My constant companion

This girl is seven.

Lolita. A gift from my staff seven years ago.
Saxony. A girl who applied for a job wearing shorts. She was strolling a 9 month old baby during our interview.
She was my joy. My heart. My protoge. My child. She was 18 back then. A willing mentoree she became.
I still adore that kid. Even after the Hell that transpired.
Anyway, back to Lolita. You may think right away of the movie. The one where the older man exploits the young girl. Nope. Not where her name originates. It was in Vancouver, 2.5 decades ago.
A couple had a tarantula in a terrarium. Its name was Lolita. I was mezmerized. Fascinated.
How could I have predicted that down this path of life, I would copy their pet-rearing talents?
Not a pet, really. A pet fetches your slippers, loves you, recognizes you and forgives your mistakes.
Not my Chilean Rose-hair. She hasn’t the foggiest of notions who the Hell I am. Least of all, where to find my slippers. She cares not a bit about my worth on Earth. Low-maintenance to a divine degree.
Seven. My lucky number. The number of years Lolita is expected to inhabit our fine planet.
Sucks, doesn’t it?
She’ll never know how much her presence here has sustained me.
And there seems no way that God will allow me to tell her.
My constant companion will never know.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 5th, 2006 at 9:37 am and is filed under Almost human. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.