Unfinished Story (January 2006)

Louise absently tucked a rogue spray of auburn hair back into the loosely bound knot at her nape.  It was just before noon and the heat of the midsummer day was stirring the mercury in the glass to climb toward to sweltering apex.  The park was unusually crowded.  The breeze carried the taunts and squeals of children out over the emerald lake to land among the mermaids disguising their foreign songs. Lightning seeds danced in the airline little faeries in ballerinas' garb, and Seymour, the dog, made diligent efforts to catch them for his midmorning snack.

Louise was casually reclining on the white blanket painted with poppy-colored blossoms.  The basket at her side held the day's ammunition of berries, bitter chocolate and a bottle of the cheap red wine with the charming bicycle on the label.  There were also books in the basket:  a journal for recording her thoughts, a dog-eared copy of a beloved work of fiction, and a couple of self-help books which were carried neither for prevention nor redemption.  Louise was simply the kind of woman who had lost herself on the train ride of life, and she was willing to look for clues - to where her true self might be hiding - in any place she could fathom.  George Bernard Shaw once said:  Life is not about finding yourself.  Life is about creating yourself.  Unfortunately for Louise, she had not been informed of this great truth, so she lived out a life of quiet mediocrity while dreaming of her True Self out in the world living the life she was too afraid, too lazy, or too ignorant to create.

This day was no exception.  It was Sunday.  And every Sunday Louise packed a picnic and strolled to the park, an eager Seymour dancing excitedly at the end of his leash.  Louise liked the park.  It was simple and beautiful there.  And when she was there, surrounded by the children at play, the lovers in love, and the little old men playing checkers, she was able to forget - for a few moments - how lonely she felt in the world.  Sometimes she'd bring work with her allowing the fresh air to clear her thoughts and spark her productivity.  Bt today Louise simply sat and observed the workings of the world around her.  Sometimes she made notes in her journal about the passage of the seasons, or sketches of the ever-changing landscape and faces.  Other times she gossiped with Seymour about such shocking events as the new youngster who usurped Old Man Johnson's title as "City Park Checkers Champion".

Seymour was feeing particularly energetic today.  Despite Louise's  plaintive cries for quiet repose, Seymour was tugging at her skirt hem relentlessly coercing Louise into action.  "Okay!" she sighed finally, "We'll take a walk around the park's perimeter.  But, then, we take a rest ... deal?"  Seymour sounded a bark of agreement, then promptly set about bathing Louise's sandaled feet with slobbery kisses of gratitude.

Seymour was quite familiar with the Sunday afternoon park scene.  He had keenly put to memory the lay of the land with its details and irregular regularities.