would drive to the airport and watch planes from the observation tower.
Today, I’m flying to visit my sister Linda, my nephew Dawson and my
niece Kayla Loo! Oh, and their giant golden Samson.
It must be my first time in Terminal 2, or it’s all new. The $15 to
check my bag is certainly new. 42nd Street Oyster Bar has a spot and
so does Carolina Ale House. Nice terminal.
Starbucks of course. Triple venti three pump breve mocha with whip,
thanks! And Borders. I popped in for the fourth in a Pokemon series
I’ve being giving Dawson. Standing in line, I picked up The Art of
Racing in the Rain. I’m notorious for reading the end first, and since
the story involves a dog, I certainly did. I went right to what looked
like the last chapter or so. The book is from the dog’s voice. He
writes that his life has been so short. His life has been so long.
Everybody talks about the will to live, he says, and then asks what
about the will to die.
My eyes burst, my heart raced. I set the book down. I saw my little
dog Rea those last weeks flashing thru my mind. Laying there with
her, unable to leave her side, but knowing she couldn’t leave me either.
I picked the book back up. I can’t read the rest, but of course I
can’t not read the rest. My beau Jay graciously previews what I fear
might break my heart. Jay, it’s page 310.
I’m going to miss dreadfully my little dog Luna and my beautiful Jules
dog, while I’m in Indianapolis. But in my luggage, making it’s way to
the plane, is my bedside framed photo of my Reason. Her absence still
cripples me.
On the back of the novel and the reason I read inside, a review wrote
that it’s “the perfect book for anyone who knows….that the
relationship between two souls who are meant for each other never
really comes to an end.”
That I know, in my heart, with me, Reason, always.
I am I think. I think I am. 