After the workshop in Guatemala I hung around town, exploring, moping, being lazy, being curious. I had long, peaceful talks with Gabby, an Israeli woman who lives in San Marcos now, beautiful red-black curls, pale skin, piercing eyes. Gabby has a small white fluff-dog and just adopted a brown, lanky puppy named Max with the sweetest eyes who licks my hand and nips at my ankles.
Max and the fluff-dog play together like best friends in the truest sense. They fight for a few minutes (they’re both the same size now – what will happen when Max grows ten times bigger?) and then give it up and cuddle. Sometimes they play totally in sync, then suddenly they both agree it’s time to split up: you chill on the steps, I’ll chill under the coffee table.
Max was found half-starved on one of the boats that transport people around the lake, and Gabby adopted him on the spot. Often she cradles him and says she thinks he’s so ugly but so sweet.
I accidentally left the gate open on the chainlink fence that’s around Gabby’s house and they got out… I couldn’t take the chance of being responsible for losing them. I walked around the path for a few minutes but didn’t see them anywhere, then sat on the stone steps by the gate, hoping and waiting until they came back, which of course they did. No dogs in San Marcos get walked on leashes. They all know their way home. Max and the fluff-dog lept past me and headed back to the house after half an hour, with a beeline for their shared water bowl.
On Gabby’s deep porch made of fine, glossy wood, I read in a hammock while Max chewed on the hammock’s fringe and nudged me with his warm, squirmy body. I heard the little waves of the lake make shushh, shushh sounds.
I had been thinking this whole time that I wanted to write in a very beautiful place. Like that would make me inspired. But now I realize you can work in a tiny closet more easily. No distractions. In beautiful places, it makes more sense to bask.