Tucker's Tenth Bush

We became acquainted at an early age, 6 or maybe it was 7. At times I think it had been there from birth.

It came in bouts, sometimes hidden behind ignorance. Other times, behind the illusion of happiness and normality but it was always above me...watching me, judging me, reminding me that my weakness could be smelled from miles away.

That rotten smell sipped into my blood and organs. It had destroyed my heart long ago but I was still walking. Still trying. Still smiling.

It had come to visit me again, destroying everything I had and hoped to build.

It drowned my lungs with its thick and heavy darkness.

It was hard to think but even harder to breathe.

It was always hard to breathe.

“No one will ever love someone like you” my father used to say. And it rejoiced at hearing those words.

I know what my father meant. It was his way of telling me stop, to try, to be happier.

But good intentions rarely translate well into reality.

So I smiled, I laughed, I became the jewel of my family. All the while, it loomed over me.

Always present, always whispering unspoken truths and unwanted secrets.

Darkness was its best friend. Both terrifying, imposing, but never lasting.

The sun meant the performance had to begin. Happiness, smiles, unwanted submission.

Even my love was performative. But that’s what it takes. Survival requires action, not feelings.

It had been dark when I opened my eyes. Sleep no longer shielding me from it.

So I stared at the wall. No texture, no color, not even a small hint of its previous owners…no significance.

A blank canvas.

I had been staring at it for two hours, hoping to find what made it special, different.

It was a lost cause.

The morning light was now peeping through my window, telling me the performance was soon to start. But today…today my brain was too tired.

I laid on my stomach, staring at the wall, welcoming the numbness into my limbic system. My favorite tenant, better than the previous one and less demanding than the one to come.

My phone went off 3 times. It was 9am.

First notification - A reminder. “Clock in for work”

Even sadness takes a back seat to capitalism.

Second notification - Mom. “Don’t forget to fill out the form on my chart so that I can schedule my colonoscopy”.

The needy never gets fed but provides for those above them.

Third notification - Brother. “Did you fill out mom’s forms…she needs to schedule her colonoscopy”

Two children…one useless.

I laid there. Work was quiet this morning. No need to rush out of bed, the performance could wait.

Today’s episode would be “Overslept Accountant”.

That would justify the lack of response to my family for a couple more hours.

The white wall, as unmemorable as it was a second ago, provided comfort, and I took it.

Sunlight was now pouring through my window, but today the performance had to be delayed.

The main actress was too depleted.

Not even a minute passed before the scratching began.

The day had to begin.

I opened the door, a true little ray of sunshine ran past me and plopped itself on my bed.

Little Tucker.

Always happy to see me…happy to see a dying soul.

I smiled, a true smile.

I think he understood pain better than anyone else.

Tiny body, ripped ear, stinky and forever greasy.

Abused as a pup, sent to a shelter where food was scarce and violence abundant and now owned by neglect.

He wasn’t mine to care for…but I wish he was.

He understood it too. It loomed over him like it did over me.

But he was braver than me, stronger than anything and anyone I knew. At least he let his anger be known…I couldn’t.

He was ready to bite at the slightest sign of disrespect…I became small.

I was happy to see him and he was happy to see me.

I went back to bed, with his stinky little body next to mine. Both staring at the wall.

Seeking that sweet numbness that only comes with silence…with nothingness.

I hugged him.

He stayed still and we basked in each other’s presence.

Enjoying the little bit of comfort we had in each other.

How I wished he was mine to care for.

I scratched his little head and he looked at me with those bulging eyes.

His little eyebrow was swollen from a beating I did not have enough evidence to fight.

I hugged him tighter.

We laid there.

Staring at nothing for about another hour. But biology called.

We always walked the same route.

A line of 10 bushes, which he meticulously inspected.

The world had to know about his existence, even if it was reduced to just a bush.

Bush number one. He raised his back leg again and again. And one more time after that. Smelling, claiming.

Second bush. He looked at me. I looked at him. We both looked back. We were further from home. He raised his back leg again and again. And one more time after that.

Third bush. We began to think.

He looked at me. He approved.

He then raised his back leg again and again. And one more time after that.

Fourth bush. Fifth bush. Sixth bush.

The breeze felt like an actual hug. The sky was clear. The clouds looked white and fluffy. No one else was around. An oddly quiet morning.

He looked at me again. His little eyebrow was beginning to swell even more.

We both looked back, further and further from home. Did we dare to go back so soon?

He then raised his back leg again and again. And one more time after that.

Seventh bush.

My phone went off twice. A work inquiry. A text from dad. I turned it off. He looked at me. I looked at him.

We both took a deep breath.

Did we dare ?

He raised his leg once and moved on to the eight bush.

The eight bush provided a distance between us and reality. Close enough where we could see home, but far enough where we could escape it.

He smelled the bush. Looked up at me and went on to the ninth bush. Giving up his territory.

At the ninth bush, I felt it too.

I wanted to give it all up. Not as a sign of surrender but a sign of my first true fight.

The sun told me to stop performing and the tears began to run down.

It loomed over me again. Heavy but not threatening.

I felt its sadness over me, remorseful.

Not for what it had done to me, but for the task it had fulfilled, a job that had to be done.

A life that had been laid out for it, like it had been for me.

All three of us were tired.

It was tired of its deeds, I was tired of succumbing to it, and Tucker was tired of fighting back.

At the tenth bush, we looked at each other. This time, we didn’t look back.

We walked to my car, fastened our seatbelts and I finally said “Goodbye”.