Larry

I really hadn’t known him very long. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone ever really knew him. He was one of those unique individuals that would one day just kind of saunter into your life, not one to push a welcome or become a burden. His needs were basic and easy to fill. I remember the first day we met. It was a glorious summer evening in Mid-May. The brilliant Texas sun blanketed me in soft, setting rays as I contemplated life in my little garden, a glass of merlot in one hand, the garden hose in the other. Thinking and watering, watering and thinking. Thinking of what, it doesn’t really matter. The watering is all that was important. I was not expecting a visitor that evening, after my divorce, solitude had become my only comfort.

I had just rolled up my garden hose and was preparing myself a seat in the wicker chair under the shade of the old Oak tree when I looked up, and there he was. Not right in front of me, mind you. He was quite a distance down the alley when our eyes first met. He was certainly headed in my direction. I noticed his walk was more of a saunter, each step of his strut filled with purpose and poise. Then as he grew closer, I became lost in his eyes. They were like pools of dark espresso, shiny and kind. The eyes of a traveler. I saw life and love of life in them. I could tell instantly that he had felt the supreme bliss of the highest of life’s greatest moments. And I saw in the depth of those chocolate pools that he had felt the bitter cold of winters spent with no one to hold. I felt no threat as his pace slowed and he came to a halt in front of me. He was short enough that I had to adjust my gaze downward to continue to maintain eye contact with the stranger. I scanned his face and searched his eyes for what words to use for my introduction. I closed the distance between us and extended my hand.

“Kind of warm out this evening, isn’t it? Sit down a moment and I’ll get us something cool to drink.” As he sat down, I went in the house and brought us back some nice cold water. Nothing hits the spot quite like it. He must have been doing a lot of walking because I didn’t think he would ever quench his thirst. We spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other, seems like I did all the talking. It got dark way to quick that night and I had to get up early the next morning. So, when there was nothing but the sound of the breeze and a few distant crickets between us, I excused myself and headed towards the house. As he eased on down the alley, I hollered at him to come back and visit anytime. I always enjoy good company.

Over the next few months, we had become good friends, and each night ended with him easing on down the alley. You know, it’s kind of funny, I never thought to ask him where he lived. That didn’t really seem important. The world was his home, it was a fact about him, spoken only through his energy and the salt colored strands that peppered the once solid coal black hair of this traveler.

Then one day, the visits stopped. This alarmed me and weighed heavily on my heart. Friends are hard to come by and giving one up isn’t an easy thing for me. His company had made realize how nice it was to have someone to share my day with. The absence of my friend stung and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had said or done something that could have chased him off. I spent the following month asking neighbors if they had seen him. It was only then that I met my now husband, who offered to help me look for him. Meeting Thomas was a gift I never expected to receive and if it weren’t for my chance encounter with the stranger from the alley, we may have never found each other. It didn’t take long to discover just how well known the alley wanderer was. It seemed everyone knew him, liked him, and even loved him. He especially loved the kids, because they would toss the ball back and forth for a minute. Something he carried from his youth, no doubt. All of the ladies shared stories filled with comments on his vibrant, adventurous eyes and his confident, not cocky, strut. The men would share how he always seemed to know when the pit was lit and would invite himself to sit for a bit.

Amazingly, I found out that he was known by many different names. I knew him as “Larry.” God, how I miss that dog.