The Dog of the North

by Elizabeth Mckenzie

I hated it when I wasn’t sure what someone was saying, and always took it to be my fault, an auditory processing problem.

We discover things about our spouses that nobody else ever will. Marriage is one long striptease of the soul.”

I was always prepared to imagine that the person I was hanging around with had suddenly become enraged at me, but I had nevertheless failed to develop techniques for making things better. My instinct was to get away from them as fast as possible.

I’ve always found it strange how quickly a person can lose control, how thin the veneer of civilized behavior really is.

Back then it was almost as if nothing had seemed real until she’d heard about it. Was that why nothing had seemed real since?

She’d always said she didn’t feel comfortable around people, though she craved their attention and approval. Every social encounter for her was fraught with peril and difficulty. In a world of rocks, she was serene.

Later, as I arranged my body under the sheet in order to find a satisfactory position, the sweet fragrance of wattle flowers drifted in through the screen along with the clicks and trills of mysterious insects. My grandfather was already asleep, breathing quietly. I wondered if anyone in the world might be thinking of me at that instant, decided probably not, and felt momentarily like a tearful child.

“Tomorrow’s another day. I want to go back to Margaret’s and spend time with living people. I’ll have plenty of time for ghosts later on.”

More to the point, I knew what lows one could get to with another person! I never wanted to be in that situation again.