Betty - Mr Vincent Sagona

BETTY

By Mr. Vincent Sagona

January, 2021

There are long stretches of time where I feel sorry for myself with no one to interfere.

Sometimes I sit on the couch, alone with my thoughts, and see how long l can last in my own

head without plunging into despair. Then I start to listen to the sounds of the electronics in the

house. The hum of the refrigerator…the bathroom fan…and it becomes the music of my mind. I

lose the ability to focus on any one object and my vision becomes blurred. I feel my

consciousness slip and disengage until there is no time and space.

Betty, my dog, tells me that COVID will end soon. I think she likes quarantine even more

than I do. It’s gotten to the point where Betty reprimands me when I take out the garbage. Today

she muttered: “trash is so 2019”. I don’t always know what she’s talking about. Yesterday she

said: “the fault lies not in our stars but in ourselves”…and then napped for three hours. What is

she trying to tell me? She knows things. She likes to play these little games with me. No

problem. I’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere.

Both of my legs fell asleep this morning and I couldn’t walk for 45 minutes. I imagined I

was a slug housed in my own lugubrious ooze. It felt cold and damp and lonely. When I finally

stood, I had become a newborn colt just learning to take its first steps. My knees wobbled as I

lurched forward. I ate a carrot and reminisced about life on the ranch. Then I fell asleep standing

for what felt like the entire day. I awoke to my neighbor Josh knocking on the door. Betty gave

me a stern glance and I immediately knew there would be no intruders. Eventually, the knocking

stopped and he slowly walked away. He’ll be back. I’d like to tell him I’m okay but Betty won’t

have it. It’s fine. We have rules. Important rules.

As a precautionary measure, I put my cell phone in the dishwasher so I’ve had no

communication with the outside world. Betty does her business over there. In that corner. I don’t

interfere. I’ve nailed the windows shut at her request. You can’t be too careful. Airborne toxins.

She’s right of course. Always one step ahead. She says we are outrunning it. I don’t understand

but that’s fine.

My food supplies are getting low. I’ve only got 3 cans of baked beans and a jar of tomato

sauce left. Betty’s got plenty of food. But I can’t touch it. Not allowed. It’s fine. I’ll make mine

last. The pandemic will end soon. Betty keeps reminding me to stay hydrated. Right again. She’s

always right. Although I haven’t showered in weeks, Betty insists on daily baths. I oblige of

course. Soiled fur upsets her mood. I try not to question. If she gets upset, I get upset and then

the whole house is in peril. Can’t have that. Won’t have that. Must keep her happy.

Sometimes, in the morning, I feel the sunlight on my foot through an opening in the

blinds. Since I haven’t been permitted to watch tv or track the passage of time, I’m not sure of

the season. I’m trying to gauge the outside conditions from the intensity of the sunlight on my

foot. Betty says I’m too fixated on the weather. I don’t discuss the seasons with her anymore.

She doesn’t allow sunlight in the apartment because she says it makes her jumpy. I get it. I

oblige. No natural light. I’ve taken to lighting candles, holding the flame close to my face,