Norman

Norman

My first apartment in Modesto, California was a two-bedroom unit with a deck in the front. The main entrance was located off an open landing at the top of a flight of steps; a landing that I shared with an adjacent apartment. My neighbors were a young couple, David and Tracy, and they had a dog, a Pug named Norman.
 
Tracy never warmed up to me; I was just not her cup of tea. I was always pleasant to them, and to her. I did them small favors. I traveled often, and when I knew a trip was imminent, I would let them know the dates so they could use my covered parking space in my absence. When I picked up the morning paper from where it lay on the top step, I would deposit theirs at the apartment door. But when Tracy and I crossed paths, all I ever got from her was a curt, perhaps even frosty, greeting.
 
Norman, on the other hand was different, he loved me. I remember the morning she begrudgingly told me her dog’s name. “Are you a good dog, Norman?” I asked with mock seriousness, and he shook his little tail as he stood up on his hind legs to get a scratch and to lick my hand. “He is a good dog, he is a good dog,” I said excitedly, scratching his ear. That first encounter sealed the deal between me and Norman, much to the chagrin of Tracy.
 
From that moment on, every time I saw her walking the dog I let out a loud, “Norman!” Upon hearing my voice, he would rise up on his hind legs and shake his body while clawing at the air with his front paws. She would tug at his leash and quietly command him with, “Norman! Down, Norman, down.” But it was to no avail, Norman wanted to see me, and he stood there clawing at the air. Sometimes she would just drag him after her and away from me. Other times she would allow him to visit, but mostly not.
 
Because it bothered her so, I seized upon every possible opportunity to greet Norman with a loud yell of his name, and then dote on him if he was close enough to pet. I would see them walking in the far distance of the parking lot, and I would yell out at the top of my voice, “Norman!” He would come to an immediate stop, turn around, and get up on his hind legs and paw at the air. She would turn and, after realizing what was going on, yank at his leash and yell at him before continuing on her way, punishing him for his one unpardonable sin, liking me.
 
After a few months, Dave had a new job opportunity in Texas, and they decided to take it. They left with no real good-byes to me, just packed up and went. But I can remember the last word I ever heard Tracy say when she was my neighbor in Modesto.
 
“Norman!”

 
 
 
March 2, 2008
Los Angeles, CA