Mickey Mouse

There once was a dog named, Mickey Mouse.

I used the credit card the Architect had given me for emergency situations, and purchased him.  The Architect was livid, understandably so.

And like Mary's Lamb and Bruno Chan, everywhere that Tammy went, Mickey would surely go.

I'd get dressed for school, scoop him up, and off we'd go.

In Chinese Literature in Translation, he sat on my desk.  Professor Lee praised his attentiveness and good behaviour.

Sometimes I'd skip school, drive north, north, north.

We've made it to Vegas once,

explored the shores of Lake Tahoe.

We've crossed the Bay Bridge many times.

(The views are much better from this other end- you see the whole city light up.)

In Los Angeles, we did groceries, ate on Sawtelle Boulevard.

(I believe Sawtelle Kitchen still exits, and it's BYOB.)

If we had visitors, we'd take them on a drive along Pacific 1, catch the sun set from the campus in Malibu.

Or we'd head out to Venice Beach.

I think because Mickey was there as I journeyed into adulthood, my steps were not tentative, but bold.

The First Forever Love, loved Mickey and loved me.  But one day, we both learnt, love was not enough.

The First Forever Love flew to LA to say goodbye to us.  

My heart broke.  

Then it was time to pack up and get on with dancing.

We learnt it's not difficult meeting people in New York.

By Thanksgiving, I could cook and throw a party.

That Thanksgiving, I drank too much.  I made a call, long-distance.  A friend had a brother who had a friend, whom she felt would truly get on with me.  She gave me his number.  I called him.  He wasn't home.  I went to bed thinking, I need to curb my self-destructive tendencies.

He returned my call the day after.  Unbeknownst to me, he had applied for a job in the city, and thought I was the job, calling him back.

Six weeks later, he arrived in the Big Apple.  Mickey and I met him at JFK, and took him home.

Since then, he's not left.