Chester and Gus Read online

  Gus stopped crying when she pushed me away. I think he notices things like this and maybe he even worries about me, though it’s hard to tell because he doesn’t say anything. In the quiet, I can hear their conversation in the hall. “He’s doing so well, Sara. This behavior is to be expected because he’s really making strides. I see this all the time. With any kind of progress, we’re going to hit some resistance. We’ve had a very productive session. Very productive.”

  I can’t hear what Sara is saying, so I go over to Gus. You don’t have to do this, you know.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  If you go back to school you could stop these boring lessons and see Mama again.

  Too much talking doesn’t work with Gus so I choose my words carefully. I keep talking because he’s not screaming anymore. I think that means he’s listening.

  You were happier when you went to school. Maybe you didn’t love everything about it, but you liked enough things and you got through the other parts.

  I can’t tell what’s happening. His face is still red from crying. He’s rocking in his chair. I move a little closer but I’m careful. I don’t go too close or try to touch him.

  His breathing is still loud.

  I don’t know if he’s heard what I’ve said.

  I try this: Do you want to go back to school?

  He holds his breath for a long time like he’s thinking about it.

  Maybe.

  It’s very soft, but I hear it. His voice. I’m so happy I can’t stop myself. I put my nose on his knee and lick his hand. He pulls it away. I’m sorry, I say. I know you don’t like that.

  “YOU DON’T LIKE THAT!”

  His voice sounds louder and different this time. His mouth moved when he said it. He wasn’t talking through our minds. He really talked.

  You just said that! I say.

  Maybe I shouldn’t get too excited. He repeated what I said, which we’ve heard him do before. Still, this feels different. He didn’t repeat a nonsense word or something he heard on TV. If he repeated one thing I said, maybe he can repeat something else! Maybe I can say what he needs to tell Sara and he can repeat it!

  I have I an idea. I can help you tell your mom what happened with Ed.

  “You don’t like that,” he repeats.

  Why not? It’s a great idea! I’ll go slow.

  “You don’t like that.”

  Okay, you don’t like that idea, but why not?

  “You don’t like that.”

  That’s when I realize: He’s not hearing me at all. He’s listening to the sound of his own voice. How it fills the room and comes back into his ears.

  “YOU DON’T LIKE THAT!” he yells again. Now he’s smiling.

  The door opens. Sara and Eleanor are right there.

  “What don’t you like, Gus? Can you tell us what you don’t like?”

  He’s laughing and rocking in his chair, so Sara laughs a little. “What’s happening here?” Eleanor asks Sara. To her it must look crazy—a few minutes ago, he was screaming and pushing everything off the table. Now he’s laughing and rocking back and forth.

  “I don’t know,” Sara says, because of course she doesn’t.

  No one looks at me. No one thinks maybe the dog got Gus to say a full sentence.

  Tell her about Ed! I shout from behind Sara. Tell her: Ed hurt me in the tunnel under the playground structure. It was only Ed, so it’s okay, I can go back to school. They just have to make sure Ed doesn’t come near me.

  He doesn’t say any of it. He makes his old squealy sounds instead. Tell her: Ed hurt me! That’s all! Just say that!

  I wait. Sara waits.

  Say it.

  Sara doesn’t mind waiting. She’s been waiting his whole life to hear what he’s thinking.

  Now. Ed hurt me.

  “Eh—Eh—Eh!” he says into his hand, then he flaps his hand around like it’s got the word and it’s trying to get rid of it. But it’s not Ed’s name.

  It’s not even close.

  It sounds the same as all of Gus’s noises that don’t mean anything.

  Sara tells him it’s okay and gives him a hug. “I think you need a break, sweetheart. Eleanor, can Gus have a break and then come back and help you clean up?”

  “I suppose,” she says, though I can tell she’s not supposed to give him a break before he cleans up. There are lots of rules to her kind of teaching.

  “I’d like to have a minute to talk to Gus in private, if that’s okay,” Sara says.

  “All right,” Eleanor says, then stops at the door. “Maybe the dog should come with me, too? Just so there aren’t any distractions?”

  No! I’m not a distraction!

  “No, he’s fine,” Sara says. “He can stay.”

  Now Eleanor is mad and clicks the door shut very loud behind her. It’s like everyone is saying things without using any words now.

  Sara kneels in front of Gus again. “This is it, babe. I need you to look at me and tell me: Do you hate having teachers at home? Do you want to go back to school?”

  I can hardly believe it—she’s asking the right question! I hold my breath and wait. I don’t say anything because I don’t want to confuse Gus. I’m worried that when I talk, he assumes everyone can hear me.

  Silence.

  Finally I can’t stand it. School! I whisper. Gus, say, “I want to go to school!”

  Gus’s eyes go to the window.

  “Can you help us, Gus? Dad and I want to know what you think. Were you ever happy at school?”

  Yes. Tell her yes, you had friends! You were happy sometimes!

  “Can you make a choice—school or home? You just have to say one word. Maybe if I put out flash cards and you pointed?”

  His whole face goes to the window. It’s not even his window. He doesn’t care what’s out there, he just wants to escape from this room and her question and all this pressure.

  “You don’t like it . . . ,” he whispers for the umpteenth time. He’s got one sentence his brain is saying today and he wants to use it for every question he’s asked.

  “Gus, please—if I find the cards, can you point to one?” She’s touching his arm and looking through the flash cards spread all over the floor. If he doesn’t say anything, she’ll assume he wants to stay home. Home is easier. It might be more boring with teachers who don’t teach him anything, but home has TV, and if he can’t watch TV, it has his window where he can lose himself for hours.

  SAY SOMETHING TO HER! I scream, but he doesn’t look at me.

  That’s when I smell it.

  At first I think something has spilled, like a bottle of chemicals. It’s sharp and metallic. I think maybe it’s going to blow up like the lighter fluid Penny once used on a grill that scared me. I bark to get everyone out of the room. First at Sara, then I go over to Gus where the smell is even stronger. It’s coming from the window or from something outside, I think. Get away from the window! I try to push him with my head and that’s when I realize, it’s not the window. It’s Gus.

  Gus smells like chemicals.

  Like he’s going to blow up.

  I bark for Sara to help.

  “What is it, Chess? What’s wrong?” I keep barking. “Calm down,” she says.

  Eleanor comes back in. “All right, I have to tell you—this is why I can’t have the dog in here during lessons. We’ll lose ground every time he goes off like this.”

  I hardly hear what they’re saying because I have to focus on Gus. With all my energy I have to get him to hear me: Sit down, I say. Get away from the window.

  He’s starting to wobble. He’s swaying toward the glass pane.

  MOVE! I scream and then I bark like crazy.

  Sara’s up just in time. As Gus starts to fall toward the pane of glass, she grabs him. He’s having another seizure and this time we can all see what it looks like—the shaking, the twitching, and the white bubbles in the corners of his mouth.

  Even though it’s hard to watch, there’s n
o sound at all, which means my heart stays calm and I do the only thing I can think of. I stretch out beside him with my face near his and I wait for it to be over.

  How to Say Yes, Part Two

  GUS DOESN’T SPEND THE NIGHT IN the hospital the way he did after his last seizure. This time Sara and Marc bring him home before the sky gets dark. Gus looks okay, but he’s moving slower, like his legs hurt or maybe his head. Something must hurt, because he’s walking right next to Sara and letting her put her arm around his shoulder.

  “Right over here, sweetheart,” she says. “Let’s get you to the sofa.”

  He bumps into her and then bumps into the sofa, which is not like him.

  I’m scared that maybe seizures make people not act like themselves.

  Sara sits him down and kisses the top of his head. “We’ll get you up to bed in a minute but first I’m going to get you some water. Are you okay here?”

  Gus nods. “Okay,” he says.

  Now I’m really scared. He just answered her question, which means he’s really not acting like himself.

  Sara stops walking and turns back to look at him. “You’re okay?” she repeats.

  He doesn’t look up. “Okay,” he says again, and smiles. She looks at Marc. Even though he’s repeating what she just said, this feels different. She’s asking him a question and he’s answering her. It feels very different.

  She brings him his water and kneels in front of him. “Are you ready for bed? The doctor said this medicine will make you feel sleepy.”

  “Feel sleepy,” he says. His eyes flutter a little like he’s already half asleep. I’m almost sure we’re all thinking the same thing: It’s like he’s so tired his brain can’t operate in its usual confusing way. It can’t stop him from talking. I can tell Sara wants to keep him up a little longer and find out more.

  “Can we ask you this question again, babe?”

  Gus’s head bobs a little, almost like he’s nodding.

  “Do you want to stop having teachers come to the house? Would you rather go back to school?”

  Marc steps up behind her and touches her shoulder. “Don’t, Sara. He’s too tired for this. Let’s put him to bed and talk about this in the morning.”

  She turns to Marc and snaps, “No. This is our chance.” She goes closer to Gus and kneels on the floor in front of him. “Gus, can you stay awake a little longer?”

  His eyes open again. He looks right at his mom and smiles. She smiles back. I’ve never seen him do this before. It’s nice.

  “Can you tell us if you want to go back to school?”

  Tell her yes, I say. I know he can hear me, because he looks around the room to see where I am and where this voice is coming from. When he finally sees me, he smiles and nods.

  Tell her yes! Tell her the only problem at school was Ed!

  He nods again.

  “Gus?” Sara says. “Can you tell us whether you want to go back to school—yes or no?”

  “Sara—” Marc is behind her.

  “He can do this, Marc,” she snaps again. “I see it in his eyes. He knows what I’m asking. He wants to tell me.”

  I move closer. I don’t say anything. I wonder if he’s not answering because he thinks his mother can hear me. Maybe he thinks the answer is already out there, that she already knows about Ed because I’ve said it so often.

  For Gus to speak, I have to be quiet and not say anything at all.

  He opens his mouth. “Chester—” he says.

  Sara’s hand goes up to her mouth. It’s the first time she’s heard him say my name. It’s not a repeat of something she’s said. It’s his own thought coming out of his mouth.

  “Wants . . . school.”

  Sara gasps and hugs Marc because she doesn’t want to scare Gus by hugging him right now. Then she kneels in front of him. “And do you want that too? Do you want to go to school with Chester?”

  He nods first so we know his answer. “Yes,” he says softly. “See Mama.”

  Now Sara’s crying and can’t stop herself from hugging him. “I’m right here, sweetheart!” She spins around to Marc. “Did you hear that?” she says. She sounds breathless.

  Marc is right behind her, hugging them both. They’re all so happy. “Your mama’s right here,” Sara’s saying, really crying now. “I’m right here.”

  I don’t think it matters that he’s thinking about a different Mama. I’m the only one who knows the Mama he loves at school, but it doesn’t matter.

  We’ve finally done it. We’ve told them enough.

  We’ve told them what they needed to know.

  How to Make a Plan

  ALL MORNING LONG, SARA’S ON THE phone. As far as I can tell, the plan is to send Gus back to school, but only if I can stay with him all day as a seizure alert dog. “Yes, Chester can predict Gus’s seizures,” Sara tells Mr. McGregor on the phone. “We had his teacher here as a witness, so it won’t be hard to prove.” So far, she’s talked to a doctor and another specialist. She’s making lists and nodding as people on the other end of the phone tell her what she needs to do.

  It’s been a few days since his seizure and Gus hasn’t been talkative like he was the night he came home from the hospital, but it’s okay. He knows the teachers won’t be coming to the house anymore. He knows we’ll be going back to school soon. He and I haven’t talked privately about any of this, but I think if it’s a choice—if Gus only has the patience to talk silently to me or out loud to his parents—it’s better for him to talk to his parents. They need to hear what he has to say. They can do more to help him.

  Since I’ve come to live with Gus, his biggest change was talking to his parents about school, but there have been other changes too. Some are so small they’re hard to notice. Like looking at Amelia and trying to smile. Like visiting Mama every day. He needs to do more of these things so that other people actually see them.

  He will, I think.

  I’ll be there to help him and he will.

  We just have to wait for the school to get organized. Sara keeps talking about “getting protocols in place and paperwork cleared up.” While she’s busy making arrangements, Gus and I are free to watch TV, which is nice. In the middle of one of our favorite Martha Speaks episodes, I hear the doorbell, which hasn’t rung once since the teachers stopped coming to the house. It worries me that maybe they’ve changed their minds and decided to come back.

  But no. I go to the front door and there is Penny talking to Sara. Even though it’s confusing to see her here again, it’s impossible for me not to say hello. I jump around and lick her hand and bring her a shoe to say hi.

  “Oh, sweet dog, I’m happy to see you too!” Penny says, bending down and hugging my neck. “So, so happy.”

  Even though Penny just got here, it sounds like she and Sara are in the middle of a conversation. Like maybe they were talking on the phone earlier and I didn’t realize it. “How long do you think you’d need to teach him all this?” Sara asks her.

  “It’s hard to say. Chester’s always been such a fast learner, but what do you want him to be doing exactly?”

  Sara pulls out a notebook. She’s made a list like she always does. She starts reading: “In the event of a seizure, Chester will need to move Gus away from stairs and windows. He should stay nearby to help him sit down or lie down. He should press the emergency alert button Gus will be wearing around his neck. After that, if Gus is safe and the seizure is over, he should leave Gus and get help from an adult. He should go first to the teacher, then to the nurse.”

  I look at Penny. I can learn all this quickly! You remember how smart I am!

  “Maybe a month?” Penny says.

  Sara frowns. “Would it really take that long? We want Gus back in school as soon as possible, but we don’t want him there without Chester. The school has agreed if he masters seizure-response skills with a certified trainer. I know this is a lot to ask, but we were hoping it might take a week, or maybe two at the outside.”

  Pe
nny thinks about this for a moment. “The only way I could do that is if I brought Chester home with me and worked with him there. Training like this needs to be done intensively, about eight hours a day.”

  Sara looks confused. “Doesn’t he need to be with Gus for this?”

  “No, it’s better if he isn’t actually. The point is to generalize Chester’s responses to as many different situations as possible. The person won’t change, but the places will.”

  Suddenly I feel worried. Penny’s talking too fast. She looks nervous the way she looked in front of the group at the farm.

  “I guess you know best, but I’d think you’d want to do that kind of practice with Gus.”

  Yes, I tell Penny. I should do it with Gus.

  She pats her skirt. “To be honest, it’s such hard, repetitious work, I’d hate to put Gus through that. I’d rather take Chester home with me, do the hard part myself, and bring him back, all trained and ready as a seizure-response dog.”

  “I don’t know. Gus has gotten very attached to him. Wouldn’t you be willing to come to the house and work with him here so he can still spend his evenings with us?”

  Penny closes her eyes as if she’s giving this idea some thought. “It’s not a good idea. These are challenging skills and they won’t be easy to learn. As smart as Chester is, I’d like to have his attention as focused on me as possible.”

  “Oh gosh—” Sara smiles down at me and picks up one of my ears to rub. “We’ll miss you so much, Chess. I hate to let you go for even a week.”

  I look up at her. It’s not a good idea, I say with my eyes. Something bad might happen to Gus if I leave for a week.

  Sara smiles at me. Sometimes I think she almost hears me and then ignores it because if she heard a dog talking, she’d be crazy. “Aren’t we being silly—look at Chester’s face. It’s like we both want to cry.” She bends down and whispers in my ear, “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. When we get you back, you and Gus can go to school together again.”

  When she stands up, she’s all business again: “Okay, I’ll pack up his things. Move, Chess. I want you to have your bed at Penny’s house.”