Gus

Awar Biong

         It was a Saturday when word of Gus’s death reached the tall yellow house on the average hill in San Francisco. Its owner, a Mrs. Deborah Lake, received the call at 2:00 am, informing her that her beloved Gus had been struck by a car upon his spur of the moment urge to run (a side effect of mounting delirium). 

        She was numb from 2:00 to 2:06. At 2:07, a thousand elephants sat on her chest, finding comfort in her bosom. They then decided to make camp in her stomach, and there they rested comfortably, inflicting the greatest amount of pain on their host. Mrs. Deborah Lake was overcome by grief. 

        At 2:09 she began to wail uncontrollably: shaking with every breath. Two minutes later, her husband, Mr. Thomas Lake, woke up and sat next to his wife. His tired eyes, full of concern, struggled to stay open while he draped a lazy hand on his wife’s shoulder. He didn’t say a word.

        Slowly, his wife’s sobs lessened, and the seismic waves that shook her body lost their momentum. She was tired. 

        “Gus,” she managed to murmur as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

        “It’s okay,” her husband said before embracing the mournful woman. He buried his face in her hair, and slowly, all the muscles of his face formed a small smile. Mr. Tom Lake had been waiting for that day. 

        It was 7:00 am, two days later, and Tom Lake sat at the dining room table, reading his paper as he always did before going off to work. He learned to read at the age of five, and began selling papers at six. From seven to eighteen he worked diligently in school before going off to college. His dream had always been the papers. At the university, he met Deborah. Deborah Lee was her name back then. Their story was a common one. After graduating, they became married, had a few children. Tom became someone of power in the office, and when he least expected it, then came Gus. The worst mistake to have ever happened to their lives, as far as Mr. Tom Lake was concerned. He knew he was trouble from the beginning. Never once did he call it his child. And Deborah’s coos about Gus being her baby only made things worse. He was disruptive, disobedient, incorrigible, and worst of all, he had no respect for the papers.

        It was 7:00 am, and Deborah remained in bed. The previous nights had been restless for the woman. No amount of sleep could alleviate her from the distress she felt. Why did it have to be Gus? The question weighed on her heart for hours. She remembered when she first found him. He was a small thing, then. Without a mother, or a home. See, Deborah Lee Lake was too good a woman to let the poor thing go. It was her duty to nurture it. She had always been a nurturer. As a child, she dreamed of becoming a nurse. After getting her degree and marrying Tom, there was no room for her career. Rather, she spent her time giving him children, three, to be exact. While he thrived and wrote papers, she slaved away at home, cooking and cleaning. When Gus came into her life, he became the perfect distraction, whatever regret or resentment she felt toward Tom faded away upon her baby’s arrival. Gus made her happy because he was different. He needed more care, yet he loved with his whole heart. And for years, he provided what Tom and his papers couldn’t.  Comfort.

        Deborah made her way down to the kitchen. She had made breakfast for Tom every day for twenty-seven years. On that morning, not even a single egg boiled on the stove.

        “How are you?” he asked.

        “No matter how I am,” she said.

         “Deborah,” Tom whined as he walked to his wife. “We will get through this, together.” He gave her a kiss before walking to the door.

        “I called the office. I told them you had a funeral to attend this afternoon,” she said.

        Tom was irate. She knew how much he hated Gus. To pay his respects would be utterly disrespectful to the dead thing. He had more important things to do. All of which involving his papers. 

        “Why bother! It will be just the two of us anyway. No one else could even tolerate Gus!” he said. Mr. Lake never raised his voice, yet on that day, he wanted nothing more than to celebrate the death at his office, where he found true solace.

        “The children are coming. They loved him and it would mean the world to me if you stood by us,” Deborah said mournfully. That was all it took.

        At noon, on that very day, Mr. Tom Lake, Mrs. Deborah Lake, and their three adult children stood under the oak tree in their small back garden. 

        “I loved Gus. He was there for me through every trial,” their eldest said. 

        “Gus was more than a friend to me, he was my partner in crime. My right hand man. I got more girls with him around than I ever could have gotten on my own,” their second child said.

        “Gus comforted me that time the nasty neighbor boy broke my doll house,” their youngest said.

       “Gus,” Deborah said. “You loved me in my darkest days, and for that reason, my baby, I will be forever grateful.”

        With that, Tom Lake and his two sons lowered the massive Gus into his shallow grave. Throughout the ceremony, all he could think about was how hot a day it was. How he wanted nothing more than to be inside the cool house, reading his paper. 

        Once the wrapped corpse laid in its final resting place, Deborah Lake and her three adult children watched as their father and husband poured soil overtop their precious Gus. They did so before retreating back into their average home on the average hill in San Francisco. Tom was left alone. 

        In those moments, while looking at Gus’s favorite tree, under which a new grave was marked, memories of him flooded his mind. All of them, a mix of good and bad. No matter the situation, Gus had made his family happy, something the busy Tom always struggled to do. And for that, and for that reason only, he was eternally thankful.

        So, Mr. Tom Lake stood there. He wiped his brow, stretched his back, and the slightest smile reached his face. It wasn’t all good, yet it wasn’t all bad. And before retreating back into his home, he said good bye in the only way he knew how.

        “Damn dog,” he said. “You damn dog.”