For Patrick..

Messages..

"My dog died."

That's the message I receive late one night.  I don't know how, but I could see my friend's face, pale and sad…his emotions hidden within the folds of his skin, the beard that covers half his face which is hiding a frown and the weariness I see inside the shadows of his green eyes.

I sense a restlessness and close my eyes, sending a silent message of comfort to my mourning friend.

He loves running and that's what he's doing the next time I see him.

I'm on one of my beach walks with my friend, MB.  I recognize him immediately and he stops to chat with us.

"Come give me a sweaty hug," I say with a grin.

He puts his arms around me and then wipes his forehead on the side of my face.

"Eww!"

He laughs and I step back laughing as well.  I like it when the darkness is at bay.  Now I understand a bit more why he enjoys running so much.  There's the endorphin high at the end, of course, but there's a freedom and release to it.  It's meditative.  Your mind becomes clear and you're aware of the entire connection.  To yourself.  To the Earth.  To your heartbeat.

He's gone, running down the pathway.  MB and I head towards the Pier.  In the midst of our conversation, I could feel the remnants of a story that's waiting to be told.  A gift.

On my way home, I see him running down Poli.  This time, I see a dog running next to him.  He's black and white with lots of fur…and he's got this happy dog grin that's contagious.

I turn down Chestnut and head home.  I photograph the image inside my head like a Polaroid picture and store it away for me…and for him.

We get together later that week for our regular movie night.  Not a date, not a nonchalant, superficial visit.  Just two people who enjoy each other's company with an under current of another story not ready to make its debut.

"Do you remember how MB and I saw you at the beach?"  I ask him after the credits for 'Goonies' fills the screen.

"Yeah.  That was unexpected."

I nod and say, "You were by yourself, but later as I was driving home, I saw you on Poli running with a dog."

"A dog?  What did it look like?" he asked with a careful tone.

I pull up the Polaroid picture in my mind and describe to him with as much detail as I can recall.

He's quiet for what seems like forever and sighs.  He's looking past me, out the window into the still night that holds his thoughts.  I'm looking at him, waiting for him to reply.

"I wonder…" he starts to say.

"You know, now that I think about it.  That dog looked like a younger version of Ned."

I remember going with him to his parent's house.  Ned, his dog, was so ecstatic to see him.  He was the only source of lightness and color in a monochromatic environment.

"But, it can't be…" he whispers.

"Maybe I was just seeing things.  I don't know.  Could've been some stray."  I interject.

"No.  It wasn't a stray.  The only dog that I would take running with me was Ned." 

"Well, maybe he wanted to run with you one more time…

Or maybe he'll be with you every time you run…and maybe you'll get to see him again…

If you pay attention..."

I smile at him when I say this and put my head on his shoulder.  I can see he's still looking out the window and we stay like that for hours…just listening to the night and the faint sounds of paws running on concrete.