A ghostly night. Something important was on my mind, but the details I can’t place. For peace of mind, Sean Andy and I took to the Oakwood Cemetery, singing Dylan and The Band (standards). When there’s talking to do, I’m of the opinion that walking fuels progression of ideas towards a possible solution. We needed to talk so we took to walk.
Single-filed we marched down from The Mount through gravestones and rubble. His eyes catching the dark sky, Andy misstepped onto a flat monument, gaining instant bad vibes. We shouted at the shadows and pissed on the clean white snow and clean white trees. Eventually we found satisfaction or exhaustion and trekked back to the Mount and down to the street. Tired and cold, something was figured out. Then we met Max and Buster.
Two dogs relationship unknown. Best friends I imagine. I’m not the best with breeds, but I recall Max as a terrier of some kind. Buster was big and dumb. I took to him. Sean, a dog whisperer of sorts, calmed them down. Soon, we were able to get them to join us in the vestibule of the Toilet Bowl. Naturally the dogs couldn’t be let inside, so we elected to wait with the dogs until a shelter or better option became available. We sat tight, and when six o clock rolled up Andy hopped to Bruegger’s for tasty bagels. Him gone, a slight door confusion gave Buster an opportunity to take flight. I dropped my bags and bolted out the door.
I chased this dog over the green of campus. I ran up the hill at Crouse. I ran across both the Syracuse and ESF quads. I ran around the Dome and adjacent parking lot. Buster was giving me a tour of campus before my flight home, as if he was worried I could forget. He stayed constantly a quarter mile ahead, close enough to show me his stupid grin waiting for me to catch up. Panting and blistering, my running became sudden sprints, but Buster would not be fooled by my lazy trickiness. I wasn’t sure if he was playing with me or punishing me, dictating me, and driving me to a breaking point.
He was trapped. A stone wall enclosed him. From the jaws of victory, Buster escaped by final sprint by scaling the stone wall. Defeated and downtrodden, I walked around and climbed the fence back into Oakwood.
Karmic justice. The ghosts of the night had snaked me back. The dog ran off into the impossible vastness of this ancient frosty court. My face now Canadian bacon, I accepted my fate and eventual death, walking through the hills ready to fall down and never have to get up again.
The pace of my life cracked still. There nothing else but white snow. No cold, no wind, no thoughts, no love. I picked a point and walked through those rolling hills for what could have been years. The snowy desert bloomed a mirage in the distance. I ran and found a great pyramid, which made me think of The Cage and brought me back to Earth momentarily.
Eventually I came to my last lonely hill. Buster played with a new friend distance far ahead. I summoned my reserves and fell forward to him. I met a professor, who was walking her lab and paying respects. She had us in her pickup and dropped us back to Haven. I don’t remember her much.
A van came and took Max and Buster away. Nothing was heard or thought of it again.
The Life of Joe 