The train rattled on. More people moved away. Soon it was just me on my side of the car and him on his, with that little dog between us.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I’d just lost my own mother two months ago. Maybe because I knew what it looked like when someone was saying goodbye. Maybe because everyone else’s cruelty made me want to be kind.
He looked up when I sat down across from him. His eyes were red and swollen. Tears had soaked into his beard. He looked broken in a way I recognized.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “Is your dog okay?”
He shook his head. “Cancer. The vet said he had maybe a few hours left. I was supposed to bring him in this morning to… to put him down. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him die on a cold metal table in a room that smelled like chemicals.”
His voice cracked.
“So I took him for one last ride. Subway to Coney Island. That’s where I found him eleven years ago. Figured that’s where he’d want to say goodbye.”
The dog’s tail moved slightly. Just a small twitch. Like he knew he was being talked about.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Sergeant. Because when I found him, he was standing guard over a litter of dead puppies under the boardwalk. Wouldn’t leave them. Even though he was starving. Even though he was covered in fleas and sores. He was protecting them.”
“Reminded me of the guys I served with. The ones who wouldn’t leave their brothers behind no matter what. So I called him Sergeant.”
“You’re a veteran?”
“Two tours in Iraq. Came back messed up. PTSD. Couldn’t hold a job. Lost my wife. Lost my house. Lost everything.” He paused. “Sergeant saved my life.”
I didn’t say anything. Just listened.
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