The Red Haired Girl and Her Dog 1.2

    I had never seen the girl before. I had been living in this piece-of-shit college apartment for four months and no one had ever been visible. It was the week before commencement. The circuit breaker in the apartment kept failing and I had to climb down into the basement every few hours and reset the switch. The final step of the basement stairs was just a plank of wood stacked on a pile of bricks.

     I had gotten into the habit of eating peanut butter and toast with a mug full of milk in the kitchen, standing and looking out at the backyard. That morning was particularly beautiful and I was surprisingly not hungover. Two or three houses rested behind mine in an upscale slum village in Upstate New York and when the sun set it would catch in the trees.

     It was unusually hot for May and the girl wore short blue shorts.  They were similar to the pair I wore when I went to the lake. Her thighs blared white, almost like they were over exposed. They radiated as she walked. I couldn’t quite make out her face, she was just a little to far away. At her feet padded a Jack Russell terrier. The girl approached from the north side of the lawn and I watched her from the kitchen windows. The old tin spice rack didn’t obscure my view but I had to move around the empty coffee cans to get a good look. I couldn’t tell how old she was. The dog wasn’t on a leash. She must live around here; she’d probably be about 14 or 16 then. She walked like she was older though. She moved slowly, she didn’t rush or prance.

     She made her way to the mailbox and the dog split off and walked himself over to the large sailboat my landlord must have been trying to sell. It was about 30 feet long and had a red stripe down the side. The dog lifted its leg and peed on the trailer. The girl walked with a floating tendency. Her legs stretched out across the green grass. She had curly bright red hair that bounced when she walked. She stood and flipped through the white envelopes but didn’t open any.

     I stood in the kitchen in yesterday’s athletic shorts and a large grey sweatshirt. I had purchased it at a thrift store and when my mother saw it she decided to send me some of my little brother’s old pullovers. I took a swig of milk. I looked at the kitchen, with the ants crawling across the cutting board. The wallpaper of the kitchen was peeling to reveal prettier wallpaper underneath. 

     Out the window the girl called for her dog. I don’t think she called it by name. I took a step closer but still couldn’t quite make out her face. She didn’t smile at the dog as he hustled to her. Before she could turn and go, I went back to the living room with my empty mug to finish my book.