Bill
"If only you weren’t so darn stubborn," the 47-year-old woman named Milly sighed, balancing a polished fork between two thin fingers. Nothing settled upon the tines, they were clean and unstained enough to reflect certain colors of the old kitchen.
Her utensil hovered daringly over a lump of mashed potatoes, which made a basket for a half-liquefied scrape of corn-oil margarine. Her eyes held none of this, but rather upon her young friend Bill, who waited expectantly.
"You have your own food," she scolded lightly. "It’s impolite to stare at people while they eat."
Bill only smiled at her speech and continued to observe her. He didn’t utter a vocal word, but his eyes were laughing silently.
Milly wasn’t at all surprised. Bill always had been unusually quiet. Milly didn’t mind at all, she still loved his company, and he was a good listener whenever she had something to say. It was all Milly could want out of him, that kind admiration for the lonely woman.
She had found him ten months ago, walking slowly down a snow-veiled sidewalk. He was barefoot, starving, and emanating a sad aura of loss and confusion. She felt pity for the youngster, and took him in immediately. She fussed over his tangled brown hairs, tended to the fresh scratch on his leg, and gave him a warm meal.
He had been silent even then.
Milly wondered briefly if he had ever been noisy, and if living out on his own was what had muted him. Or, more likely, there was just something wrong with his throat. Milly felt impolite to be wondering so much, and decidedly never bothered to satiate her curiosity on the subject. This is because it had often troubled her when people asked about her own past, and she would reward their “rude” query with silence.
Maybe that is why she has been so alone. She always had picked at the imperfections in those around her. But Bill… he was far from perfect, yet that barely bothered her. As much as she tried to correct his etiquette around the house, he hardly cared, and still loved her unconditionally. And, of course, he never talked back to her.
Milly loved him as a mother loves a child. She spoke to him often of her day; describing her chance encounter with her sister at the grocery store, or letting him know how her work in the garden was progressing. As she spoke, they would simply sit before the warm fireplace, or take strolls down the sidewalk at dusk. These walks would often prove longer than expected, for Bill was endlessly fascinated by both unusual and usual things along the way. She knew he still heard her, so she would continue to speak.
All in all, the widow Milly no longer had to sit miserable and alone in her house, doing nothing but thinking longingly of her now deceased husband. Now she had Bill, who stumbled into her bleak life like a blundering ray of sunlight. He made her smile, he got her out of the house, he indirectly restored her health.
It began to dawn on Milly what was happening, Bill was pulling her out of her anti-social sulk. So one summer day, she knelt before his considerably shorter frame, and looked deep into his joyous brown eyes.
"Thank you, Bill," was all she said as she affectionately rubbed his head, and all she needed to say.
Bill wagged his tail in reply.
~Emily K
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