Joy Jordan could scattershot words faster than a sudden hail storm on a summer’s eve. And, like many bright people with brains in overdrive, she assumed everyone could keep up with her verbal barrage. Talking with this dynamo redhead was not an unpleasant experience, because she enjoyed a good laugh and could respond with a funny story. However, since there was no reverse shift in her oral gearbox, if you missed a sentence or two you’d be left on your own to fill in the blanks.
W.S. shared a graduate university seminar with Joy’s husband, Jerrold, a shy, likable fellow, yet neither of us had met Joy until we were invited to a party at their apartment. All we knew was that they had a two-year-old son and a dog.
When we arrived, the festivities were already at full decibel, and Joy opened the door cradling a sleepy, honey-haired toddler in her arms. Scooting across the floor, close at her heels was a creature that looked like a tiny, white, handle less floor mop. Joy breathlessly greeted us with, “Hi, I’m Joy, and these two characters with me are Buddy and Rex. Have a beer and some munchies.” Taking her at her word, I eased toward the buffet table leaving Joy chatting with W.S. who was gingerly trying to figure out which end of the dog was pointed at his left shoe.
Returning with my plateful of food, I overheard the tail end of the conversation. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do with Rex,” Joy complained. “He gets into everything. Today, while I was getting ready for the party, he climbed up on the sofa, spilled coffee all over Jerrold’s class notes, and then trotted into the kitchen and ate half of Buddy’s dinner.” Laughing, I interjected, “Well, if Buddy’s food tasted as good as what I have on my plate, I guess you can’t blame Rex for being tempted.”
“Buddy puts up with an awful lot,” Joy continued, “Sometimes he’s more patient with Rex than I am.” W.S. nudged the little dog and suggested, “Maybe you should tie Rex to the clothes line and let him run around outside, or put him into the bathroom when he gets on your nerves.” “I’ve thought of that,” Joy responded, “but the last time I left Rex alone in the bathroom he tried to dump Buddy down the toilet.”
At that, Rex, the toddler rubbed his eyes and demanded, “Down!” He slid out of her arms and chased Buddy, the mop, into the kitchen. Several months later we heard that Rex bit a playmate, and Buddy pooped on a neighbor’s doormat.
Or, maybe it was the other way around.
Esther Blumenfeld
CROSSING WITH THE BLUE LIGHT, Blumenfeld c. 2006