"I think I missed you calling on the other line; I'm just thinking all these thoughts up in my mind"

When I met him, he was a scrawny boy with blonde hair and a Cheshire cat grin. We dated and broke up within the same month. Years passed when we reunited as friends hanging out at the local townie bar. He pulled me aside and apologized for his actions all those years ago.

In the coming years, we saw less of each other. Our lives taking different directions. Like ebbs and flows, we reconnected and drifted away. He passed away just a few weeks ago. Occupational cancer, they said. Stage four.

When the news broke, a girlfriend asked, “Are we at that age when this becomes a common thing?”

"No," I answered.

But no one said life is fair, I remember thinking.

My mind has ventured to several topics in recent weeks, not making sense of any of them. I look for the organic meaning. Then, philosophical. As an idea begins to form, another interrupts it. I try to make sense of them.

I stroll through the streets of the upscale urban and suburbia. Two-feet tall snowbanks hug the sidewalk. I pass familiar landmarks remembering when an arm hooked in mine. The air is chilled. I hear music. Rap. Loud. Unfamiliar through my earbuds.

Then, I recall a time last summer when foreign beats, lyrical rhymes, and unknown verses provided a sense of safety. Like a security blanket, I listened to them until the gigs of the data plan thinned. Eventually, the proverbial fabric gave way and formed a hole. I held the phone closer, almost encouraging sleep and keeping the monsters at bay.

Inside a heated car, I drive away from the memories. The monsters no longer rear their heads and the music has switched to another genre. For the sake of reminiscing, I switch the dial back and ahead, provoking confusion, yet remaining steady.

A day later, I play with the emotions trying to stir a reaction. None comes. Just stillness. Though, this time, I walk through a suburban neighborhood holding a leash as she pulls me forward. Our feet trudge through slush, ice, and on cold pavement.

When we reach an open area, I encourage her, dressed in a reindeer sweater with fabric antlers on the hood, to play in the snow that’s taller than her long body. She hesitates and I jump in, creating a path for her. She’s on my heels, bounding through the snow, like a black bunny rabbit. I laugh. Out loud. I release the bottled-up stress, anxiety, and feelings of failure. An open-mouthed smile stretches across her snout.

Three-quarters from our starting point and she’s exhausted. I turn around. She follows. As we return to the beginning, I notice the powdered snow that has sneaked its way into my boots. The cold surprise turns to a gentle giggle. Her charcoal-gray sweater has transformed to a light gray.

We return home. I’m nowhere closer to deciphering my thoughts and now my beautiful long fingernails are chewed to the quick. So much for slutty red nail polish. But as my sweet canine sleeps beside me, I think it’s OK. We're OK.