Oscar Loves Me Anyway

Oscar and I are about as tight as two occasional companions can be.  When we get together every couple of months, it's like no time has passed.  Without wasting energy on feeble explanations or awkward excuses, our reunion launches fresh but familiar feelings.  We are as comfortable sharing floor pillows as we are looking for treasures left by the tide.  Sometimes we fight over the Sunday paper, but Oscar always relents.  He can't read.

When I appeared outside his house two nights ago, it was as though he was expecting me.  Camped-out by the back door, he was facing the kitchen radio and it sounded like he was watching Terry Gross.  My tap on the door glass got his attention and his delight was automatic.  He gyrated and snorted, shimmied and sneezed as we smelled each other's necks.  We're hard huggers, both of us.  He snatched a barrette from my puny ponytail, and refusing to give it back, teased me until I forgave him.  That's just how Oscar is.

The kitchen at Oscar's is state-of-the-art with stainless everything, and a pantry stocked with all my favorites.  He likes the smell of cooking almost as much as he enjoys eating.  The consumate host with a preference for ordinary water, there is a veritable tub of rich dark coffee for me.  That evening we shared a simple meal, and afterward settled together on the couch to watch a little television. 

Later, we went out to garden to admire the full moon sitting high behind a glaze of wispy night clouds. Oscar indulged my digital experiments, but refused to sit still for a portrait.  That's when I noticed the mosquitoes hovering around his beard, and gave-up.  There would be plenty of time for pictures.

I don't believe I've ever enjoyed a bed so much as the one I sleep in at Oscar's.  Goldilocks would not be disappointed by its down batting, regal thread counts, and pillows that come with a good dream guarantee.  French doors lead to a spacious balcony, and that night I left them ajar so that I might enjoy watching the silky curtains dancing in the breeze.  The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was the moonlight mingling with Oscar's shimmery white hair.

He has never cared much for my workday schedule.  Yesterday, the alarm went-off at 6:00 AM, and as usual I woke up in good humor.  Oscar is not into morning.  He waited until I came out of the bathroom, and finally followed me downstairs where I started the coffee.  We went outside to see what had blossomed in the garden since midnight. He hesitated at the sharp Florida grass, wet and tough on his sensitive feet.  I moved to the hibiscus, while my friend gingerly approached the bamboo.   Without too much prodding, he at last obeyed his natural instinct while I discreetly studied the striped sky.  When he was done, I removed the evidence and deposited the warm plastic bag in the trash can before we headed back to the coffeemaker.

I remember noticing how elegant the kitchen appeared through the glass door.  The locked glass door!  Oscar sat patiently while I fiddled with the handle, and except for his loud empty-stomach growls, didn't utter a sound.  I looked at the lock box out of which I had removed the key twelve hours earlier.  It had not grown another one.  I glanced at the island-counter just beyond the door where clearly the key sat next to my purse,  next to my phone. 

After seeing my hagard reflection in the door window, I knew with absolute certainty that I would scare strangers.  I don't think my blue cowboy pajama bottoms alone would have bothered anyone.  The black Tshirt spelling-out Tampa Bay in brass studs merely seemed touristy.  But combine those separate articles with my frizzy anti-hero halo, white flip-flops framing flaking red-lacquered toenails and someone might call the authorities.  I looked like an unmedicated Medusa.

I remembered that I had hidden a car key inside my wheel well for emergency escapes.  Though he was usually enthusiastic to hear "let's go bye-bye in the car," Oscar appeared somewhat confused.  When we both settled into our respective seats, we spent the next forty minutes ignoring each other.  By 7:00 AM I was breaking-into my own apartment, an event so commonplace that my neighbors have started to time me.  After I sequestered two truly pissed-off cats, Oscar's spirits returned.  I borrowed a bowl of dog food, showered, dressed, and left for work with minutes to spare. 

Eight hours and $65.00 later, Oscar and I were again reclining on the couch recovering from our misadventure.  The kind people with whom Oscar lives will not return for a week.  I savor the quiet sanctuary of their comfortable home where I have access to luxuries I'm not accustomed to.  Like the sassy white dog who is laying next to me now and nudging my elbow.  I think Oscar needs to go out.