Gizelle's Bucket List

by Lauren Fern Watt

  After dinner, Gizelle and I cuddled in her big blue chair, and I gazed out the window at the empty beach as the matte-gray sky turned to a wintry moonless black. Then I looked at Conner in bed and thought about all of the nice things he did for me and Gizelle. How he bought us treats and drove us out of the city, manned the lobster dinner and many other dinners, surprised me with coffee in the morning, helped me budget my first salary, walked and baby-sat Gizelle, ruined my taste buds so I no longer wanted Two Buck Chuck. But there was still this tiny voice inside that told me something was missing from this relationship, that all of the things I liked about Conner were based on conditions. And no matter how many dinners he bought me or how many things he did right, the little voice inside that kept telling me to leave was never, ever going to go away.

  It was Sunday, our last morning at the motel. I woke to the sound of ESPN blaring from Conner’s iPhone. I lay on my stomach on my side of the bed, Gizelle on the blue chair next to me. I tapped her head softly with my fingers. She opened her eyes, brought her snout to the edge of the mattress, and rested it there so we were nose to nose. Her warm breath touched my face.

  I flipped my head to face Conner. Conner’s back was pressed upright against the headboard, glasses on, studying the phone screen in his hand. “I think I’m gonna go walk Gizelle on the beach.,” I told him, my voice groggy from sleep. He took a second to respond. “It’s so cold, though,” he said, eyes still on the phone. “Why do you want to walk on the beach when it’s so cold?” He turned his head to look at me.

  “C’mon, Gizelle can wait.” He put his nose toward my face to kiss me on the lips. I touched his stomach gently. “No, no, she can’t. We already missed sunrise with her. It’s our last morning here.”

  “Gizelle is juuuuust fine in her chair,” Conner confirmed confidently, setting down the phone, sliding his hand down my chest to untie the glaringly white bathrobe.

  I turned my eye toward Gizelle; she was watching us. What I really needed was for her to take me for a walk. I needed air. I put my hands around Conner’s cheeks and pulled his head close to my face. “I’m just going to leave for a minute,” I promised, not being able to tell him that I actually wanted to leave leave. Hardly even able to admit to myself that I wanted to leave. All I wanted to do was exit the room for ten minutes to be with Gizelle.

  I slipped out from underneath Conner and rolled off the bed. Gizelle’s head lifted from the chair when she felt me move, and her eyes followed me around the room as I collected my clothing, in a race to catch the morning. I tripped over Gizelle’s bowls in the bathroom and splashed water on my feet. I threw on leggings and the first shirt I could find, forewent a bra, and grabbed the winter coat that I had carelessly flung on the floor. I grabbed my gray knit beanie, barely tied my boots and let Gizelle go au naturel, leaving her collar and leash behind. I didn’t even put on her new red sweater! “C’mon, Gizelle. C’mon, girl,” I grabbed a handful of neck skin and eased her off her throne. I slid open the heavy glass motel door and we slipped through the thick, long blue curtains and out onto the beach.

  The cold air hit me like a wall. The wind blew straight through my hat and coat, raising goose bumps. The tide was down, so the beach was long. All I wanted was to sprint to the water, twirling and jumping and dancing along the shore, Gizelle kicking at the waves with me, bounding up in the air with the ocean at our feet. All I wanted was to run with Gizelle. But Gizelle could barely walk. Her tumor was the size of a fist, and it felt like we were both stuck in leg irons, restrained to small movements and short distances. We would never run together again. I looked out at the long shoreline of the empty beach, then down at the wet sand beneath my feet. There was nothing left to do but sit.

  So I sat in the cold sand, slapped my hands to my face, and cried.

  I’d been running with this dog bucket list idea in an effort to be strong, to choose happiness and cherish life with Gizelle, but reality was catching up with me. Gizelle’s cancer was something I couldn’t run from anymore, like the cold, like my relationship. I made a fist and tucked my hands into my coat to try to stay warm. My cheeks were cold, my feet were cold, my teeth were even cold. What the hell was I doing out here on this freezing empty beach alone? How had I even ended up here in Maine? I looked over at Gizelle. I was about to get up and head back inside to the motel room when Gizelle limped over to me from a rock inspection a few steps away.

  She licked my teary cheeks, and then she turned around and backed up into my lap and sat on top of me. She had been my protector, my confidante, my greatest burden and my biggest pride, and now she was my heater, too. Sitting on the cold beach in Maine with my massive English mastiff on my lap, I wasn’t quite sure how I had made it from Tennessee, to New York City, and now to Wells Beach in December, with Gizelle. I still didn’t know what I wanted to be or do, who I was or where I was going, but I felt like whatever it was wasn’t in that motel room anymore. I had brought Conner because I didn’t want feel lonely, but I had somehow ended up on a cold empty beach, wondering if I was feeling more lonely than I would have if I had come alone.

  I wrapped my arms around Gizelle and locked my fingers at her chest. Her heart beat against my palms. She was huge and soft, warm and comforting. I cried into the back of her brindle coat. “I love you, Gizelle.” Maybe that was the only thing I really knew that day.

  As I sat with her, crying, I looked up. It had started to snow. The snow fell on Gizelle’s fur and melted next to the wet patch my tears had made on her back. The delicate crystals of ice stood out on her long, dark lashes. They sat on her black muzzle, next to little gray dog hairs. Rebecca was right. Seeing it snow on the beach in the winter was one of the most beautiful things in the world. I smiled and shook my head, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. It was then I realized that I always wanted to be the one to take Gizelle on the adventure, but maybe she took me on one.

  Gizelle had kept me in the cold long enough to witness the snow, and I almost felt as though she were telling me something. See, Lauren, I brought you down here to get you out of that room and feel what real loneliness is on this big empty beach. I’m going to sit in your lap right now and be here for you, but soon you will see that you can handle this. Soon I won’t be around, but you’re going to be fine by yourself. You’ll be okay. The pain won’t last forever. Nothing lasts for very long.

  I guess when you bring a dog into your life, you are setting yourself up for heartbreak, aren’t you? Sure, you will most likely have to say good-bye and it will be the saddest day ever, but it’s so worth it, isn’t it? To have a dog. To learn from their unconditional love. That morning I wondered if most romantic relationships were the same. Maybe Conner had helped me grow up and had provided companionship when I’d needed him, but maybe it didn’t have to last forever. That didn’t mean it had been a waste. Maybe none of our relationships are wastes; maybe everything puts us one step further in the right direction. And when I thought about the love for my brindle puppy on the beach that day, I realized that if it was love I was after, if my own bucket list really did say, “Fall in love,” perhaps I needed to finally let go of Conner in order to find it.

  16

  Let Go

  A few weeks passed. It was the first week of January. We dimmed the lights in the kitchen, lit candles throughout the room, and pulled out the fancy china. I made one last trip to the Maine Meat shop. Then I stopped at the wine shop, where I sifted through wine labels, splurging on a bottle of 2008 Barbera, and silently caught myself thinking about how Conner, my ex, would be proud.

  Conner and I broke up after our trip to Wells Beach, but it took us months to actually cut ties completely. We tried to “just be friends,” but we always ended up sleeping together. Then we finally realized if we actually wanted to move on, we had to stop hanging out. He asked one day if I would ever consider getting back together with him, if I would ever change my mind, and I desperately wanted to say yes because I knew if I said no that would be it, he’d disappear forever
. But when my mind went back to that morning on the beach with Gizelle, when I was freezing and lonely and scared and uncertain but somehow seeing things crystal clear on that sad, frigid beach in the winter, I knew what my answer was. I knew in my heart we weren’t right for each other and we’d never be right for each other. There was no point in putting it off anymore, no matter how hard it was. I had to be brave. So I said no, and he moved on.

  I set Gizelle a plate at the small wooden dinner table, next to mine, in between Caitlin and John. John grilled the steaks. “Have a fancy dinner,” I scribbled in her bucket list. It was the only thing I could think to do on Gizelle’s last night.

  We had learned our lesson the first time this item appeared on the bucket list, and I wasn’t about to give Gizelle another eighteen-ounce single bite of steak. So I set her a plate at the table. Gizelle lay on the floor near my feet. She didn’t want to sit up and prop her nose on the table to smell the food like she used to. She didn’t follow me into the living room. She didn’t want to stand over her bowl to drink water. She remained with her stomach pressed to the floor. It was time. We sat at the dinner table and toasted to Gizelle. I cut her filet into bites the size of Frosted Mini-Wheats. One by one, I fed her pieces of steak with a fork. I brought each bite down to her mouth, and she opened her jaws slowly around the end of the utensil, slid the bite off with her white teeth, chewed and swallowed. Good girl.

  I fed her slowly, not wanting the meal to end, but soon I looked down at my plate and there was nothing left. Stomach full and as content as I was going to be on Gizelle’s last night, I picked up the plate and set it on the floor next to her so she could be dish washer. Caitlin and John did the same. We leaned back in our chairs and sat in silence, listening to her clean our plates with her tongue.

  Then it was our turn with the dishes. One by one we lifted ourselves from our food comas, picked up the plates from the floor, and stood in an assembly line of scrubbing and drying as Gizelle sprawled back on her side across the kitchen, barricading us by the sink. None of us minded. I let her have a tiny bit more ice cream from the pint, and then it was bedtime. Please not bedtime, I thought, knowing this night wouldn’t just end another normal day. It was the closing curtain.

  Caitlin and John stacked foamy egg-crate mattresses on the floor of the office, and we padded them with every blanket and pillow we could find. I crawled on the makeshift bed. “Come on, Gizelle, come on!” She hobbled into the room, and her paws went:

  tap

  tap

  tap

  tap

  on the wood floor one at a time until she reached the bed and plopped down. There was no pretense at a trot in her step anymore. Every step she took looked like she had to work to deliberately take it. It looked painful for her. I didn’t want her to be in pain.

  I pressed my cheek to the pillow and rubbed my hand in a circle on the sheets next to my face. “Come here, girl.” Gizelle crawled to me, snuggling in close, her nose touching mine so I could feel her breath warming me like a heater. I buried my head in her chest. I loved the smell of Gizelle. Even her breath was oddly comforting. I remembered the smell of her puppy breath—a warm, milky honey—and all the other smells we had discovered together: Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume floating around sorority girls at UT, the greasy breeze billowing out of the 99 Cent Express Pizza, the urine of Tompkins Square Dog Run, the crisp air at the top of Sugar Hill. Of all the smells we now knew by heart, her breath was the one I wished that I could bottle and save.

  “Good night, girls,” Caitlin ventured, peeking her head in through the door. I turned away from Gizelle and looked at Caitlin with wet eyes. She paused in the doorway and tilted her head, gazing at me consolingly. “If Gizelle lived in the wild, she probably would have already passed. Probably walked away and fallen asleep in a field somewhere? Right?” I nodded my head slowly, unable to bear the thought. “It’s time,” Caitlin promised. Like Rebecca, she had a way of speaking with a calm, slow assurance that always made everything feel okay. “This is the right thing. Don’t worry, Lauren.” Then she came over to caress Gizelle. “You’re the best dog in the world, GG.” She turned off the light and closed the door.

  I switched on the little lamp next to us, grabbed my journal from my black backpack, flopped onto my stomach, and, as always, used Gizelle’s side as a desk.

  January 6, 2015

  Gizelle doesn’t know she will die tomorrow, but I guess most of us don’t, do we? I don’t want to lose her.

  Gizelle taught me to try to be as good as she thinks I am. She taught me to think beyond myself. She brought me to Maine, helped me see the ocean and the coast and smile and laugh and explore. She helped me remember I am an explorer, but I want to keep exploring with her. I don’t want to say good-bye.

  I lifted myself to sit cross-legged and watched Gizelle breathe—loud inhales and exhales that reminded me of those deep cleansing breaths of yoga practitioners. Every time I blinked, more tears ran from my eyes. I rubbed her back, just with the tips of my fingers, like my mom used to rub mine, tenderness in every stroke.

  I kissed the tips of my four fingers and touched my hand to the place her limp started. “I know it’s there. I know,” I promised her. “It’s going to feel better soon,” I whispered, sniffling. All along I had been hoping she trusted that I did know her cancer was there and that I was doing my best to take care of it, that maybe I wasn’t always perfect but I tried my hardest and loved her more than anything. I dropped my head next to her nose, took her paw and wrapped it around me, and snuggled myself into her big warm chest until she lifted her head and put it on top of mine, as I knew she would, as she always did and would have continued to do until the end of eternity. We fell asleep.

  * * *

  My alarm buzzed at 6 a.m. I didn’t lift my head from the pillow to turn it off, just thumbed at the phone to make the thing hush. I’d had a plan for Gizelle’s last morning, because it had to be special. Sunrise on the beach—January in Maine. We would go on a little car-ride adventure. Coffee/bagel run, a little like Mom and I used to do, and then we’d sit on the beach one last time and watch the black sky fade into a wintry, lavender gray. We’d watch the moon disappear into the morning. Our last night closing like a show in front of our eyes.

  But the thought of unwrapping myself from Gizelle’s paws, of unwrapping Gizelle from her peaceful slumber, did not sound fun at all. Plus, it sounded like the Arctic tundra outside. Cold Maine winds howled through the trees and bristle branches scraped against the roof. What were we going to do? Shiver on a dark beach . . . again? Would it actually be that magical? Hadn’t we already done that?

  Gizelle was snoring her cacophonous, preposterous snores, her jowls spread flat across my pillow. “Gizelle, Hi Gizeeeeeelllllle. Wanna go see the sunrise?” I whispered, touching my pointer finger to her whiskers. She cracked one eye open, left the other squished into the pillow, and let out one more longer, louder snore followed by a look that seemed to say Are you kidding me, Lauren? We went to the beach yesterday. You also took me to our dock behind Frisbee’s yesterday. And it’s freezing out there. So I thought about a simpler, ongoing item on Gizelle’s Bucket List: “Cuddle.” I turned off our alarm, wrapped myself in her paws, nuzzled my head back underneath her head so I was as close to her warm breath as possible, and we fell back to sleep, without feeling an ounce of guilt. We snoozed until 10:30, until the smell of coffee woke me up.

  I shuffled into the kitchen, my morning hair a mess on my head, to find Caitlin and John sipping green smoothies from pretty blue cups. They handed me one consolingly. I took a little sip but wasn’t hungry. Then I was back at it with the meat for Gizelle. I had picked up one final sausage from the meat shop. I fired up the cast-iron skillet and soon had the sausage sizzling. I put it on a plate trimmed with blue hydrangeas. Then I stood with the empty cast iron in my hand, wondering what else I could cook in it. What else could I do for Gizelle before she left us?

  Caitlin and John had both adjusted their wo
rk schedules so we could go to the vet together. We had planned to bring Gizelle first thing in the morning, but then we second-guessed ourselves.

  “Should we wait until the afternoon, try and enjoy the morning with GG?” John suggested. “I don’t want to rush it.” We looked at Gizelle lying on the floor and paused for a moment, as though giving her time to chime in. I decided not to answer for her this morning. Instead, I sat still and ran through Gizelle’s Bucket List in my head, thinking of all the things Gizelle and I had managed to get through in her short, beautiful life.

  Survived college

  Moved to Times Square

  Moved to the East Village

  Ate New York pizza

  Grilled a steak

  Had a lobster feast

  Went on a canoe

  Ate ice cream on a dock

  Had sleepovers

  Cuddled

  Danced on rooftops

  Explored Central Park

  Reached Number sixty-seven on Buzzfeed

  Picked out a pumpkin

  Ran

  Went on road trips

  Watched the waves at the beach

  Sat in the snow

  I carried the list in my head, happy that I had everything written down and could try to think about life in such a simplified way. Maybe life didn’t have to be so complicated after all. Maybe life could just be a list of simple, special adventures? But I still didn’t quite feel ready to give Gizelle’s list up. “Gizelle, what do you think?” I asked in a high voice, a little bit shaky, as her jowls remained glued to the floor and she lifted only her eyes to look at me.

  “Wanna go outside, Gizelle? Let’s go outside.” We helped her up from the ground, and John followed us out, carrying her back end down the single step to her mini yard that had turned into an ice-skating rink. Gizelle struggled to squat on the ice.