The Sun Sets in Cuyahoga

It felt like someone had piled a ton of loose stones on my chest. Struggling to catch my breath, the only thing distracting me from the pain shooting up and down my body was the sun setting over Cuyahoga County. Though it was short, the trek up the hill that Baker Homestead Apartments was located on was steep and torturous on the legs. 

I wanted to sit one last time at the fire pit on top of the hill before I went away. Today’s sunset seemed different. There was a warmth radiating from the yellow and pink mass as it gently kissed the earth. It still felt painful to breathe, but I managed.

In the grand scheme of things, I suppose there are worse things to be than a murderer. 

There are rapists, serial killers, tyrants and sometimes there’s all three packaged into one. I suppose killing someone isn’t exactly winning me a ticket to the pearly gates. I’ll admit that it was never my plan to blast that old woman, I wasn’t entirely sure there were bullets loaded in my gun today. Though, I guess when you live in a concealed carry state like Ohio, every once in a while someone wants to be the good guy with a gun.

See, before today, I made a small living robbing gas stations throughout the county. It’s not exactly what I would call a stable job but when you’re another faceless drone in the unemployment line, you find things to do to pass the time. It was hard at first but once you learn to control the adrenaline, it’s as easy as waking up in the morning.

The ironic thing is that before the virus, I was doing pretty good. I had a loving girlfriend and a hyperactive puppy that forced me to take her on walks, even when it rained. Sometimes I tried reasoning with it, and while the little animal made faces like it understood what I was saying, when it came to its walks it was non-negotiable. Her name was Hilda the Chocolate Lab.

Before this mess with the virus and losing my stinking job, it was just me, her, and my girl, Lulu. That wasn’t her name and she didn’t care much for it when I called her that, but it stuck with her. Anyway, we got Hilda when she was six weeks old, which was two weeks less than when owners normally get their dogs.

If you ever wanted to know what it’s like for a grown man to cry, it’s not pretty. It’s ugly and filled with dry heaving and crumbling like a little baby. I’m almost positive LuLu was put off by the amount of sobbing involved, but I couldn’t help it. Hilda was a puppy, and she had broken me.

The good thing is that it only took two weeks to potty train her, and after that, we were pretty much on the same page with everything else. Hilda grew and got bigger, and our friends and family would always tell us how much she’s grown like we didn’t notice. Eventually, we moved to a small apartment complex in North Royalton for my job as a sales associate for a dealership in the next town over.

I worked odd shifts during the week so on the weekends, we'd take Hilda to Baker Homestead Apartments which sat next to our building. We didn’t know anyone there, but they had a dog park that didn’t require us to show identification to use, so we’d take her there and run her and pretend we lived above our means for the day. When we were done, we’d go to the top of the hill and watch the sunset, maybe have a bonfire.

When I lost my job, I grew distant. She tried for a while to live with me. Eventually, LuLu broke things off with me and left the dog.

I didn’t really have much of a family I could rely on, so for a good portion of the pandemic, it was just Hilda and me. Every day, we’d wake up and lounge around in the morning. I’d crack open a pack of fresh cigarettes and stand outside on my small balcony and smoke while I scratched my belly. She’d join me and stretch herself out like a rag doll on the cement and watch me intently until I decided it was time to take her for a walk.

Sometimes she’d nuzzle between my legs and curl up like it was a crib while we watched movies together. Her favorite thing to do was lay on top of me while I hid under those fuzzy blankets they sold at Target like I was her personal pillow. Occasionally she’d sneak a potato chip from the bag I was eating on if I had fallen asleep, but I didn’t mind it.

I wish I could say I started robbing gas stations to support some underline addiction, but really it was about keeping up with bills and debts. Turns out, an apartment in North Royalton is pretty expensive depending on what neighborhood you live in. Ours was a higher-cost apartment - it wasn’t expensive, but it also was more than I could afford while unemployed. 

When I got back from robbing a gas station, she was right there, sitting in front of the door with her tail wagging. It’s not like it was a secret between us. One time, I nearly had a heart attack because I left the gun on the living room table, and she wouldn’t stop sniffing it while the barrel was pointed at her. I didn’t realize I left the safety off.

At night, after a robbery, she always slept where LuLu laid. I couldn’t tell if it was that her side was more comfortable or if Hilda missed her. Either way, I didn’t feel as bad about things for a short while after LuLu left. I even decided to stop robbing people because I had put enough away to last us a few months.

That is until she vomited. 

As far as vomit goes, this was the kind you’d look at and know something wasn’t right. She didn’t do it in front of me. I found it when I got home one night from getting us groceries. Ashamed, she laid under the bed curled in a ball. It took me thirty minutes to clean up all the bloody vomit and wash the floors. It took me another thirty minutes to calm her down as she rested her head on my lap. When she looked up at me with her now tired eyes, it took me another thirty minutes to push the choking in my throat back down.

I called LuLu and told her about Hilda. We made plans to take her to a vet and figure out what happened. She asked me if I was okay, and I told her I was. I figured she didn’t need to know the truth.

Talking to the vet wasn’t helpful. They examined her for an hour and said the only way Hilda was going to live longer was if we paid for some surgery for her throat. Neither I or LuLu could afford it, so we left the building without saying anything else. I pulled a smoke from my jacket pocket and lit it. LuLu called me an asshole and walked away crying.

At this point, it had been months since I robbed a store. Still, I couldn’t afford something like surgery without a quick boost in finances. Unemployment wouldn’t have helped either. I pulled my gun out from where I hid it and began Googling the best gas stations in the area to pull a quick heist.

On short notice, the best I could do was the gas station on the corner near where I lived. Normally, I treated it as a neutral zone because it was so close to my home. However, I decided to make an exception this time because I had a good reason. 

What is it about dogs that makes them worry about others more than themselves? On the day of the robbery, she curled up on me and wouldn’t let me move. It was as if she were begging me not to do anything to get in trouble. Even if it meant that she would probably only live a while longer. A few minutes before I left, I kissed her on the head, scratched her ears, and turned to leave. 

When I closed the door, I waited long enough to hear her curl up in front of the door. I adjusted my hat and scarf and left.

The gas station was busy but not like it normally is at 8 p.m. on a weekday in the summer. When I entered, I counted five people either waiting in line to buy smokes or perusing the snacks in the back. Scanning the parking lot, only three people were pumping gas. 

“Everybody LISTEN UP,” I raised my voice. “This is a stickup. I’m only interested in the money, but I am armed, and I’ve had a REALLY shitty week.”

I walked up to the counter and rested my gun on it, pointing toward the gas station manager, whose name was Darcy.

“Give me everything you have.”

“I’m new, I don’t…”

“Darcy, I come here regularly. I know you're the manager, and I’d appreciate it if you just gave me the money from your safe and these registers.”

“Oh...okay.”

A few minutes later and I’m filling money into a small leather bag I brought from home.

“I really appreciate it,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“For lying to you earlier.”

“It’s okay Darcy. You’re a good person. I am too, I just had to do a bad thing or something worse would’ve happened.”

She was about to respond when I heard something clunk from behind me. The moment I turned, one of the customers, an old lady, stumbled from one of the aisles, pointing a snub nose revolver at me. Then I heard a click.

BANG.

BANG. BANG.

The old lady got one shot off, nailing me in my gut. Out of instinct, I pulled my trigger, hitting her in the neck and shoulder. Suddenly the store was filled with screams and chaos. I pulled the trigger three more times, pointing my gun to the ceiling, and exited through the front of the door.

Leaving the station, I turned the corner and leaned briefly on the wall of the building. I could hear screaming from the gas station and someone calling for help. I was officially a murderer, and for a moment, I let the tears come before I started walking to the apartment complex that I’m sitting at now.

I could have gone home. I didn’t want Hilda (or LuLu) to see me looking like this. I didn’t want them to know I killed an old lady while robbing a fucking gas station. Instead, I decided to sit and watch the sunset and try to pretend that I would just go to sleep and wake up the next day as nothing happened.

Sirens from cop cars rang in the distance. 

The closer they got, the harder it got to breathe.

The wind felt nice on my cheek.

The pool of blood swirled on the concrete and stained my blue jeans.

I thought of Hilda and quietly apologized for not being able to save her.

I hope she greets the cops like she would have greeted me.

The sunset just as everything went black.

Fin.