I was buried under the covers in the middle of a beautiful dream when Max, my two-year-old Golden Retriever, woke me up with his whining and slobbering.
“Give me a break, already,” I grumbled. It was Saturday, one of the rare days I could sleep in, but I was late for Max’s walk.
I didn’t even worry about the formality of putting on makeup. In this backwater town there wasn’t anybody worth meeting.
I grabbed my keys and Max’s leash, and we were on our way.
Max pulled me through the snow. Things became more treacherous when we reached the road, as it was glazed over with a thin layer of ice.
I tugged on the leash, and Max slowed to a reasonable pace, allowing me to keep my footing on the ice.
I heard a giggle and saw a little boy with a pale angelic face peering at me from behind a tree. I was surprised, and I began to slip and slide like someone just learning how to ice skate before falling squarely on my butt.
Somehow, I managed to hold on to Max’s leash, but my keys went skittering across the icy street.
When unbelievable grace the boy sprinted to the keys, turned to giggle again at me, and ran off into the trees with my keys in his hand.
It was then I realized that I was screwed. I had locked the front door behind me, and now had no way to get back into the house. Even worse, the only spare key was with the farmer I rented the place from, and he always went to market on Saturdays.
A black F-250 Ford pickup truck came around the bend and stopped.
“Are you ok?” the man asked.
“I’m fine, mostly a bruised ego,” I replied.
“Name’s Luke,” he said, offering his hand. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? My place is just up the road. I took over the old Meyer place,” he said.
I knew better than to hitch a ride with a stranger, but I had few options.
“C’mon,” he said. “Your dog can come too!”
He opened the passenger door for me, and after I climbed inside, he opened the back door for Max. What a gentleman! I thought to myself.
The coffee and conversation were delightful, and soon I forgot about my keys. I got a spare from the farmer, but I spent more and more time at Luke’s place and less and less time at my own.
One day I was walking in Luke’s yard, and I saw a name carved into a tree: LOKI.
Then I knew that Luke, and the little boy, and Loki the God of Mischief were one. I should have been mad, but in the dead of winter my heart was warm with love, so I only laughed.
INSTANT NOODLES 