Jason threw the papers on my desk—his eyebrows knit into a straight line as he glared at me. He pointed a finger at the paper. “Next time you want to change anything, ask me first,” he said, turning on his heels and leaving me in anger. “How dare he treat me like that,” I thought. I had changed one long sentence, and corrected grammar, something I thought I was paid to do.

As the weeks went by, I grew to dislike Jason. One day, another of his episodes left me in tears. I stormed into his office, prepared to let the man know how I felt I sat across from him and said calmly, “Jason, the way you’ve been treating me is wrong. I’ve never had anyone speak to me that way. As a professional, it’s wrong, and I can’ allow it to continue.”

Jason assumed a nervous smile and leaned back in his chair. I closed my eyes briefly. “I want to make you a promise. I will be a friend,” I said. “I will treat you as you deserve to be treated, with respect and kindness. You deserve that. Everybody does.” I slipped out of the chair and closed the door behind me.

Jason avoided me the rest of the week. Papers and letters appeared on my desk while I was at lunch, and my corrected versions were not seen again. I brought cookies to the office one day and left some on his desk. Another day I left a note. “Hope your day is going great,” it read. Over the next few weeks, Jason reappeared but there were no other episodes.

One year after our “talk”, I discovered I had cancer. I was thirty-two, the mother of three young children, scared. Friends and loved ones visited and tried to find the right words to comfort me. No one knew what to say, and many said the wrong things. Others wept.

One day, Jason came into the hospital room awkwardly, and placed a box beside me.

For ten years, I have watched those red and white flowers blossom every spring.

“Look at the little dog!” a girl shouted from across the street. “She’s got rain boots (靴子)!” I smiled and waved. I would never have put clothes on any animal I owned, but Velma wasn’t my dog. I’d just offered to walk her this morning because my friend, Arlene, fell ill. When Arlene had asked me to walk Velma, I’d been happy to volunteer. But I was less pleased when Arlene made me spend 20 minutes putting on Velma’s raincoat and four tiny rain boots. Once outside, I had expected to walk Velma around quickly. But with all the people stopping me every few minutes to talk about the little dog, it was taking me a long time. It was a moment of letting my unhappy feeling away to get her back home. I had done my good deed (行为) and could finally go off to work before I was late.

As I turned to go, Arlene said at the door. “Thank you so much. I’ll see you again at noon.” “Wait, what?” I was shocked by her words. “That’s when Velma gets her next walk,” Arlene said as if I’d somehow agreed to a whole daily schedule, “I’m sorry, Arlene,” I said. “I have to be at work.” “Oh,” Arlene said, “I guess we’ll see you at six then.” “Great,” I said, making my escape. 10 minutes later I realized that I’d just agreed to walk her dog again at six! How had I let that happen? I agreed to do things I really didn’t want to do.

That day was just the beginning. All the next week, Arlene “reminded” me to walk Velma at various times throughout the day. “Velma loves you,” she said one evening when I came to get the dog. “Sometimes I think she likes you better.” That sent a shake down my body. Was Arlene trying to make me Velma’s long-time dog walker? God, what have I gotten myself into?