The Woman at the Dog Park Who Knows Your Whole Life

The park knows more than it lets on. I’ve been listening long enough to hear what you don’t say out loud. Your name, your story, the ache behind your smile — it’s all in the rhythm of your steps. I remember when you last shaved, and if you’re avoiding a call or a text. You don’t have to explain. I’ll ask about your mom’s knee before you do. I remember things. I care, but not in a heavy way. In a here’s-a-tennis-ball-and-a-shoulder-to-lean-on kind of way.