Sun is struggling to come out behind gray haze.
Sitting in a Eames dining chair, at my writing desk, in backyard studio.
Listening to experimental sounds made in the 1970’s playing through stereo speakers.
Wife sits on the couch eating take out Indian food lunch. She is dressed in yoga clothes and asks me what I am listening to.
The sound of a truck just went by.
“Pekka Airaksinen’s sound opera,” I reply.
My wife says “No!” to our miniature Chihuahua, which is harassing her for Indian food.
I am dressed in the clothes I slept in Monday night and it is already Wednesday afternoon.
Eyeglasses by my side.
“Alright, I got to go get ready for work,” my wife says.
“No, stay here!” I say. I like having her around.
There is an open glass jar filled with pickled yellow mezzetta chili peppers by her side. I tell my wife she should not eat so many.
My wife’s legs are stretched out on the floor. She is wearing yellow flip-flops.
I am still thinking about the film Confessions Of A Child Of The Century, which I finished watching late Sunday night.
“I feel sick and congested baby,” my wife says.
I wonder what I should do.
My wife checks her iPhone.
I am writing this is my notebook. At my writing desk.
“Marie! No! This is not good!” my wife says non-reactively to our Chihuahua, which is once again eating something it is not supposed to.
My wife laughs at the Chihuahua as she eats salad from the salad bowl.
I can hear a train going past.
Both my feet are touching the ground.
My wife takes a large pink plastic bag and puts all of our empty to-go lunch containers into it. She also collects the used plastic utensils we ate with and puts them in the pink plastic bag.
The miniature Chihuahua chews on a plastic fork.
Lunch is ending. It is mildly windy outside.
“If you take whatever you can of this stuff, I will take some of that stuff,” I say in an attempt to be helpful.
“I was just looking for the lid,” my wife says.
I am wondering when she is going to leave. She is now making a lot of rustling sounds, which is making it hard for me to listen to the sounds coming through my stereo speakers.
“Are you leaving?” I ask as she walks out the studio door.
My wife does not answer. She is gone.
I am alone.
It is quiet.
Birds chirping. Wind chimes. Experimental sounds.
Sore legs and back and neck from typing so much over past several days.
My German Shepherd sits on the backyard wood deck staring in at me.
I wonder where my wife went? Into the garden?
I say her name out loud.
I say it again.
I am going to get up and go look for her.
As I get up she returns with Chihuahua in her hands.
“Yeah, I got to get ready,” she says.
She is looking at her iPhone.
“I am going to go to work my love. I will be done at 6:30, but I will probably want to come home and rest since I do not feel so good.” My wife says this while bending over and kissing me on my forehead.
“Ok,” I reply.
She picks up the pink plastic bag, walks out of the backyard, towards the house.
“Good girl, good girl,” I can hear my wife saying to the miniature Chihuahua as they both disappear into the house.
Now I am alone again.
It feels slightly uncomfortable being alone. I feel the urge to get up and go towards the outside world. My backyard studio is an isolated and quiet place. Like being in the woods. A person can touch the solitude back here.
No more music playing on stereo speakers.
Sounds of birds. Wind chimes. Silence.
I scratch my head and decide to go ride my bike.