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He nodded a little and then his eyes closed, his head swiveling on his neck. I’ll get you cigarettes, okay?” He looked at me. “Gus, you have to promise not to try this again. “Even cancer isn’t a bad guy really: Cancer just wants to be alive. I wish it was like that movie, with the Persians and the Spartans. I wiped his chin and grabbed his face in my hands and knelt down close to him so that I could see his eyes, which still lived. ”Īccording to the conventions of the genre, Augustus Waters kept his sense of humor till the end, did not for a moment waiver in his courage, and his spirit soared like an indomitable eagle until the world itself could not contain his joyous soul.īut this was the truth, a pitiful boy who desperately wanted not to be pitiful, screaming and crying, poisoned by an infected G-tube that kept him alive, but not alive enough. “I hate myself I hate myself I hate this I hate this I disgust myself I hate it I hate it I hate it just let me fucking die. “Where is my chance to be somebody’s Peter Van Houten?” He hit the steering wheel weakly, the car honking as he cried. The Augustus Waters of the crooked smiles and unsmoked cigarettes was gone, replaced by this desperate humiliated creature sitting there beneath me. The great love of my life has a malfunctioning G-tube.
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Nine-one-one, what is your emergency? “Hi, I’m at the Speedway at Eighty-sixth and Ditch, and I need an ambulance. Quietly, I pulled out my phone and glanced down to dial 911. They said they’d get me another one, but I wanted. “I wanted to buy a pack of cigarettes,” he mumbled. Why are you here? Why aren’t you at home?” He puked, without even the energy to turn his mouth away from his lap.
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The skin of his abdomen was warm and bright red.
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” I gagged from the smell but bent forward to inspect the place above his belly button where they’d surgically installed the tube. “Oh, God, Augustus, we have to get you to a hospital. Augustus sat in the driver’s seat, covered in his own vomit, his hands pressed to his belly where the G-tube went in. But no cop showed up to make my decision for me. 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. Maybe he’d been hallucinating, or his martyrdom fantasies had gotten the better of him. Sorry.Īs 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. 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. 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’d never heard him sob like this except from outside his house before Amsterdam. I have the medicine with me I just can’t get it in. I don’t want my parents to know I’m gone. I’m just, God, this is the stupidest thing. Do not call nine-one-one or my parents I will never forgive you don’t please just come please just come and fix my goddamned G-tube. “No no no no no, they’ll take me to a hospital. I did something wrong with the G-tube and I can’t figure it out and-” I waited for the sound of a parent’s annihilated voice.