Dogged
The Things We Say
A tennis ball lands on his chest.
At the foot of the bed, the dog waits with both ears up. Outside, a truck rattles down the street. Someone calls good morning to a neighbor, and a burst of birdsong comes through the open window.
He opens one eye.
“Well, good morning to you, too.”
He gets up laughing.
In the kitchen, yesterday’s dishes share the table with a stack of papers. A breeze lifts the corner of his unfinished story. He catches it as he passes and sets the sugar bowl on top.
There are several things asking for his attention. He knows which one he wants to begin with.
“I know exactly what I want.”
He wants to finish his story this morning. He has been looking forward to writing the last page, then reading the whole thing through with breakfast.
He feeds the dog, puts the coffee on, and carries the dishes to the sink. Sunlight falls across the space he has cleared.
He pulls out a chair.
“I act now, I do not delay.”
The coffee is still brewing when his pen begins to move.
He reads a conversation near the end and chuckles. One of his characters has a better answer than the one he gave her yesterday. He tries it aloud, writes it in the margin, and follows it into the next paragraph.
“I move boldly and I correct as I go.”
Her answer changes the ending. He works on it for a few minutes, but the sentences keep circling back to the same place. He crosses them out and reaches for a fresh sheet.
He had hoped to be finished by now.
“Temporary defeat is not ultimate failure.”
He pours his coffee and returns to the chair. The dog settles beneath the table, warm against his bare foot.
He reads through the passage again. That part works… so he copies it onto a clean page and lets the story unfold, almost as if he was unfolding an old letter and discovering it as he goes along.
“We don’t quit, we win.”
He writes, pauses, and writes some more. When the last line comes to him, he says it aloud. Then he reads the paragraph once through, and a smile drapes itself across his face.
There it is.
He lays the finished page with the others and gets up to make breakfast. The dog follows him to the counter, carrying the tennis ball.
“Ah, yes,” he chuckles. “You know exactly what you want, too, don’t you?”
Echoes
I know exactly what I want.
I act now, I do not delay.
I move boldly and I correct as I go.
Temporary defeat is not ultimate failure.
We don’t quit, we win.