"Yeah, right," she smiled.

"No, really! It was completely weird. I really don't know what happened....hey...do you you have my keys?"

I wasn't ready to be by myself so I invited myself over to E's house, to sit for a while. As we walked I told her the whole story, about the heat, the little pink tutu, all of it. She kind of half-listened, not quite believing me. "So...you maybe left your bag somewhere, someone's house?" No. I was sure I had it with me. "And you sure you went home last night? You're kind of dressed funny for an afternoon in the park." She was right about that. I was dressed funny. But that was not unusual. And I remembered getting dressed that morning, so that wasn't it.

We stopped in the deli on the corner of E's block to get some cat food and cookies. It was as I was sliding the Fig Newtons onto the counter around E's arm that I glimpsed, out of the corner of my eye, something pink, flouncing down the street at dachshund level. I ran out and saw her rounding the corner, my tutu-ed friend from the park. And she was alone, scooting down the street in independent dog fashion, on a mission. I ran after her, yelling "Hey! Here little doggie! Tutu! Tutu!" in a high-pitched, wheedling tone. "Here Tutu!!" She completely ignored me, trotting madly toward her destination. I ran after her for blocks in the dark, feeling ridiculous, but unwilling to stop what I had started.

Somewhere near Sixth Avenue I saw her nip into a doorway, door held open with a brick. By the time I got there she was at the top of a long flight of stairs, scratching at a closed door.

I know this is a strange story, sort of reminiscence mixed with fantasy. I do remember this stuff so vividly, but it's the same way you remember dreams--things shift and change meaning, huge pockets of plot just drop out, leaving room for revision. What I'm trying to say is that I'm no longer sure that it happened exactly this way, but I do remember certain things for sure: the sound of Tutu's scratching, the echoing of my own footsteps as I lurched up the stairway, the click of the metal door opening just wide enough to let a tiny dog through.

"Hey," I yelled, "Wait!" The door creaked open a bit farther. I scrambled up to the landing, suddenly completely unsure of what I was doing there. "Hello? Do you want something?" A small woman peered out from a darkened entryway.

"I...I'm sorry. I saw the dog and she was by herself...and I saw her earlier at the festival...I lost my bag." This is what I said, I think. Something like that. The woman just looked up at me inscrutably. "You like my dog?"

"Yes...but...weren't you at Washington Square Park this afternoon?"

The woman started to back slowly into her cave. I looked over her shoulder to see if Tutu was there. I could hear the tapping of her claws...which sounds more sinister than I mean it. I actually like the sound of tiny dog's claws on linoleum, or a shiny wood floor. It makes me want to get up off the couch and be efficient. In this case, that efficient-sounding tapping sounded extra busy, as if Tutu were playing soccer. "I fell asleep..." I explained, nonsensically.

The woman frowned slightly, looked down at her own feet by way of apology, and firmly shut the door.

I stood for a minute, not knowing how to feel, and then decided to feel depressed. I actually felt the physical sensation of letdown, the feeling of the heart sinking. That is a real thing, that feeling. And it was enhanced by a flush of shame as I hit the bottom of the stairs. I could tell that my face was red. I was going to cry, I could feel it coming.

[TO BE CONTINUED]