Closing Time

It was dark by the time Aubrey Smith flipped around the small wooden sign hanging in the window of her small Brooklyn bakery from “open” to “closed.” She made it herself with the thought that it hopefully made the shop just a little more homier. Tonight, her mind was miles away from such things.

Above, the sky loomed as a hulking block of blue-black through which only the most stubborn pinpricks of starry light could shine through the clouds and light pollution. She stepped into the humid night air, breathing in the acrid night scents of the empty street and turned to lock the door behind her. The key turned with a ringing click, loud in the sullen street.

Aubrey sighed, her legs and feet aching from the hours spent behind the counter with her breads and bagels. Until tonight, now would have been the time Aubrey could take the subway train back to the small studio apartment she shared with her fiancé, David. He would see her with the same excited look still extant through eight years of their relationship, with dinner ready on the tiny countertop they used as a kitchen table. She would take a scalding hot shower before curling up under the covers, the mismatched blankets cool against her tired feet.

Starting tonight, no longer was this modest life a possibility. Aubrey began trudging down the street towards the nearby subway station, mood as heavy as her feet, when a sudden noise startled her out of her reverie. There came a soft whimpering near the ground to her left; she looked to see a small gray dog, laying flat on its paws, dimly lit and curled up against a red brick laundromat storefront. It was a stray. A very beaten and worn-through stray at that, Aubrey thought. Its fur was matted and so dirty, it resembled more mop than dog. 

Perhaps it was the somber nature of the night or the depressive trip she was about to take. Either way, Aubrey found herself compelled to reach inside her bag and take out the extra bagel she had wrapped in a napkin. Breaking it into small pieces, Aubrey threw the chunks of bagel to the dog. With a slight gruff, it sprang to life and lapped up the pieces with its small pink tongue. Aubrey watched it go for about a minute before turning to leave. As she pulled up the GPS application on her phone and searched for directions to Woodhull Medical Center, she could feel the dog's subdued brown eyes follow her all the way down the quiet street.

The second night wasn’t any easier. Aubrey was exhausted, mentally and physically, as she turned her feet towards the subway station after closing down her bakery. Her mind was not unsimilar to the baskets of bread she sold to make a living everyday; crowded, not with baked goods, but worries, anxieties, uncertainties— 

A yipping came from her left. Aubrey turned to see the same gray dog, standing on all fours, tail wagging, looking eagerly at her. Inexplicably, Aubrey felt a stubborn smile come across her face.

“Hey there.” She stooped down, pulled a bagel out of her bag, and hand-fed it to the excited dog. It was looking better. It was still just as grimy, fur clod with dust and dirt. But there was definitely a life to its eyes that hadn’t been there before. 

The next night, the dog was still there. Aubrey gave it a bagel she had been saving the entire day for that express purpose. She did the same the next night. And the next. And the next. Soon, it became a part of her nightly routine. She’d close down her bakery, feed the dog, then take the subway train alone to the hospital.

By now, the hospital staff recognized Aubrey due to her repeated visits. One night, she came, and the nurses simply gave her a nod and let her into the ward. 

As Aubrey opened the door to his room, David opened his bleary eyes. He was pale, sickly, laden with tubes, drugs, and beeping monitors, and the chemo had already taken all of his messy black hair. Nevertheless, his eyes brightened as he saw her, his cracked lips curving into a weak smile.

“Hey baby,” he said as she approached.

“Hey honey.” She dragged a chair over to the side of the bed and held his hand. The once firm fingers vaguely curled around hers. 

“How was work today?” He mumbled and shifted his face to be closer to her side of the bed.

“Same as it’s always been,” she said, smiling. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you! I met this dog.”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, there’s this small little stray dog that I’ve been feeding every night before I visit you. He’s super cute!”

David chuckled softly and closed his eyes. And Aubrey knew that David would likely never be able to see the dog himself; never be able to see anything other than the chill walls of his hospital room ever again.

Life became surreal for Aubrey. She began staring into space more often than not, misinterpreting customers’ orders and allowing the bakery to fall into a general state of disarray. 

One night, Aubrey found herself sitting on the sidewalk in front of the shop. She had been ready to head to her nightly hospital visit when she felt a wave of fatigue wash over her like a frigid sea wave. Fifteen percent. That is what the doctor had said. David would be undergoing a surgery in two weeks with a fifteen percent success rate. No alternative.

She vaguely registered a pressure on her left side. The dog. It was nuzzling its head against her jacket.

Had it been any other night, Aubrey would have recoiled at the thought of having something so dirty rub against her clothes. Tonight, she pulled the dog closer.

Aubrey fumbled with the clasp on her bag and took out the bagel. She broke it in half, putting one on the sidewalk in front of the dog and taking a bite herself out of the other. Within seconds, salty tears mingled with the food. 

The sun was out during David’s funeral; its rays heated the backs of necks and warmed the black suits and dresses of all in attendance. Aubrey sat by herself at the very back and left as soon as it was done.

Later that night, Aubrey headed to her cozy Brooklyn bakery one last time. She found the dog without trouble; it leaped out of the shadows and placed its front paws on her leg.

“Hey there,” Aubrey said. She reached inside her bag and pulled out, not a bagel this time, but a collar and leash. She carefully fastened the collar around the dog’s neck. “Come on. Let’s go home.”