edgar and I stopped off at our favorite spot for a treat. Sugar Sweet Sunshine, the best damn cupcakes this side of Houston. Outside on the bench, we sat, no words but our eyes kept watch for her. I thought we were safe, I didn't think she saw us if at all, our backs, a blur as we flew down the staircase. "Safe," I whispered. "Promise? Edgar asked. "Just eat," I replied. Edgar devoured the Red Velvet while I slowly inhaled the Banana Pudding, and might I just add the tastiest Banana Pudding there is and while I haven't tried all Banana Puddings, let me just say this, if a better Banana Pudding does exit, it surely must be made by the hands of God, for only He Himself could create one finer, I'm sure. And for a time, everything was sugar and sweet and nothing but sunshine.

I wanted to remain focused on the cream and the wafers, the sweet bits of banana, but my mind kept drifting back to the house on Bowery and the mess left behind. I thought of Lil'Bit, scattered about the floor, his tail still in my pocket, scratching my leg. Would Kristina clean up the remains, giving her once beloved pet a much deserved final rest or like some fairy tale gone wrong, try and put Humpty Dumpty together again? And then my mind wandered to the biggest mess of all, Kristina, a girl I've known for weeks but had only truly met tonight.

Heather Mary was right and Edgar DuHaven was right, Kristina is messed up and in need of some professional help, I couldn't agree more and still, I'm ashamed to say, I couldn't be more interested. For weeks, I listened to her stories, all the words, so many words, but that's all they were, just words. I didn't know if they were true, I had nothing to reference them against, but the moment she came crashing through her bedroom door, hearing her screams as she picked up her pup and threw him down six flights of stairs, her words finally began to slip into place. She told me she got angry sometimes, but I never saw it. She said it takes a lot but when it happens, "You better watch out!" I would smile at her sweet face, those gentle hands and I would nod my head in agreement, "I will watch out," I said sarcastically, "I will."

I believe we learn more about people not by their words but in moments of the mundane, when no one is watching, when the camera is only thought to be turned off, when you think you are alone in the house, talking to your pet, wondering how the door to your room got locked, that is when we are ourselves, and there is nothing more beautiful to me. In public, the masks go on, covering our scars and fangs, hoping to find another so we are no longer alone, never alone, no longer unmasked, so ugly but so real. Someone to always be there, watching so never by myself again, never myself again. Running to someone fast running away from myself. As I ran from Kristina, down those stairs, dodging lil bits of shrapnel flying in all directions, I wanted to stop for a moment, for just one second and turn and see Kristina, the real Kristina, but I knew if I had stopped and turned and saw her, I never would have left. A photograph, the truth. But I didn't look back and I'm sure Dr. Goode would think that was progress, and maybe he would be right, running from Kristina was like running from the Paul-David of months ago - violent, unstable mess, but so interesting...so fucking interesting.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...

"It's been nice knowing you, Paul-David," said Edgar, half joking, half absolutely terrified. "Shut up," I replied, "and close the door, everything's gonna be fine." I wasn't sure I believed my own words but it wouldn't do us any good to freak out. Quickly, I scanned the room for a hiding place or a means of escape, I just needed to remain calm. Edgar, on the other hand, chose to panic, "I just want you to know, if she kills you, I will avenge your death, my friend." I could hear Kristina's footsteps on the staircase getting closer so I knew time was running out. "Nobody's gonna die, Edgar, just relax..." Trying to jimmy a window open, I sensed my comforting skills may have needed a little work, "...but if she was gonna kill anyone, she would start with you." "What? Why?" said Edgar, almost hurt by the suggestion, "Why would she kill me at all?" Realizing all the windows were fitted with the same anti-burglar device, a rusty nail lodged above the frame so as only to allow a six inch open space, it became clear we were trapped. Frustrated, I had no time to make Edgar feel better, "She never liked you." Edgar seemed confused, "That's impossible. Everybody likes me, I'm Edgar DuHaven." "I'm just telling you what she said, she thought you were a little weird." Edgar laughed, "I'm weird? So Miss Norma Bates thinks I'm weird, well, isn't that rich. You hear that Lil'Bit, I'm the weird one in this little group. I just don't believe it." I stood by the door, listening to the footsteps getting louder and louder, "Well, I don't know what to tell you, not everybody likes you," I whisper. "Yes they do," said Edgar, "we can clear up this whole thing right now, she's gonna be here any second." Then it occurred to me, this place has like a hundred rooms in it, "What are the chances she's gonna come directly here?" Edgar rolled his eyes and said, "And as if on cue..." Kristina's voice comes shouting up the stairs, "Lil'Bit, mama's home. You hungry?" As if on cue.

"Shit!" I said, looking around the room one last time, knowing there was only one place to hide. "I'm not going in there," said Edgar, backing away from the closet, "I'll take my chances with her." I didn't have time for this, "Get in the closet," I said, pushing him in. Struggling to get away from me like a greased pig, Edgar squeals, "How do we know she doesn't have anything else stuffed...stuffed backed there, a cat, a bird, her last boyfriend before you, a dog, oh wait, you can check that one off the wacko list." "Just get in," I whispered, and reluctantly, he did. We scrunched down behind the dog, relieved it was just us three. I put my finger to my mouth, and looked at Edgar, "SShhh."

Outside the door, Kristina chirped, "Mama's home." She turned the knob, but it was locked. Edgar locked the door - and that would have been fine if we were being chased, but not the smartest idea if we wanted to keep our presence undetected. "Why is this door locked? Lil'Bit, did you lock mama out? Do you have somebody in there with you?" She started pounding on the door, "Let me in...let me in!" "Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin," Edgar whispered. So she huffed and she puffed and she kicked the door and let out a terrible scream because it was a thick door and that move only works in the movies. "Open this door," she screamed, "open this fucking door!" Another kick and another excruciating scream. "Come on out, or I'll kick it again!" "We are sooo fucked," Edgar said as we crouched close together behind our lil protector, the dog stood firm. Holding tight to Lil'Bit as if holding him back, biding our time for the optimum release, our grip might have been a bit too firm...around his tail area, for when Kristina made one last slam against the door, shattering the 100 year old door frame, cracking it into a thousand splinters, Edgar accidentally yanked it clean off - the dog's tail that is. "Oh, God," said Edgar, realizing the object he holds, and like a hot potato, he passed it to me and I passed it back and forth and back and forth until we realized, Kristina, just moments before had crashed through the door and now, lie unconscious on the floor three feet in front of us. Before we can even think, I stuck Lil'Bit's tail in my pocket and we ran out of the closet, jumping over Kristina and into the hall.

Down one flight of stairs, we heard Kristina scream, "Who's down there, show yourselves." She's baaack! "Whatever you do," I said to Edgar, "don't look back." We ran as fast as we could, eyes straight, saying not a word. Hitting the second flight, I heard Kristina yell, "Sick 'em Lil'Bit!" Now skipping two steps at a time, I said to Edgar, "I don't like the sound of that," and I was unbelievably correct. As we made our way to the third flight, we both heard a horrible noise coming down fast behind us, but as bad as that noise was, the sight was even worse - a poor stuffed pooch, nailed to a wooden plank, one eye, one ear, no tail, rolling and bouncing and banging down the stairs toward us, faster and faster, and in my mind, I whistled the tune to Raiders of the Lost Ark. Inches from our heels, Lil'bit was just about to take us with him to hell when at the last second, he bounced off the wall and flew over the railing, crashing hard to the ground floor beneath. Flying down the last flight, finally, stepping off the last step, we eyed the beautiful front door only a few feet away. We made it, but sadly, Lil'Bit did not. Scattered about the dust and debris of Kristian's first floor apartment, shattered into a million little pieces, was the dog - a lil' bit here and a lil' bit there, here a bit, there a bit, every where a lil' bit. I wanted to say a few words but there was no time, Kristina was making her way down and we needed to leave. I softly petted Lil'Bit's tail in my pocket, "You're at peace now, my friend," and we made our way out the front door and onto Bowery, running all the way back to the Lower East Side.

Lil'Bit is Coming Out of the Closet...

"Paul-David, are you crying?" asked Edgar. "Maybe," I said. I thought the situation called for tears...little lost dog, safe and home. Dramatically, I dropped to my knees, my muted whimpers practically begging Lil'Bit's attention. He would leap from his hiding place, attracted by my cries, like dogs are - a moth to a flame. My yip - his yap, my wail - his weep, his little white face pushing at my face, licking my cheeks to soothe my bleating soul. This would all be witnessed by my queen, now so filled with joy on seeing her two boys together, past fights would be forgotten and all would be forgiven and new. But when I opened my eyes, knees firmly on the floor, Lil'Bit had not moved from his safe place, still staring, unmoved by my laments. "You're freaking me out," said Edgar nervously, "this is some seriously fucked up shit." He took a step toward the dog. "Stop!" I hissed, "if he runs out, we may never find him in this place." Edgar shook his head, "Paul-David, that dog ain't going no where." I stared again into Lil'Bit's vacant face, so scared, and I felt a connection had been made. "Don't get too close. Kristina told me he doesn't like strangers. He bites." Edgar laughed, "Look at that little thing, I'm not too worried about it." "Tommy taught me along time ago, it's the little things you should worry about most," I said. "Now step away from the dog!"

"Hey, buddy. Hey Lil'Bit. Nobodies gonna hurt you. It's OK." I slowly crawled a step closer. "Where you been all this time? You had a lot of people worrying about you." Another step. "I bet your mama was so happy to find you, I wish I could have been there." Another step closer. "But you're gonna be seeing a lot more of me now. I promise. You hungry, buddy? Are you?" Just a few feet away now. Edgar pleads, "Jesus, Paul-David. Stop it." I looked back to Edgar, "What?" Edgar stood behind me and pointed to Lil'Bit, "Look at it!" Even in the dark, I can see the fear frozen on that poor doggy's face. "He's so scared," I said. Angry, Edgar replies, "He's not scared. Look at it." I slowly crawled over to the dog and the closer I got the more confused I became. A foot away, I leaned in and stared Lil'Bit in the face, that little white face, so close I could feel his breath, but just one little problem...no breath. Like a scene from a vampire movie, Edgar grabs hold of a curtain and flips it away from the window, dousing the room in sunlight, revealing everything, including Lil'Bit, was covered in a thick blanket of dust. With a jerk, I jumped to my feet, shaking off all the imaginary creepy crawlies and shouted, "What the hell? Oh my God, is he dead?" "Worse," said Edgar, "he's stuffed!" In disbelief, I leaned over the dog again and soon realized Edgar's diagnosis was indeed correct. "That crazy bitch fucking stuffed her damn dog," said Edgar, though the more standard term would be of coarse, "That crazy bitch fucking mounted her damn dog."

As Edgar paced in the background, blasting out profanities about how "sick this shit was" and how "messed up this whole situation was", I simply felt sad. Sad for that poor pup, stuck, frozen forever in that same fearful state. I wheeled him out of the closest, his three remaining legs nailed to a wooden plank, his forth leg, barely hanging on by a literal thread and tape and what appeared to be a piece of peppermint gum. Left ear gone, tail bent to the left, teeth missing, still, slowly decaying, and I stared once again into that face I had just moments before felt a connection to, wondering what the last picture Lil'Bit's one remaining right eye saw and was it as horrific as his expression hints it to be.

I had seen enough. I grabbed the open curtain and pushed it closed and for a moment, the room was once again dark, that was until the whole curtain rod gave way and came crashing down. I rushed to catch it before it feel on Lil'Bit, slicing off his remaining one good ear, but in the process, I tripped on a table, spilling everything on it to the floor, including a large box of even more pictures. "This is a nightmare," I whispered to myself. "Help me pick these up, we got to get out of here. And wheel Lil'Bit back into the closet for me."

With the dog safely back home, Edgar and I started picking up the pictures, each one of Lil'Bit, alive and all sitting beside a little girl, no older than 8, with red hair, freckles and too big glasses, smiling, hugging the dog, playing with the dog, loving that dog. Knowing the answer, but still asking the question, Edgar says, "Who's the little girl in the pictures?" Down the many flights of stairs, we heard a door slam, we heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I looked at Edgar DuHaven, eyes wide, and I whispered, "It's Kristina."

The Mystery of Man's Other Best Friend...

Like ice cold water, Edgar's screams brought me back to a reality...a reality for which I had always hoped, but how could it be? Lil'Bit, in this house? My skeptical body had yet to catch up to my racing mind, a mind seeing the three of us together, a family - a guy and his girl and their little dog too. Unable to move, struggling with all I have seen, yet praying for Edgar's words to be true, I relented, and in that moment, filled with such color. "I'm coming!" I screamed.

Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness of Kristina's home, I realized her place was huge, and I'm not talking New York City huge; just enough room for a bed and a dresser, I'm talking Architectural Digest huge. I had passed by her building, an old bank built back in 1898, hundreds of times and had always assumed it had been renovated and split into many different apartments. As I searched around, trying in vain to pinpoint Edgar's still calling voice, I soon realized this building had no other apartments, no other residents. This building, this whole building was just one home...Kristina's home...a six story, 72 room, 35,000 sq foot mansion, and I thought either Diary Queen pays their shift managers very well or Kristina had even more secrets than this joint has rooms. Yes, more than 72 secrets.

"Edgar, where are you?" I needed a map. I needed one of those mall maps with that You Are Here label. It didn't help that each room looked the same as the one before, decorated in the same drab lifeless motif. Door after creaky door, half expecting to see Shaggy and Scooby and the rest of the gang running through the hallways, in and out and in and out of the rows of doors, chased by werewolves, angry ghouls and ghost pirates, all to a canned laughter soundtrack.

Third floor then the forth. Fifth and then finally on the sixth, at the end of the hall, a light. "Edgar," I whispered loudly, "are you there?" With a confused look on his face, Edgar appeared at the door and motioned for me to join him. "Is it him? Is it Lil'Bit?" I asked. Edgar sort of smiled and said, "Yeah?" Slowly I walk toward the room, frightened of what may or may not be inside. As I took my place beside Edgar, he said quietly, "What's that sound?" "What sound?" I asked, realizing quickly it was my heart, thumping loudly from the six flights of stairs I just climbed but more from the anticipation of what was in that room.

Kristina's room. Not what I had expected but compared to the rest of the house, a pleasant change. Sheer orange curtains fluttered lazily away from the barely opened four windows of the room. The closets and drawers empty, its contents laid about the floor and on the unmade canopy bed. Glasses of water half full or half empty lined the bedside table along with half eaten pizza and peanut butter sandwiches. Dusty antiques, covered paintings, old candle sticks and old clocks all giving different times, and covering the walls, every inch of every wall, more dense than any wall in Heather Mary's room were pictures of a single dog. I stood in amazement. "She wasn't lying," I thought, "she was telling me the truth. It's Lil'Bit." I then turned my head, and in a dark corner of the room, hiding between a cardboard box and an empty gold frame, staring back at me with sad, glassy but still earnest eyes was a small brown dog with a white little face..."Hush," I whispered to Edgar, "don't scare him. It's Lil'Bit."

The Great Bowery Mystery...

"Before you say a word," I hurriedly said into the phone, giving Kristina not a moment to change her mind and hang up, "let me just say I'm sorry and Heather Mary had no right to go on like she did, and I shouldn't have been such a wimp and let her go on. I feel horrible and I miss you. I wish...I wish things could go back to the way they were before. I care about you, Kristina, maybe even love you. Hello? Hello?" The silence was deafening. "Please say something...anything. Tell me if I still have a chance." Then finally, on the other end of the phone, a soft voice breaks the still, "You are so gay," said Edgar DuHaven.

"What?" My voice cracked, confused and embarrassed. "What's going on? Edgar? What the hell?" But all I can hear is Edgar laughing, "I don't know if there's enough room for the three of us in Heather Mary's bed, but we can give it a try, baby." "Shut the fuck up," I screamed. Edgar replies, "Say it again, daddy, I like it when you talk rough." "Edgar!" I shouted into the phone, "what is going on? Is Kristina with you? Put her on!" But no hand-off would happen, Edgar remained on the line, bawling, "You are such a little pussy, Paul-David, I had no idea. "I love you, I want to kiss you," for the love of God man, grow a pair."

I didn't know what to say. Why was he talking on Kristina's phone, were they together, what the hell is going on?

"Alright, alright," says Edgar, a little more serious now, "enough of the funny, we're running out of time. You need to get over here right away, buddy." "Over where?" I asked, almost afraid to know the answer. "I'm in Kristina's house," says Edgar quietly. "In, her house?" I yelled, "Oh God!" Edgar continued, "Now before you get all red in the face at me, this was all Heather Mary's idea. I'm just being Ethel to her Lucy. And don't worry, Kristina's not here."

Don't worry? That's even worse. It was like a nightmare, "Heather Mary made you...what? Do you do everything Heather Mary says?" Edgar thinks, "She can be very persuasive, but no, not everything, she has quite an imagination...and so limber for a big gal. You every notice how she always smells of peaches? Want to know why?" Wanting off this subject, I shouted, "I'll be right there!"

In a few minutes, I found myself at the door on Bowery. I remembered the last time I was standing at the same spot, a moment filled with such promise. How did things change so fast? I knocked, hoping no one would answer, hoping this was a joke and Edgar was really at home, hidden away snugly in the many folds of Heather Mary, but no such luck. With a swoosh, the door opens, reveling a smiling and welcoming Edgar DuHaven. "Come in," he says, "the show's about to begin."

The apartment was dark but I found Edgar's eyes and glared, "I can't believe you broke in." Scoffing, Edgar replied, "Break? Oh, Lordy, I did not break. I slid. I may have squirmed. I may have jiggled and jimmied, but break?...oh no, my friend. I did not break." I looked down and saw Kristina's cell phone in Edgar's hand. Seeing my disgust, Edgar quickly explains, "Her phone was right there and I'm already out of minutes and...she's got like 2000 rollover minutes. Who's got 2000 rollover minutes? I thinks Heather Mary's right, there's something wrong with that girl." "Why? I shouted, "cause she's got a better plan than you? Jesus! So the girl doesn't like to talk on the phone, big deal. So she doesn't have a lot of friends, burn her at the stake. Yes Edgar, you got a million friends, well, I hate to break it to you but, you spend five years at a Jr. College, you're bound to meet a chum or two." Edgar stopped smiling, "Take a look around, Paul-David, and you can be really mean sometimes, you know that?" Apologies would have to wait.

I walked into the room. Lightless, empty, dusty, void of anything resembling a home. Not curtains, but heavy black and brown sheets covering the massive windows of the room. Walls adorned with gaping holes, exposed wires reaching down from empty light sockets like skinny red and yellow fingers, waiting to snatch up anything that passes by. Cold. Dark. Lonely and sad with just a pinch of anger thrown in. I had always pictured such differences - sunny, colorful pillows, plants, wall hangings with words of affirmations, a framed poster of "Foot Prints in the Sand". Shocked by what I saw, but astounded by what I didn't...no pictures of Lil'Bit. She said there was but I saw none...no where. None on the empty smoke stained walls, none on the filthy mantel above the trash filled fireplace, none on the non-existent coffee table beside the non-existent couch. No pictures, no dog bowls, no comfy pooch bed. She said there was but I saw none. No Lil'Bit.

As I stood in the empty room, reeling from her lies, I heard Edgar Duhaven scream from the next room, "It's Lil'Bit," he cried. "I think I found that damn dog!"

God Yes, Pity Me...

I left work early tonight. I wasn't sick, though I hadn't felt this horrible in years. It all happened so fast and before I knew it, I was swept away. Since meeting Kristina, I took every opportunity at the restaurant to slip into any and all conversations her name and our quickly changing status. "This girl I know, Kristina," eventually became "my friend, Kristina," which soon changed to "my girlfriend, Kristina". She wasn't imaginary or made up, she was as real as any one's girlfriend. And I felt for the first time in a long time, people looked at me as normal, and I liked that...to be looked at as normal...but I keep forgetting...I'm not normal.

The day after Kristina stormed out of my house, I went to work and as one might assume, I was sad. I'm usually pretty good at checking my emotions at the door like our Policy Manual dictates, but in this, a time of weakness, I relented. I didn't expect anyone to notice my saddened state much less care enough to ask if I was OK, but to my surprise and eventual dismay, someone did. Someone looked at me, detected something was wrong and cared enough to ask. Amazing! Fuck! That attention, that split second moment of legitimate human connection rushed through my veins, more powerful than any drug, addictive, and before I knew it, I craved. Craved their attention, their sympathy. Craved their hands on my shoulder, their soft words. I craved their pity. I knew it was wrong but it felt so right. The small, still sane portion of my soul lowed its head in shame as I strategically mapped out which of the restaurant's corners and nooks were best suited for me to appear alone for the audience. Far enough away but always just in sight. When to smile, when to frown for optimized viewing. "He's so strong," I imagined them saying. "He's really holding himself together." This went on for days. I got the best stations, the easiest customers, the least closing duties all to make my sad life a bit easier to live. And in their eyes, once filled with contempt and hatred, now flooded pathos...and I never felt worse about myself...well, I have, but not in a while.

Like any addiction, overdosing is inevitable. I took too much too fast and today, it made me feel horrible. I feel I have taken two steps back, back to the days I lied about my disease, back to the days I lied about who I truly am. Rock bottom. I knew this needed to stop so when early cuts were made, my sympathy card was flashed one last time, knowing there would be no objections. I went straight home and called Dr. Goode.

He said it was normal. What I was feeling was normal. But when I told him how much I liked the pity, how I searched for the pity, needed the pity, on the other end of the phone, there was a pause. A long, quiet, brain squeezing pause. He paused! And as many words to fill a book ran through my head in that pause, fearful of his upcoming, after the pause words, knowing all of them saying what a horrible person I am, craving pity, what is wrong with you, you sick fuck. He would use my past words against me. Like how, after my first breakdown, rather than telling everyone I was psychotic, I told them I had Cancer. Talk about compassion. Depending on how I felt that day, the Cancer would be either lung or stomach but never skin. Pity is best served to a pretty package. Skin cancer is a little too deforming...facially. How the lie got so big and so involved, bake sales were planned, car washes were commissioned and every kid in my class came to school with shaved heads to show solidarity with my own hairless head - from Cancer they assumed, a result of chemo and surely not a sick order from Tommy, the voice in my now bald head. All this was done to make my sad life a bit better. And I loved every fucking second of it. The pity, all that beautiful pity, and it was all for me.

And now Dr. Goode was going to use my words to tell me what I have always known, that I am still crazy, that I will never be sane and I better pack up my belongings cause it's back to the hospital for you, young man. As soon as he speaks, this is what he will tell me. As soon as he stops cursing the day he ever took me on as a patient, as soon as this pause stops. Good God, this is a long pause. OK, I get it, the effect is noted. Hello? Hello? Dr. Goode? I looked at my phone and saw the call had been disconnected. A moment later, the phone rings and I see in the caller ID, Dr.Goode's name and number. I answered and like nothing happened, he says, "Hello, sorry, we got disconnected." I smiled but didn't know what to say. He continued, "OK, so where were we, oh yes, so you got sucked into that whole pity thing again, well, I'm proud of you for stopping it before it got too big. You did really good. You stopped the behavior before it got carried away. Good job. You are really making good progress, Paul-David, a year ago, you would have kept that up for months. You're doing really good, buddy. I'll see you at our next appointment. Try not to worry about it. You're gonna be fine." "OK," I said, "Thanks?"

I hung up the phone, exhausted. I'm gonna be fine.

A moment later, the phone rings again. Did he change his mind, did he realize I really am crazy?

No. In the caller ID another familiar name and number is shown. It was Kristina. She was calling me. After a week, she was calling me, and I was so excited to answer the phone.

Fighting Like Cat and Dog People...

Ding Dong. It's Kristina. I wanted to run but - Ding Dong - Kristina knew I was home. Heather Mary motioned for me to answer the door, she wanted to talk to - Ding Dong - Kristina. Heather Mary felt she herself needed to prove to me what a - Ding Dong - Kristina was.

I answered the door and there she stood, dressed in her Dairy Queen duds. "Did you find my camera?" She asked. Heather Mary held the camera outside her door, swinging it back and forth. "Oh, Thank God," she cried. "I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached." "It happens," I said. She explained how this behavior is a habit she'd like to fix. Misplacing her keys, leaving her purse behind on the train. "My parents were the same," she laughed. "It was a running joke. Their absent mindedness was a way to excuse their shortcomings, back and forth they would go, "you lose everything, including your hair" my mum would say to papa. And papa would counter, "you're absolutely right, I haven't been able to find your waistline in years." Oh, we would laugh. Geez, I lost my virginity at 12 and everyone called me a slut, but I wasn't, losing things just runs in the family." She laughed. I kept my eyes on the floor. Heather Mary shouted from her room, "So I guess you could say you come from a long line of losers?"

Kristina looked in Heather Mary's direction then back to me. "Coffee?" She asked. But before I could answer, Heather Mary's head shot out her door. "So, any luck with the dog? Kristina shook her head, then back to me, but this time pleading. "Coffee?"

"Do you have any pictures of the little guy, I'd love to see what you've been missing." Kristina smiles and pulls out one of the lost dogs fliers we've been posting all over town. Heather Mary cocks her head, "Oh, I've seen that one, Sweety. I can see them hanging all over the buildings outside my window. I was hoping maybe you had another one, maybe a snapshot of the two of you?" Kristina's face freezes and stares directly at Heather Mary, "I don't, sorry." Heather Mary smiles, "Really? Maybe in your purse, in your wallet? Surely you must carry something with you?" I can see Kristina becoming more and more uncomfortable with the questions, and my guilt for not interfering is exceeded only by my curiosity of what her answers might be. Heather Mary continues the interrogation. "I can't imagine what you must be going through right now. I know when I lost my kittys, all my little kittys, I couldn't move for weeks. Literally. I could not move. Devastated doesn't come close to explain how I felt. Remember Paul-David? Oh, that's right, how could you remember? How could you?"

"Wait a minute," I thought. "Who's on trial here?"

Heather Mary pulls a chair to the door and sits. "I really admire you, girl. To find a place for all that pain, a place strong enough to hold it so you can go off to work and get coffee and have dinner over at a friend's houses and go on about your life like nothing ever happened. Wow, you are something." Kristina nodded her head, "It hasn't been easy." "I'm sure," said Heather Mary. "I just think it's kind of strange to not have any pictures of the pooch with you. I have hundreds and hundred of pictures of my Jingle." Kristina has had enough of what ever is going on and says, "I have tons of pictures at home, Heather Mary. Tons of them, maybe you'd like to come over and see them?" My eyes widen...oh no she didn't! "Not everyone is obsessed with their pet, Sweety. I love and miss Lil'Bit more than I can say, but life goes on. Just because I haven't killed myself doesn't mean I don't love my dog, and just because I don't wear hideous nightshirts with his picture ironed on it doesn't mean I don't miss him." Heather Mary looks at her beloved nightshirt featuring Jingle plastered as big as day on the front. "I have five more in all different colors in my closet," Heather Mary says. "I'm sure you do," sneers Kristina. "You don't have to have a million pictures," she holds up the lost dog flier, "this is the only one that counts. This one might bring him home. We're not all crazy like you, Heather Mary!"

And for a moment, it seemed as though Heather Mary might have been served. She looked at the camera still in her lap, turned it on, and started going through all the pictures again. Heather Mary shook her head and looked directly at Kristina. "I don't think you're crazy like me, not at all. I think you're in a whole different league."

Kristina grabbed the camera and walked out the door. "Are you coming?" She asked. "I'm gonna hang out here, I think," I said. With a slam, she shut the door behind her. I looked at Heather Mary and she did the same.

Women.