The dog had a large plastic bag in his mouth, taking some amount of effort on my part to pry it away. I put what appeared to be some herbs on the kitchen counter and wondered why Arial held on to anything this long. It immediately triggered a recollection:
Odd how I put a plastic egg with a Silly Putty womb and a tiny baby jammed inside into an ornamental nest crowning a pine tree near the front door of her house. It had been given to me by an ex- girlfriend. Arial took what was meant as an innocent joke back then as gravid foreshadowing instead, stating that an astrologer's prognosis of my natal chart in which he saw a pending child, as the very proof of her own pregnancy. When confronted if she bought a test kit to make sure, I was rebuked that a consultation with her favorite psychic was all she needed for a positive reading.
I placed the bag of Pennyroyal the dog brought me back in a cardboard box, unsure which one it was pulled out of and reflected some more. One other flare up occurred around that time, shortly after Arial got her period thus proving either the abortive herb had worked or the psychic and astrologer were dead wrong. I had enrolled in her acupressure class. Somehow I got partnered up with a slender, suntanned cutey of blonde persuasion and when I saw a serpentine scar on her stomach while she was laying flat, she explained to me that all her organs had been removed, set on a surgical table and then replaced, prior to being sewn up.
I complimented my partner on her abilities to read meridian pulses as well as fully healing from the gastrointestinal surgery. Big mistake. Scorpion poison shot through Arial's eyes. And the lashing I received afterward when I shared what I had said made me drop out of the class. I had to putt around town to kill an evening every Wednesday. Too bad. I wanted to become an acupressure therapist at the time but after that incident, couldn't bring myself to pursue it.
So now the decade long circle has been completed thanks to the dog and I'm still left wondering. The Chocolate Lab is now snoring by my side as I write this, dreaming of other reminder finds amidst Arial's boxes. Maybe, while I'm sleeping on the floor of the therapy room tonight, the pooch will drop on my stomach an unremembered declaration of love, unconditionally inscribed on some tincture bottle that can be taken under the tongue, inspiring a remedial forgiveness and letting go and healing of wounds, surgical and otherwise.
(C) 2012-Jaye Beldo