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- Author: Mark Tullius
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Demarius took a step back and sat down on the edge of Sara’s desk like he was planning on having a deep conversation. “You need someone to talk to?”
I knew he meant Sharon, but felt like testing him. I turned my pad so he could see the drawing. “Let’s talk about how I wouldn’t let her die.”
“You need to clear your head, Homie.”
Demarius shook his head and left the room. He didn’t want to hear how Dr. Gentry had to operate on my birthday.
* * *
BOTH OF DR. GENTRY’S receptionists looked down, saw who it was, and looked away. Mary Ann, the one with braces, picked up the phone that hadn’t rung. Jessica, the freckled redhead, got up, went into the back. I hoped they were being nice, trying not to stare at my sweat circles. I’d jogged all the way from school to have an extra five minutes with Sunny, to tell her she’d be okay.
Someone thought they were being funny with the time cards. The pink one Dr. Gentry made special for me was up on the top slot, way out of reach.
But that was nothing next to Dr. Gentry. He’d pass me in the waiting room and let his thoughts fill my head. Images of Mom’s sweaty body underneath him. He knew I wanted to punch him, knew every violent thought flowing through my mind. He’d just smile, because there was nothing I could do. He held Sunny’s life in his hands. I just had to grit my teeth and take it.
Pamela was at the end of the hall looking like a Q-tip with her rail-thin body and puffy blonde perm. Even if she wasn’t busy moving stuff around in the cupboard, she wasn’t the person to ask for help. Pamela was one of those people that smiled real big all the time. The kind of smile people give when they’re really just holding back a scream.
After a few minutes, the exam room’s door swung open. Nancy headed down the hall looking at her clipboard.
Nancy was the only one who could weigh the big dogs. She knew others laughed behind her back because she looked like a man, but that didn’t stop her from always smiling, real ones nothing like Pamela’s.
I was so glad to see her. I wanted her to be the one to give the good news about Sunny, that she was all better like a miracle. Nancy would have loved to say that. She didn’t think I was just a stupid kid who got in the way. She didn’t think Sunny wasn’t important. She thought Sunny would be okay.
I waved Nancy down and pointed at the pink card. “Can you help me?”
She tried to smile, but it crumpled. It took her a moment to start talking, then all she said was follow her. She walked past all the tables, the place quieter than ever, everyone’s eyes trained on their patient or tool or each other.
Nancy turned around in front of the door to the last operating room. She put both arms around me and pulled me close. She didn’t say a word.
It was hard to breathe with my mouth smushed against her chest, but Nancy kept hugging. She wanted to take the pain away. She knew it wasn’t fair.
Nancy couldn’t say she was sorry, but she was, her eyes wet when she stood and walked away.
Everything got super quiet, the occasional beep and buzz too loud. The door was wood with a big window too high to look through.
The door pushed in, squealed the whole way back. Everything was dark. Then I flipped on the switch and it was way too bright, Sunny curled up on the table like she did in that space below my arm. The place that’d be empty forever.
I lowered the lights so they were just barely on. I stepped to the table. Sunny smelled like she did the first day I got her. Her fur was soft except for all the parts shaved off. They’d given her a bath and closed her eyes. The eyes that’d showed so much love no matter what.
This was the last time to see Sunny. Last time to pick her up, hug her tight, let her know she’d be missed every day.
My tears fell on Sunny’s face, bounced off the bright collar that never got a chance to get old. From the other room, Nancy said, “He’s in here, Mr. Nolan”
The door opened then closed. Dad didn’t get off work before five but he was stepping up right behind me. “I’m sorry, Joe,” he said. “I really am.”
Crying made it too hard to talk. There were no words to say. Everything hurt and it always would. Nothing would make that better.
Dad put his hands on my shoulders to keep them from shrugging up and down. In a way he hadn’t said it before, Dad said, “Control it, Joe.”
I was trying to, but Dr. Gentry had killed Sunny. I knew it.
“I know this hurts. It hurts me too,” Dad said. He walked around so I could see the sadness behind his glasses. “But it’ll pass and you’ll get over it.”
Not this. Not Sunny.
“Stop shaking your head and listen to me.” He held my chin because I didn’t. “You’re feeling a lot of things right now, but you need to relax.” He bent down, got eye to eye. “You’re sad. Scared. Alone. Pissed off. At God. At Dr. Gentry. Your mom. Me.”
I couldn’t stop sobbing. Sunny was dead. “Look at her.”
Dad raised his voice to cover my crying, not because he was mad. “Understanding what you’re feeling is the first step, but naming it’s not enough. Then you got to think about it. Rationalize it. Use logic.”
Logic said Sunny was dead. Always would be. Just a piece of meat.
“Stop it, Joe.” Dad went back to holding my shoulders. “You’re feeling an emotion that you’re in control of. It’s your brain. If you want to be happy, you can choose to be happy.” Dad’s brown eyes were getting shiny behind his glasses. “If you decide to be angry, that’s how you’ll be. It works in degrees and won’t always get rid of what you’re feeling. Lots of times it’s just postponing it, but that’s alright.”
Dad put his hand on Sunny’s head, the other on my hand. “There’ll be plenty of times where you can think about Sunny and miss her. Way too many times. Then you can cry all you want.” Dad checked over his shoulder and turned back, his face all hard. “But don’t ever do it in front of that prick.”
Dad stood and pointed at the table.
The table was cold, too cold to put Sunny on. The whole room was cold and smelled funny. She couldn’t just lie there by herself.
Dad said my name real slow. “Knock it off and put her down.”
Sunny went down all relaxed, legs going out each way. Her nose was cold, not wet, no more snores.
“One more kiss and that’s it. It’s better that way,” Dad said. He knew it was true, thinking of holding his first dog, Brutus, while the shivering pooch threw up its insides trying to get rid of the poison.
I gave Sunny one final kiss on top of her head and turned my back on her.
Dad took off his glasses just long enough to wipe his eyes. “I’m proud of you. That’s what it means to be a man. It’s easier to be controlled by sadness and fear, hatred and jealousy, and all that other bullshit than it is to control them.”
The man talking right then wasn’t the same man that came home after work every day. This one was someone to look up to.
There were no more goodbyes, we just went right through the door, into the main room, right past Donny who thought it was pretty queer for me to be holding hands with my dad. Past Felicia who said she was sorry, thought poor kid, that dog never had a chance.
At the counter, Jessica said sorry, too, like it could make it all better. And maybe it did a little because she really meant it, her bottom lip shaking because Sunny looked like her Princess.
I tried to say thanks, but it came out all mumbled.
Jessica understood. She said to take care. Then Dr. Gentry came out of the consultation room. He said he was sorry but didn’t sound it. “Go ahead and take tomorrow off, too.”
Instead of running out the front door like my after-work dad, Dad stood right there and put his hand on my shoulder. “Joe won’t be finishing up.”
Gentry went red, used his I’m-not-mad voice. “It’ll be good for your boy to learn the value of hard work and fulfilling promises.”
“He already knows both of those.”
“You have any idea how much that dog cost us?”
“Well, it wasn’t enough so we’re leaving.” Dad turned for the door. “And if you have a problem with that why don’t you take it up with my wife? I’m sure you’ll be talking to her.”
Dr. Gentry thought of Mom bent over his desk.
I don’t think Dr. Gentry even saw my dad’s fist before it sent him crashing to the floor.
We left. The door swooshed shut, Dad’s rusty red Tercel parked at the curb. Dad opened the passenger door for me. “And just so we’re clear, I said try to control your emotions. I didn’t say it always works.”
DEMARIUS HAD A BIG mouth. Day 66, he heard me thinking about Belinda, the woman who lived in my apartment before me. Everyone said Belinda seemed nice. Kept to herself. I never met her, but every time I saw my tub, all I wanted to know was what she was thinking.
That tub was the reason for my two-minute showers, why I did most of my washing at the sink. I’m not superstitious or any of that, but I didn’t like going in there. I had too good of an imagination.
Was the water real warm, your body relaxed? Had you always known it was the right thing to do? Did you question it when you held that razorblade? When you realized all you needed was sixty cents of steel? Not even that because all you really needed was that tiny little tip. Just dig it in and drag it back. And let it go. Let yourself flow away because you finally did it. You did what you should have done such a long time ago.
Demarius told Sharon everything. He had to. It was the rule. The Council said everyone had to report thoughts of suicide. It wasn’t to be taken lightly. Too many people had died. Some ended up in wheelchairs, like Paul.
Paul said he was up on the roof because he used to be a gymnast. He liked the freedom. The total control. He said he slipped, caught his toe on the ledge. He said someone’d have to be crazy to do what he did, risk ending up like him, confined to a wheelchair.
But everyone knew better. Paul couldn’t control his thoughts, the truth
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