IT WAS A CLEAR, calm, lazy April morning, the day the worst week of my life began.
I was jogging down by the bay with my border collie, Martha. It's my thing Sunday mornings - get up early and cram1 my meaningful other into the front seat of the Explorer. I try to huff out three miles, from Fort Mason down to the bridge and back. Just enough to convince myself I'm border-ing on something called in shape at thirty-six.
That morning, my buddy2 Jill came along. To give her baby Lab, Otis, a run, or so she claimed. More likely, to warm her-self up for a bike sprint3 up Mount Tamalpais or whatever Jill would do for real exercise later in the day.
It was hard to believe that it had been only five months since Jill lost her baby. Now here she was, her body toned and lean again.
"So, how did it go last night?" she asked, shuffling4 side-ways beside me. "Word on the street is, Lindsay had a date."
"You could call it a date... ," I said, focusing on the heights of Fort Mason, which weren't getting closer fast enough for me. "You could call Baghdad a vacation spot, too."
She winced5. "Sorry I brought it up."
All run long, my head had been filled with the annoying recollection of Franklin Fratelli, "asset remarketing" mogul (which was a fancy way of saying he sent goons after the dot-com busts6 who could no longer make the payments on their Beemers and Franck Mullers). For two months Fratelli had stuck his face in my office every time he was in the Hall, until he wore me down enough to ask him up for a meal on Saturday night (the short ribs7 braised in port wine I had to pack back into the fridge after he bailed8 on me at the last minute).
"I got stood up," I said, mid-stride. "Don't ask, I won't tell the details."
We pulled up at the end of Marina Green, a lung-clearing bray9 from me while Mary Decker over there bobbed on her toes as if she could go another loop.
"I don't know how you do it," I said, hands on hips10, trying to catch my breath.
"My grandmother," she said, shrugging and stretching out a hamstring. "She started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She's ninety now. We have no idea where she is."
We both started to laugh. It was good to see the old Jill trying to peek11 through. It was good to hear the laughter back in her voice.
"You up for a mochachino?" I asked. "Martha's buying."
"Can't. Steve's flying in from Chicago. He wants to bike up to see the Dean Friedlich exhibit at the Legion of Honor as soon as he can get in and change. You know what the puppy's like when he doesn't get his exercise."
I frowned. "Somehow it's hard for me to think of Steve as a puppy."
Jill nodded and pulled off her sweatshirt, lifting her arms.
"Jill," I gasped12, "what the hell is that?"
Peeking13 out through the strap14 of her exercise bra were a couple of small, dark bruises16, like finger marks.
She tossed her sweatshirt over her shoulder, seemingly caught off guard. "Mashed17 myself getting out of the shower," she said. "You should get a load of how it looks." She winked18.
I nodded, but something about the bruise15 didn't sit well with me. "You sure you don't want that coffee?" I asked.
"Sorry...You know El Exigente, if I'm five minutes late, he starts to see it as a pattern." She whistled for Otis and began to jog back to her car. She waved. "See you at work."
"So how about you?" I knelt down to Martha. "You look like a mochachino would do the trick." I snapped on her leash19 and started to trot20 off toward the Starbucks on Chestnut21.
The Marina has always been one of my favorite neighbor-hoods. Curling streets of colorful, restored town houses. Families, the sound of gulls22, the sea air off the bay.
I crossed Alhambra, my eye drifting to a beautiful three-story town house I always passed and admired. Hand-carved wooden shutters23 and a terra-cotta tile roof like on the Grand Canal. I held Martha as a car passed by.
That's what I remembered about the moment. The neigh-borhood just waking up. A redheaded kid in a FUBU sweatshirt practicing tricks on his Razor. A woman in overalls24 hurrying around the corner, carrying a bundle of clothes.
"C'mon, Martha." I tugged25 on her leash. "I can taste that mochachino."
Then the town house with the terra-cotta roof exploded into flames. I mean, it was as if San Francisco were suddenly Beirut.
1 cram | |
v.填塞,塞满,临时抱佛脚,为考试而学习 | |
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2 buddy | |
n.(美口)密友,伙伴 | |
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3 sprint | |
n.短距离赛跑;vi. 奋力而跑,冲刺;vt.全速跑过 | |
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4 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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5 winced | |
赶紧避开,畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 busts | |
半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 ); 妇女的胸部; 胸围; 突击搜捕 | |
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7 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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8 bailed | |
保释,帮助脱离困境( bail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 bray | |
n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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10 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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11 peek | |
vi.偷看,窥视;n.偷偷的一看,一瞥 | |
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12 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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13 peeking | |
v.很快地看( peek的现在分词 );偷看;窥视;微露出 | |
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14 strap | |
n.皮带,带子;v.用带扣住,束牢;用绷带包扎 | |
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15 bruise | |
n.青肿,挫伤;伤痕;vt.打青;挫伤 | |
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16 bruises | |
n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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17 mashed | |
a.捣烂的 | |
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18 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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19 leash | |
n.牵狗的皮带,束缚;v.用皮带系住 | |
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20 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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21 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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22 gulls | |
n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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24 overalls | |
n.(复)工装裤;长罩衣 | |
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25 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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