I doubt if anyone is, but the Rhinos' grunting so brilliantly confounds obscurity for clarity when the matter at hand is transparent simplicity that most of us, in self-defense, sprout horns and say, I understand!
I don't. But I'm trying my best to become bi-species.
Today, back to the Verizon office. With my social security card, required for transferring the contract from Rich to me.
My Rhino rep regards me cooly. He asks the same questions as on Saturday. Why changing? Because Richard is dead, I say. He asks for an ID. I hand over my driver's license, again. Put in your social security number, he says, indicating the electric pad on the counter. I wait.
Don't you want my card, I ask. We got this far on Saturday.
The numbers, he says.
But there are no numbers on the pad.
He frowns at me, then hits a button on his computer and the numbers appear.
We wait. He chats with another Rhino. I catch myself rubbing my naked third finger, left hand, a habit of late. Maybe it will become a hoof. I hold onto my social security card, my humble offering.
He looks past me. You're done, he says.
You don't need my card? I was told on Saturday --
I don't know who told you that, he says.
I go for a long walk near our old home, up and down and around the gorge. At our -- my -- new home, more Rhino works await, piles of them.
Tomorrow is still another day.
Candace
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