Do Not Disturb

We live in a new world, Chérie and I. The years have taken us to the hinterlands of elsewhere, as they invariably do. Chérie's strong, but distant mind is somewhere where I am not. I join her on her journeys in her new world, much different from my own, from time to time. I don't see what she sees, at first.   

 Our ideas of travel have changed. She, in her youth, swung from the sleeve of my shirt--a veritable airplane ride cinched with her teeth as I went round and round spinning her as her legs flew up into the air. Now, on our clankety wood floors she teeters on her toes, tiptoeing in endless circles. Around she spins in a hurry, and I know somewhere in the recesses of her mind she is going places; she just doesn't know she'll never arrive. She also doesn't notice me watching, either. 

I call her name, "Chérie." 

"Chérie," I yell again. 

Spin, spin, spin. Flop.

Her spindles have betrayed her again. Long, slender legs supporting a fairly robust rib cage for a girl her size have their limits, I suppose. And I, the doting guardian, right her and off she goes, spinning into oblivion to places I can only imagine. 

There are other secrets in her mind, too. Lately, she has found the corners of rooms full of mystery. They lure her in where she stays, unaware and uninterested in the art of the simple backward. She stands facing the corner, lost in its invisible depths. 

The white face of a wall, too, is something to be studied. I don't know what she sees, but sometimes I sit with her staring, too. After a while, the mind fills the blankness with vibrant scenes of green, of moving pictures, of other dogs barking, the sour scent of urine, the sun on our backs. Alas, I see what 
she sees.  

I squeeze her and kiss her back. She winces at my touch.

"Do not disturb," she says. "I'm busy."

And she is. Busy exploring her new world, finding the edges of her existence and what can I do but let her inner travels take her where they may.