At the Speed of Gus by Richard Scrimger

Author:Richard Scrimger [Scrimger, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Canada
Published: 2023-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

“Are you Augustus Constantine?” asks the police officer.

I nod my head. When I do that, I realize I have my hands over my ears. I drop them and nod my head again.

“Yes,” I say.

I’m on my back. I start to sit up, but the cop won’t let me. She puts a Thor-hammer-sized hand on my chest to hold me down.

“Better lie still until the ambulance comes.”

She gives me back my wallet. Still on my back, I slide the wallet into my front left pocket.

Bee-boop, bee-boop. The ambulance is coming.

People stare down at me. I recognize them all. The gang from the alley, the lady with her dog, the kid with his bike, the shop guy with his shovel. I recognize everyone. But —

“Where’s all the bird poop?” I ask.

I am amazed. It’s gone. Every smelly bit of it. The sidewalk under my head is completely clean — well, there’s dust and candy wrappers, but you know what I mean. A single seagull wheels in slow graceful circles against a deep blue sky. It’s calm, and kind of beautiful. Nature, you know. I feel better, watching the gull. Its wings don’t move at all. It captures the wind in just the right angle to send it soaring. A thing absolutely in its right place. Gale looks a bit like that riding a bike. I don’t look like that doing anything — not even eating a jelly donut.

Slow lazy circles in the deep blue sky. What happened to all the other birds?

What the heck happened?

“There was so … so … much …”

“So much what, honey?” asks the police officer.

The seagull angles out of my range of vision.

“So much poop,” I say.

“Sure there was,” she says. Her hand on my chest weighs like an anvil. “Sure there was.”

What is going on with me?

What is wrong?

What?

The ambulance bee-boops its way up onto the curb near me and stops, lights flashing. Two emergency response guys hop out and ask me questions. It’s a test. But the questions are easy.

How many fingers am I holding up?

What’s your name?

What’s your address?

Then they move on to general knowledge.

What year is it?

What province are we in?

How does our national anthem start?

I think I get them right. I’m waiting for a tricky question about fractions or Charlotte’s Web. If you divide Wilbur into pork chops and everyone takes two — But they don’t ask that. They ask if I have a BC Services card. And if I’ve ever had seizures before.

“Is that what this is?” I ask.

“Answer the question. Have you had seizures before?”

Is that my problem? Seizures?

Wow. I am seizure boy. Search and seizure. Seizure salad. Great Seizure’s ghost! Oh, there’s lots of material here.

“No seizures,” I say. “At least not until now.”

The ambulance guys help me stand and walk me over to a stretcher with wheels. I tell them I am okay, but they strap me into the stretcher.

The gangster with the fake nails smiles at me and heads back into the alley. When she’s gone, I realize I should have said thanks.

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