Environment/Character Narrative

     The day has been jam packed with obligations and now I am finally pulling in the driveway. As the garage door closes, I hear clawing coming from behind the once scratch-less wooden door. As I turn the knob and open the door he jumps up on his hind legs to give me a hug. I used to be able to pick him up with one arm and carry him like a baby. These days he stands up and rests his paws on my shoulders, griping them while he licks my face. He gathers his composure and we head into the kitchen . Boesky stays attached to my hip while I make some coffee and gather some snacks for later.

     I open the squeaky door and head down to the freezer that is our basement to get some homework done. Before I reach the last step, I see out of the corner of my eye this giant black and white arctic fuzz ball fly past me. He makes his landing on the concrete floor, loses traction and looks as if he is running in place. He gains his footing and begins his running game. He runs as fast as he can through the gym equipment, under the stairs, into the studio and around and around again, occasionally making a U-turn or sliding into storage bins. I egg him on by giving chase for my own amusement until he crashes into my easel, knocking it and a canvas to the floor. I don't scold him because that was my own fault. So I pick up the easel and sit in the corner of my studio.

     This space is one of five corners and is about as comfortable as its going to get. My chair is an old ottoman with an oversized pillow leaning against the wall. The cold brick foundation is concealed by mismatched drapes and the studio wall is still unfinished. The insulation is covered by a plastic tarp stapled to the wooden beams. At least 25 charcoal drawings are secured to the tarp with safety pins and serves as my own personal gallery. The space heater is just barely enough to keep me from going back upstairs, even with wool socks and a loose fitting sweat shirt.

     Boesky keeps himself busy playing with his toys while I write my paper. He buries his head into his toy basket and pulls out a giant tire toy that could be the spare on a Honda civic or a Smart car at least. He shakes it violently and tosses it up into the air; I think he believes it's alive. After testing and defeating that toy, he buries his head back in his toy basket to find his next victim. Just as I finish my paper, Boesky stands in front of me and just stares blankly. I think he expects me to know what he wants. I could call out any one of the fifteen words in his tiny little brain and he would react the same way. Never the less I take him upstairs to go outside.

     I clip him to his cable line and he takes off like a maniac for about 30 feet before he starts a revolving circle of imaginary bunny chasing. I give it about fifteen seconds before he wraps himself around the tree. I am not surprised the least when it only takes ten seconds. He thinks the only way to escape is to chew through the tree for a few minutes and then sit and wait for an adult. When I free him, he acts like I just saved his life. He jumps from all four legs to his hind legs, back to four and twirls in circles. He follows me back inside and I prepare my second cup of coffee.

     The two of us head back to the basement and I return to my studio corner to let out some creativity. My table is covered in dry paint, charcoal, dirty rags, and unfinished projects. Half done paintings sit with dust and stacks of drawings are taking over. I try to organize a little before I sit down with my sketchpad and then I start craving my nicotine. After my fix I sip my coffee, sharpen my pencil, and put on some quiet music. Just as I make my first mark on the page, my husband walks in the door. Boesky acts like he hasn't seen him in decades and knocks over my coffee during his little outburst. I put the pencil down and return to the above ground world to start dinner. I'll try again tomorrow.