by Chanchal
Tyler probably has guns cheap enough to sell Gus both a weapon and some high-quality drugs, but he’s a smarter dealer than that. He doesn’t sell his weaponry lightly, at least not to unstable fifteen-year-olds.
“I don’t know.” Gus replies. “I just want one. I’ll settle for the pot though.” It’s scary to realize that Gus is telling the truth when he says he doesn’t know why he wants a gun. It could be for the man who just fired him. It could even be for me. I would understand that.
The deal goes through smoothly. Gus gets his hand on some real nice pot, and Tyler doesn’t sell him a weapon that he may use to make a mistake. As Gus turns around to leave, he sees somebody he didn’t expect at this time of day. Stomping through the broken glass from the shattered windows of the old apartment complexes that was always on the floor of that alley is a beautiful girl with pale skin, green eyes stained red from crying, and hair that starts dirty blond, but looks to be bleached as it approaches the ends. She’s two years younger than Gus and the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.
“Hey Ivy!” Gus yells out. “You having a rough day too? Let’s get high together.” No matter how often I see it, it always amazes how the boy changes around this girl. It is still unimaginable to me that the monosyllabic lad I’ve known for so long would ever yell out to anyone. But today, Ivy doesn’t seem interested in talking to Gus. As soon as she gets close, she hugs him tightly, wetting his chest with the tears that are heavily flowing from her fine green eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Gus asks in a quiet, uncharacteristically caring voice.
“Tracy.” The young girl breathes out in between sobs. “It’s Tracy. She fucking killed herself. I found--I found her body. Called the cops and ran. I ain’t seen nothing like that before. There was so much blood.” Gus just stands there silently, tightening his hold on Ivy. He has nothing to say. Tracy was a girl who had smoked with them a few times recently. She and Ivy had apparently been friends for a long time. The three of them had been thinking about starting a band together. Ivy had told him that Tracy suffered from depression, but she had always smiled when she was hanging out with the two of them so Gus hadn’t worried about it. Everyone dealt with shit. Gus didn’t know Tracy particularly well, but as soon as Ivy tells him she’s dead he feels a hole appear in his heart. He knows he’ll never feel the same again.
“Tracy bit it? Damn shame. She was a good customer.” Tyler looks downtrodden for a moment before regaining his usual stoic face. I suppose he must have dealt with a lot of death already. It comes with the business. “You need some strong shit, Ivy? It’s on me this once.”
“I’m going clean for a little.” Ivy answers before Tyler can even finish the question. “That’s why I came here. To tell you, I mean.”
“Shit. So I lost two customers today. I can respect that though. Good luck.” Tyler smiles appreciatively at her. She had been a damn good customer.
“There you are Tyler. That pistol you sold me is fucking defective.” An irritated older man suddenly appears, swinging around his apparent faulty gun. Ivy, Gus, and I take the opportunity to slip away.
Once we get to a quieter place--an old broken down apartment that we climb in through the window of, almost breaking the mirror on the wall next to it in the process--Gus immediately takes out the pot he just bought and begins to roll it. He does so in silence and with great caution, totally oblivious to a shaking Ivy staring at him with eyes of pure fear as he did so. I try to point her out, but he continues to act as if he is unable to hear me. He finishes rolling up his weed and puts the blunt up to his mouth. He brings his lighter up to the end of the blunt, and slowly turns the knob with his thumb to light it. Right as the flame appears on top of the lighter, Ivy slaps him across the face, causing the lighter to fly across the room and break upon collision with the wall.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She screeches. She’s crying again, even heavier than before. I have to be honest, it feels good to see Gus slapped. He needed that. Maybe it’ll make him less of the bitch he’s been recently.
“What the fuck is wrong with me? You’re the one who just slapped me out of nowhere. I’m just trying to fuckin’ smoke something here.” Gus yells back, becoming increasingly agitated. I try to calm him down, but I don’t know why I still expect him to care what I say. It’s all pointless.
“Just trying to smoke something?” Ivy yells back. “Did you not just hear me say I’m trying to go clean from that shit. Seeing Tracy’s body today… That was some fucked up shit. I need you to be here for me, Gus. I jus--” By the time she stops talking, Ivy is barely able to breath between tears. She has her head in her hand, wincing as if she is suffering from the worst migraine ever. She can’t look up. She can’t do anything. I go to tell Gus that he needs to comfort her, that she needs him more than he needs the drugs, but I don’t have to. I can see in the mirror that his arms are already around her. He’s already looking at her with the most caring, sympathetic look that has ever crossed his face. Maybe there is still hope for this boy after all.
“You know what?” Gus says unexpectedly. “Fuck it. I’m going clean too. I don’t need this shit. I’d rather be with you.” I don’t think Gus realizes the magnitude of what he’s saying. I don’t think somebody like him is capable of quitting. Life is hard enough for a person living a sane life. For someone like Gus, it’s basically impossible. Still, everyday he wakes up and lives another day, so I suppose he manages. Maybe Gus is just stronger than the rest of us. Maybe he just has to be. Either way, I can’t believe that he’s strong enough to live without a cheat. Not that he ever listens to me.
“Really?” Ivy stops crying for a moment, eyes wide with disbelief. Then, she smiles weakly at him and whispers--in the softest, kindest, and most genuine voice I have ever heard, she whispers, “Thanks.”
I take back what I said. I do believe that Gus can quit. Looking at that smile, that weak smile that forms on Ivy’s face despite the pain and suffering that she has already experienced today, and knowing that Gus caused that smile, I suddenly find it impossible not to believe in him. Hearing that loving voice, a voice more powerful than the voice of God itself, I realize that Gus must be filled with divine inspiration to stay strong. For the girl who has suffered so much and needs help, only somebody with a life as shitty as Gus’ can fight heroically. Not just because he is stronger than the rest of us, but because he understands. He has lived the pain that she is feeling and still lives it today. This is why I continue to fight for Gus. This is why, despite his failures, despite how much I hate him, I still find faith in him.
“Are you ok to be alone?” Gus asks. “I have work now, and I’m already really late. I think I should go. I lost one job today already and I really need the money.”
“I’ll be fine.” Ivy says. “Go do the shit you need to, but can you meet me by the park later? I’ll bring the drums and guitar. I could use some music tonight.” It is clear that Ivy did not want to be alone, but she cares about Gus. She knows the struggles he lives through everyday. She may need support, but so does he. I alone am not enough to save him and she recognizes that.
“I’ll be there. Thanks for understanding.” With that, Gus goes off and drives a car to the gas station. I choose to ignore the question of where he got the car and pretend to assume that he obtained it through legal means, as he needs it for his own greater good. When Gus makes it to the gas station, his boss is surprisingly understanding.
“You’re lucky it hasn’t been busy today.” The old indian man tells him. “But if it happens again, you’re fired, regardless of reason.”
“It won’t.” Gus replies, appearing to be speaking truthfully. I like to think that the old man can see the change in his eyes.
“Very good then. Get to work.” With those words, the old man shoos Gus over to the pumps. Gus stands outside for the rest of the day, worki
ng hard and not complaining.
Most of the remainder of the day goes by uneventfully, but there is, as always, one particularly irritating customer. Today it’s a man driving a beat-up pick-up truck who smells like he showers in alcohol. The man pulls up, clearly drunk and looking for a fight. He picks on Gus, making fun of him the whole time the gas is pumping. Gus treats him with only the utmost respect and doesn’t do a single thing to be mad. I didn’t even need to say anything. I’m proud of Gus for that.
After working until after Gus’ normal work day ends, his boss finally sends him home. Gus drives away, making a stop at the pharmacy on the way back to his apartment. He picks up his sister’s medication. Normally, a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t be able to do so, but the people behind the counter know him. It turns out that they’ve even been worrying about him since he didn’t show up at his regular time a few days ago. I doubt they know how much telling that to Gus meant to him, but it truly meant a lot. Besides the prescription, Gus also picks up a bag of cookies. The people working the prescriptions offer to pay for them, but he wants to buy them with his own money.
After that, Gus drops by his apartment in