Alpha Lizard

I've been spending an extraordinary amount of time lately with people who don't exist.

For weeks, I've been holed up in my house, hoping to finish the final edit of my novel before handing it off to a real editor.

My days are spent obsessing over imaginary people's problems, meddling in their relationships, and trying to make sense of their lives.

Occasionally, I emerge from my self-imposed captivity for food or fresh air.

The other afternoon, I ventured outside to enjoy the beautiful weather and let Annie, the resident maniac, do the same. That's when I discovered a squatter in my favorite Adirondack chair.

A lizard.

Not a particularly large lizard, either. But he was stretched out like he owned the place, and apparently, he did. I considered evicting him, but frankly, I was too tired to wrestle a lizard. A perfectly good chair sat to his left, so I took it.

And there we sat.

Me, enjoying a few minutes away from my fictional world. Him, chillin' like a villain.

About ten minutes later, I got up to return to my computer and discovered that my little seatmate hadn't moved an inch. Not even Annie, who'd been running around like a lunatic, had disturbed him.

Was he dead?

I leaned in for a closer look and pulled out my phone to retrieve photographic documentation.

Nope. Very much alive. Just completely unimpressed. Not a flinch. Not a twitch. Not the slightest concern that a giant had invaded his personal space and was now photographing him.

An Alpha Lizard!

When I zoomed in, I noticed the mysterious white stuff stuck to his face. What on earth had he gotten into?

And just like that, my imagination took off.

I pictured him crashing a perfectly lovely flower party, terrorizing innocent bees, staring menacingly at butterflies, sticking his nose where it didn't belong, and leaving his nasty little droppings in some unsuspecting bug's living room.

No wonder he was exhausted! He'd spent the morning wreaking havoc throughout the neighborhood and had retired to my Adirondack chair to recover from his adventures.

He wasn't fearless. He was just worn out. The little bandit.

And there I was, having stepped outside to escape the imaginary lives I'd been creating, only to invent an entirely new one for a lizard.

What's wrong with me?!

Aside from questioning my sanity, something about those ten minutes stayed with me.

Writing is a solitary business. Meanwhile, an entire world of real lives and real stories continues unfolding beyond my computer screen. I need to remember that.

And for a little while, I got to be a part of it.

I shared a few lovely moments with one of God's little creatures. He didn't ask anything of me. Didn't need entertaining. Didn't offer advice. Didn't even acknowledge my existence.

He just sat with me. And strangely enough, I found that comforting.

Although I still want to know what that little outlaw had on his face.