The Empty Gate

Every afternoon after school, our mongrel would wait behind the metal gate. The moment he heard my bicycle bell, he would jump up and wag his tail so hard his whole body seemed to bend with it.

One rainy week, I came home and the gate was empty.

I parked my bicycle and rang the bell again, as if he might have missed it.

My mother opened the door and quietly told me he had died that morning.

For months afterward, I still rang the bell when I reached home. Grief, I discovered, is a habit that takes time to unlearn.