“Okay,” I said. “I’m leaving now.” I took the BiPAP off and connected myself to an oxygen tank,
lifted the tank into my cart, and put on sneakers to go with my pink cotton pajama pants
and a Butler basketball T-shirt, which had originally been Gus’s. I grabbed the keys from the kitchen drawer where Mom kept them
and wrote a note in case they woke up while I was gone. Went to check on Gus. It’s important. Sorry. Love, H
As I drove the couple miles to the gas station, I woke up enough to wonder why Gus had left the house in the middle of the night.
Maybe he’d been hallucinating, or his martyrdom fantasies had gotten the better of him.
I sped up Ditch Road past flashing yellow lights, going too fast partly to reach him and partly in the hopes a cop would pull me over
and give me an excuse to tell someone that my dying boyfriend was stuck outside of a gas station with a malfunctioning G-tube.
But no cop showed up to make my decision for me. There were only two cars in the lot. I pulled up next to his.
I opened the door. The interior lights came on. Augustus sat in the driver’s seat, covered in his own vomit,
his hands pressed to his belly where the G-tube went in. “Hi,” he mumbled. “Oh, God, Augustus, we have to get you to a hospital.”
“Please just look at it.” I gagged from the smell but bent forward to inspect the place above his belly button
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