Rachel Alexander 02 - The Dog who knew too much

an hour in my office paying bills, now that I could, and taking care of paperwork.
    Since I had to repark the car anyway, I drove five blocks to Lisa’s street and in only forty-five minutes was able to find a legal spot. Waving to the concierge, I passed the elevators and took the stairs to the second floor. Paul Wilcox had made me more than curious about the strong resemblance to my cousin, and I wanted to look more carefully at the pictures of Lisa that were among the books in her living room.
    I picked up one of the photos and took it over to the window, holding it so that the light would fall on it. Lisa’s eyes were as blue as the Caribbean; mine were more the gray-blue of the Atlantic . Her skin was white, like her mother’s. Mine was fair, but not pearly or translucent, not as delicate looking as Lisa’s.
    Lisa’s hair was very much like mine, darker, but about the same length and also curly. In the photo she wore a little braid on one side. I put the picture back on the shelf and, taking a small strand of hair on the left side, braided it as Lisa had done; then, holding the end of the braid, I went into the kitchen, where I had seen some lavender string on top of the refrigerator. I secured the end of the braid, then looked for scissors to cut off the piece of string.
    I ran upstairs and opened the closet door, zeroing in on a sheer black silk shirt, black velvet leggings, the Chinese-style quilted jacket, and those fabulous pink high-tops. Leaving my own things in the closet, I put on Lisa’s clothes and shoes. Everything fit, so I took some soft black pants and a black T-shirt for t’ai chi as well, folding them carefully and putting them in a nylon mesh tote bag I found in Lisa’s closet. Halfway down the stairs, I turned back. I needed a bathing suit, didn’t I? Before leaving, I also borrowed some jewelry to go with my new clothes, a jasper heart necklace from Tiffany’s and a pair of silver earrings that sounded like small bells when they moved. I left my small gold hoops in their place.
    I dropped the clothes off at home, and once again Dashiell and I headed toward the heart of the Village, Washington Square Park . Radiating out from the fountain at its center were paths that led north, east, south, and west, to the hanging tree, an old elm once used for executions, to playgrounds, to enclaves of the down-and-out asleep or sitting up and smoking on the benches that were the closest things they had to home, and to the dog run. Dashiell began a hip-hop ballet with a broken-coated Jack Russell terrier, and I took myself to the southwest comer of the run and, listening to the crunching sounds of the dogs playing on the pea gravel, faced north, eyes on the horizon, and became meditation in motion in Lisa Jacobs’s beautiful, expensive clothes.
    Near the dog run, a mounted policeman was putting his horse through its paces. A nurse was pushing an old man in a wheelchair, a plaid blanket over his legs. A nanny pushing a baby carriage walked by, a handsome young man was headed in the direction of the NYU law library, people sat on the grass reading. No one was imitating Bob Dylan or Janis Joplin, and it was a bit early for the drug dealers. Later in the day, if I asked Dashiell to “find the grass,” he’d go nuts.
    It was quiet, so I stayed for a long time, watching Dashiell play and thinking about Lisa Jacobs. At six I stopped at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame for a burger, then headed over to school.
    I took the stairs. Avi had said it would help me do the form. Lisa, he’d said, always took the stairs, never the elevator.
    Avram looked startled when he opened the door, but said nothing. I slipped off Lisa’s jacket, put on her black cotton shoes, and followed Avi into the studio. Dashiell had already taken his usual spot in the sitting area, his big white paws just touching the wooden floor where we worked.
    As is tradition, we did the form without speaking. Then Avram began again, and I followed him. This time, as I continued, he came near me to make corrections, gently moving an arm or a hand or readjusting a foot by placing his next to where mine should have been and leaving it there until I’d lifted mine and placed it next to his.
    Most of the form is done with knees bent, as if you were in a low-ceilinged room. Avi helped me to sink lower, until my legs felt as if they were on fire. He had explained that the burning meant that the blood was seeking new pathways, and so my legs were getting