Made With Concentrate

Where I am right now is inside the Salt Lake City Library.

Tiny beads of raindrops form on the window to my left, while a young girl spins 'round and 'round in a swivel chair to my right. 

The sound the rain makes on the aluminum roof above, it reminds me of tens of thousands of soldiers marching. 

How I feel right now is vulnerable but optimistic. 

I have just changed my work schedule to having Thursdays and Fridays off. This is so I can go visit Ms. River every other week, on every other Thursday.
How I feel right now is naked. My phone is turned off and haven't been able to speak with Ms. River in almost 36 hours.
Every other minute, like the rain my eyes continue to fall but on my cell phone, watching for the message and waiting for the vibration to let me know my phone is back on.
The little girl in the swivel chair, her mother tells her to stop, tells the girl she might get sick if she continues on.
The only way I've been able to communicate with Ms. River is via E-mail. The response between the two of us has been few and far in between.
A cell phone plays a ringing sound and a young man who calls himself Nick answers the phone.
Nick has forgotten his password and wants the entire library to know how unsatisfied he is with a certain company's customer service.
My fingers pause over my keyboard as I try to concentrate on my next sentence.
Nick, apparently his mother's maiden name is Wiley. "Like the coyote!" He yells.
A blanket of "Shush's" fill the air around me.
There is a middle aged overweight male, resembling an Orson Wells(circa 1960's) look. He breathes heavily, looks at me and says, "You think he knows this is a library?"
The rain continues to march on the roof above me while Nick yells into his phone, "You say you want to know my zip code?"
What's  happening right now is the same thing that  happens when your in bed, late at night trying to sleep. The smallest of sounds sometimes, can be the loudest annoyance.
Right now Nick's voice, it sounds like a roller coaster on a fucking chalkboard.
Right now Nick tells everyone that his last log in date was sometime in "Juneish."  
Trying to concentrate right now, is just as hard as tying to concentrate on sleep while Ms. River runs through my mind. For the past few nights, instead of counting sheep, I count beautiful memories and the days it's been since I've seen her..
The time on my cell phone tells me right now, this very second, Ms. River is in class, probably running on no sleep and a pumpkin spice latte.
Nick tells his phone and everyone in the room that he'll "have to go get that." Whatever "that" is.
I close my eyes for a second, try to concentrate and push through but I can't.
My thoughts are watered down into a concentrate I can no longer concentrate on.
I close up my laptop, stand up and head out the door.
"Thank you!" Nick says into his phone.
No, thank you Nick, thank you.

When Vocals Fold.

    This is when it starts to happen.
When I get quiet and my eyes start to water.
When my throat tries to resonate any sort of vibration from my larynx up through my lips.
This is what happens when I can no longer speak.
This is what I like to call, "The Depressing Pause."
The Department of Health and Human Services describes this as, when vocal folds no longer produce a vibration, causing nothing but air to slowly fall out of my open mouth.
After a moment of silence, I make a grunting noise, bringing to life the muscles that have recently failed me.
"Sorry..." I say
"About what?" River asks.
"Sorry for getting so Emo, for a moment." I say.
Where I am is laying down in my bedroom, talking to Ms. River.
Where I am is getting out of my "Good times bus" after taking a drive down memory lane, doing my best to walk a straight line and speak a straight word.
The funny thing about all of this is, you never know when that unexpected teardrop is about to form from the corner of your eye.
Three minutes ago, all I was doing was asking about a simple raspberry plant.
A raspberry plant that was purchased from a simple Low's Home and Garden with a simple twenty dollar bill.
Now I lay here and rub my Adams Apple, feeling like an extra from a Charlie Chaplin film.
"It's okay." Ms. River says. "I understand."
I take a moment and breathe, letting go a thick cloud of nostalgia, letting it pass through my vocal folds and into the air.
Three minutes ago it was a simple raspberry plant, reminding me of simple sunshine and generous offerings that make all the difference.
"What where you thinking about?" Ms. River asks
"Raspberries", I say "I was thinking about raspberries."

On Saturday's, the Lowe's Home and Garden in Henderson is open from 10 AM to 8 PM.
The digital clock on my phone tells me it's a quarter to one when we pull in the parking lot.
Ms. River and Ms. River's  Mother,-or "moms" as we both call her, have decided to stop and take a look at few seasonal plants and flowers and more importantly, a raspberry plant.
Ms. River and I had been fighting for what felt like several weeks.
After a few days of silence, sometimes the only thing to do is to argue.
When you go so long without noise, sometimes the best thing to do is just turn on the power, and turn up the volume.
Inside the open air garden, Ms. River and moms wheel a shopping cart around the corner of grass seed and insecticides.
I hand the cashier a twenty dollar bill and he hands me back $1.72 in change.
Afterwards, I turn around and walk back towards garden hoses and lawn furnishings.
What I have in my hand is a raspberry plant.
A simple plant with nothing but a short stem, sprouting from a gallon of soil, inside of a black plastic bucket.
River and moms stop in front of Jasmine flowers and whisper something back and forth in Russian.
"Rita," I say, "Here". I extend both my arms and hand over the plastic bucket with the sprouting stem.
"What's this for?" Moms asks.
"It's for you." I say, and place my arm around moms, giving her a smile and a hug.
Out of the corner of my eye, Ms. River's look, it tells me she's happy but still wants to be mad at me.
I move over to Ms. River and place my arm around her waist.
She tells me, "I'm happy but I still want to be mad you." She says.
"Sorry." I say. "Would you prefer if I were a dick?" I ask.
This is the first time I see a genuine smile in over a week.

So this is when it happens.
This is when tears form from the corner of my eye and my vocal folds, fold.
Something simple I know.
I miss times like these. Times when something so simple can make a world of difference.
I ask Ms. River about the raspberry plant, how it looks now.
"You should see it." She says. "It's crazy. It's grown from the ground up to the top of the patio."
I take a deep breath and attempt to say something.
Anything.
"Are you okay?" River asks.

Where I am right now is inside a Lowe's Home and Garden.
Watching a smile I haven't seen for weeks.
Watching my love continue to grow from the ground up to a patio.
From my larynx to my lips.

Barks In Translation

Where I am right now is standing in the entrance of Ms. River's apartment. 
What I look at, are a pair of big puppy dog eyes and a large tongue that hangs down towards the floor. 
The thing you need to realize is, if you want to get to know Ms. River, you need to get to know Maggie McGaggie. 
Standing on all fours, Maggie McGaggy continues to look up at me, and through her large, puppy brown eyes, her look says, "Who the fuck are you?" 
I bend down and reach the palm of my hand out towards her nose. Maggie sniffs and licks my palm and looks at me one more time. 
Her look says, "Okay." It says, "Just don't try anything with my mom." It says, "Mother Fucker." 
I scratch her behind her ear and tell her it's nice to meet her. 
"Pupsicles!" Ms River says. River bends down and throws her arms around Maggie McGaggie and tells her she loves her. 
The thing is, if you've ever heard Ms. River talk about Maggie, then you know. 
You see for yourself. 
You hear for yourself how much compassion and love River has bottled away, only for a select few to see. 
For those lucky enough to see this face with the mask off, it's kind of a wonderful thing. 
Ms. River puts her cheek up against the nose of Maggie McGaggie and continues to smile. 
"Pupsicles!" Ms. Rivers says "Oh, I love you puppy." She says. 
With her same puppy dog look, Maggie Mcaggie looks at Ms. River and says, "Where the fuck have you been?" She says "...and who the fuck is is the new guy?" 
I slide my laptop bag off my shoulder and take a seat next to a small kitchen table. 
Maggie makes a slow trot my way and stops two feet in front of me. 
"Hi." I say
She looks back at River and back towards me and back towards River. 
"Are you going to be nice Pupsicles?" River asks. 
Maggy Mcaggie, Pupsicles, she pauses a moment, looking towards her mom and back to me. Her look says, "Don't fucking try anything." 
My look back at her, it says, "I wont." It says "At least not when you're in the same room." 
Ms. River sets down her backpack and moves towards myself and a pair of inquisitive puppy dog eyes. 
I stand up and place the palms of both my hands on River's hips and draw her close. 
"BARK!"
I draw River close and press my lips against her lips. 
"BARK, BARK!"
My lips slide down from her lips and press against the soft skin of her neck. 
"BARK, BARK, BARK!"
While the palm of my right hand slowly moves up towards River's back, I can only translate this to, "I thought we had a deal Mother Fucker!" 
I lift Ms. River up and set her on the small dinning room table. 
My hand moves under her shirt and over the top of her breast. My opposite hand pulls up on her shit, sliding it up and over her nipples. 
Just as my tongue begins to swirl around a bare breast and bare nipple, Maggie McGaggie barks, over and over and over she barks. 
This can only translate to, "You don't waste any time do you." This translates to, "Just wait, just you fucking wait until you leave a pair of underwear or a pair of pants on the floor." 
"BARK"
"BARK"
"BARK" 
I stop and laugh and pull myself up from Ms. River and her dinning room table. 
"Maggie McGaggie!" Ms. River says. "Be nice McGags." 
Maggie McGaggie, Pupsicles, McGags, she looks up at me and over to River. Her look says, "That's better." It says, "Works every time." 
After the small kitchen table and kissing, River tells McGags that it's time to go to the park. She grabs a black leash from the kitchen and clips it to the collar of Maggie McGaggie. 
Opening the front passenger door, Ms. River tells me I might want to sit in the back. 
"She's probably going to want to sit in the front seat." River says, "Which means she probably going to want to sit on your lap." She says "Which means it might be a little uncomfortable." 
I tell her it's okay. 
"I don't mind. I'm sure it'll be fine." I say. 
Ms. River opens the back, passenger door for McGaggie.
"Go on." River says. 
Maggie McGaggie looks at Ms. River and over to me. 
"Go on." River says again. 
Maggie McGaggie jumps into the back seat of River's silver Honda Civic and looks at me. 
Her look right now, it says, "Okay." Her look says, "That's how you want to fucking play this is it?" 
Ms. River closes the front drivers door and starts her car. 
With the three of us inside, Maggie McGaggie slowly works her way from the back seat, to my lap, on top of my now squished genitalia and testicles. 
Right now, Maggie's look says, "What?" It says "It's so fun to be out of the house." It says "I'm having a great time! Are you?"
Luckily the drive to the dog park is only three blocks.
By the time we get out, everything below my torso is numb. I kick both of my feet out of the passenger side door and wait for the blood to return. 
Sometimes, this is the price you pay when you try to get to know Maggie McGaggie, when you get to know Ms. River. 
At the park, I hold the end to a short, thick rope. On the opposite end of this rope are a set of teeth, twisting and tugging and pulling. Every once in a while, I let go of my end, giving Maggie the satisfaction that she once again, has bested me. 

As the evening continues, I can honestly say I was happy to meet Maggie McGaggie. As the evening comes to a close, I can honestly say I believe the feeling was mutual. 
You see, the thing you need to realize is, if you want to get to know Ms. River, then you need to get to know Maggie McGaggie. 
You need to get to know Pupsicles, or McGags, or any other nickname Ms. River has for the Blue Heeler mix with adorable puppy brown eyes. 
The clock on my phone now reads 5:05. 
Ms. River rubs her hands through Maggie's ears and head and tells her she loves her. 
Grabbing my laptop bag, I move towards Maggie and her hanging tongue. 
"It was nice to meet you Mcgags." I say. 
Maggie McGaggie continues to hang her tongue. She looks at me through her brown, puppy dog eyes and says. "You too." Followed by, "Mother Fucker"