Part 6 – A Bell Between Them
The next morning, Walter called the vet.
He hadn’t spoken the dog’s name out loud in a long time — not to anyone but Eli. But when the receptionist asked, he said it clear: “Benny. He’s older. Shepherd mix. Some breathing trouble, maybe arthritis. Doesn’t cry much, but… something’s off.”
The woman on the line was kind. Gave him an appointment for Thursday afternoon. “We’ll do a wellness check and blood work,” she said. “You said he’s a stray?”
Walter hesitated. “Not anymore.”
After hanging up, he sat in the kitchen, staring at the note he’d scribbled. Thursday, 3:40 PM. Benny. Check-up.
The time made him smile bitterly. 3:40 — the time Benny used to hop on the 63, always at the same stop, like clockwork. Always quiet. Always waiting.
Walter reached for his wallet, counting the bills. Then he opened a drawer, where two dusty envelopes marked “Rainy Day” and “Funeral Fund” waited. He took a twenty from each.
He’d figure out groceries later.
At the clinic, the woman at the desk wore blue scrubs and a warm smile. “We’ll be with you in just a minute, Mr. Reed.”
Walter nodded, glancing around the waiting room.
The air smelled like disinfectant and peanut butter treats. A cat meowed from a crate in the corner. A dachshund in a holiday sweater sat on its owner’s lap, legs trembling. Walter adjusted in his chair, back stiff from the drive.
Benny lay on the floor beside him, head on his paws. His breath was shallow but even. When Walter reached down to scratch his ear, the tail tapped once against the linoleum.
“We’re not giving up,” Walter murmured. “We’re just checking the tires.”
The door opened, and a young woman in a white coat stepped out. “Benny?”
Walter stood, joints protesting. “That’s us.”
Inside the exam room, Benny was weighed and prodded. The vet — Dr. Leigh — knelt beside him, listening to his chest.
“His breathing’s labored,” she said gently. “There’s some wheezing. Could be chronic bronchitis, maybe heart-related. And his joints — especially the hips — feel swollen.”
Walter nodded. “He’s old. Like me. We both creak when it rains.”
Dr. Leigh smiled, but her eyes stayed kind. “We’ll run a few tests. See what’s going on. In the meantime, some pain relief and supplements might help with mobility. And… if things worsen, we can talk about comfort care.”
Walter felt that phrase like a stone dropped in his gut. “Comfort care.”
He forced a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”
The visit cost more than he’d hoped. He paid cash, ignoring the tightness in his chest as the bills left his hand. “No receipt,” he said. “Don’t want to look at it later.”
Eli was waiting by the cemetery when Walter arrived later that afternoon.
The boy didn’t smile, but he stood the moment the Buick pulled in. He’d drawn something — Walter could see the edge of it fluttering in his hand.
As Walter opened the car door, Benny stepped out carefully. Each leg moved with the slow precision of someone who remembered how running used to feel. He walked straight to Eli and sat beside him like nothing had changed.
Walter approached, patting his side pocket. “Vet says it’s manageable. For now.”
Eli looked up.
Walter crouched beside him. “He’s got a little time left in the tank. But we’re switching to the slow lane.”
The boy nodded, then handed Walter the picture. It was different this time.
Not a bus. Not a bench.
A room.
A small one, with pale walls, a clock, and a boy holding a dog. On the far side of the paper, a figure sat in a chair — an old man, holding something in his lap.
Walter squinted.
It was the bell.
And across the top, written in big uneven letters: “WAITING ROOM”
Walter blinked. “Is this… today?”
Eli didn’t answer, but Walter knew.
“That’s what we are, huh?” he murmured. “People in the waiting room.”
Eli touched Benny’s back, then made a gesture — hands together, then pulled apart gently, as if opening a book.
Walter smiled softly. “Yeah. Maybe we’re writing a chapter.”
He sat down on the bench with a slow exhale. The pain in his back was sharper today. Probably from the crouch at the vet’s office. Probably from everything. But he didn’t complain.
He handed Eli the tin of tokens. “Pick one.”
The boy chose a brass one and handed it back.
Walter slipped it into Benny’s collar like a badge. “There. Still on duty.”
They sat together, the three of them, watching the sky shift into shades of dusk. Benny’s head rested on Eli’s leg. Walter leaned back, hands folded over his stomach.
“I never told you,” he said, voice low, “but there was a man who used to ride my bus every Sunday. Sat in the back, never spoke. One day, I noticed he always got off three stops early. Walked a mile instead of getting off closer.”
He glanced at Eli.
“I asked him why once. He said, ‘Because if I don’t, I’ll miss the quiet.’”
Walter smiled, eyes distant.
“I think I understand that now.”
Eli took a fresh piece of paper from his bag. With slow, deliberate strokes, he began to draw again — not looking up, not speaking.
Walter closed his eyes and listened to the soft rasp of crayon on paper.
Benny let out a long, contented sigh.
And in that moment — despite the swelling pain in his joints, the tightrope walk of finances, the uncertainty of time — Walter felt… still.
Not waiting. Not rushing.
Just present.
Together.
Continue Reading Part 7 – The Weight of Small Things