Dog Park

The same man I’d seen earlier in the week was back, his adorable puppy, Jade, already tumbling and tussling with ours. This time I was alone, and he was with his wife or girlfriend. Quick hellos. I recognized a young couple sitting on a bench from my visits to Luella’s, where they serve me beer and leave me alone in a corner to write and read. Their piebald puppy joined the other two to create a frenzied threesome. We watched from our spots the entertaining play as it unfolded in the mud and beaten-down grass. Eventually I walked over to the young couple, and we chatted about restaurant work; then I drifted back to the older couple, closer to my age, and it turns out they’re new to town, fresh up from Savannah. A few more back and forths like this and I realize I’m the only White person who will join this Black couple—outsiders twice over—and that the larger group keeps their distance. What to make of this? I jump to a few conclusions. That Whites are afraid of Blacks. That this Black couple is wary of a circle of White people and so keep their distance. Then I wonder: am I making people uncomfortable in my shifting from group to group? Does this new couple wish I’d stop bugging them? Does the young couple from the restaurant wonder why I keep leaving their company for that of the other? Am I the only one who notices, or cares? I don’t know. The dogs have tired themselves out. Ali arrives, standing off to the side to watch the show. I am tired too, sick of social life in general and this configuration in particular. My discomfort inside it. All the answered questions. I say goodbye to both couples. And, as we start to head out, a large Golden jumps the fence and enters into the fracas. The dogs start up anew.