Day 87 #2
He dug and he ate and he rested and he taught and he graded and once or twice he even laughed.
Inspired by his students, he began writing again, not just dabbling.
His voice might have changed, after all, he had new things to say, but he found that the activity of it connected him to his old self.
He brought his dog home as a foster. It wasn’t that he was afraid to commit, it was the policy of the rescue—they required a two-month trial.
Foster to adopt. Maybe an arrangement like that could work for Lally, but he knew better than to suggest it.
He couldn’t think of a name for the dog that fit, so he just called her Shep (short for shepsky, her breed) for the time being.
Shep would curl up by his feet as he composed more texts to his colleague Orson, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to meet for coffee. Eventually it would be unavoidable—he would reenter the dating pool. But it still seemed way too early for that.
Which isn’t to say that he didn’t think of Norman.
He thought about Norman all the time. It was impossible not to when he was still digging for answers.
One night he even laid a towel on the bedroom floor, found his AirPods, and started his download of Pathways to listen to the sound bath again in private.
He turned the volume up and down, trying to find the exact levels needed to re-create the vibrations in the dome and fidgeted until something told him to stop, and he concentrated on his breathing instead.
Deep breath in through the nose, long exhale out through the mouth.
And when that didn’t work, he tried a deep breath through his mouth filling his lungs, and a long slow exhale through his nose.
He went back and forth between these two techniques, trying to telepathically communicate with his husband, until he must have fallen asleep.
At night, Jesse made his own bedtime routine.
Norman’s tongue scraper had long ago hit the trash and he would floss over Norman’s sink.
He would walk through the house checking the lock on each door twice and turn off the lights one by one.
He took melatonin, which Norman called garbage, and fixed himself a glass of water with ice, and a second tepid bowl for Shep in case she got thirsty in the night.
Shep slept with her one blue eye open, not willing yet to fully trust him, even though she was generously fed and had full use of Norman’s side of the bed.
He allowed himself three classic music videos on YouTube before setting his phone aside for the night, even if the algorithm kept feeding him more.
And yet, sometimes sleep would not come.
On those nights, he surveyed the mess he’d made of the yard; there was no way he could ever explain it.
But it called to him, this open crater, and so he would throw on some shorts and put on his shoes.
From the edge, it was a jump to get to the bottom, more and more so as his work continued, deepened.
It was something he managed deliberately so as not to throw out his back, placing one hand on the dirt as he hopped in, careful not to get any under his nails.
His body ached all the time, which made him feel alive, but he also chewed aspirin like there was an oncoming shortage.
His shovel was right where he’d left it, and he held it still, unsure where to dig next.
Like at the Integratron, he put his ear to the ground and listened.
One night, Shep appeared at the edge above him, then circled the hole where it started to cave in and used the dirt that was filling in to scamper down.
Jesse may not have known where to focus his efforts, but Shep certainly did.
She sniffed until she found the right spot, then looked up at Jesse before digging.
And dig she did! While Jesse’s enthusiasm for the task had diminished somewhat, this dog had been waiting for this assignment her whole life.
She then barked at the ground beneath her as she started moving faster and faster.
Dirt piled up behind her, more quickly than Jesse could remove it from the pit.
“What is it, girl?” Jesse asked as he ran to her side with his shovel.
“Back, back, back,” he said, a command he was working on so that she wouldn’t bolt from the house when he opened the front door.
It was the first time they felt like a team, a pack, but there was still a fight to see who was alpha.
Even so, Shep eased up and took a step back, her eyes not wavering from the spot she chose.
Jesse stepped in to take over and positioned his shovel, then used one leg to drive it deep into the earth.
And about eight inches below the surface, the shovel hit…
something. It wasn’t his imagination. He moved the shovel a few inches and drove it into the ground again.
This time he was certain. There was something beneath the dirt.
Jesse gasped. Even Shep dropped to the ground in a low crouch.
“Norman,” he whispered. Shep cocked her head; she didn’t know who this Norman character was, but Jesse could tell she understood this development was something profound.
He tossed his shovel aside, where it landed with a soft thud, dropped to his knees, and began digging frantically with his hands; Shep took that as a cue to join him.
Side by side, man and dog dug in the glow of the moonlight until the soft dirt gave way to something else, something solid, something hard.
Shep barked, sharp and determined. Jesse reached into the wet, cold dirt, nails be damned, until his fingers gripped a solid object.
And finally something was found.