John lay still in the bed. He'd barely moved all morning long, and even then, only when the nurse came into the room to check on him. She'd already been in three times that day, and it was the same one every time. He recalled seeing her several times the night before, also, and began to wonder whether her hours ever ended.
"How are you feeling this morning?" she would ask.
"Fine," he'd reply with a half-smile.
She would then see if there was anything he needed. There seldom was. The last time she came in, she opened the window blinds at his request, and daylight flooded the room. Then she would leave, only to return an hour or so later to check on him once again.
He hated the feeling of being watched. He knew that's what they were doing. They were watching him. They were careful about it, trying hard to be inconspicuous, but he knew better. Most of all, he didn't blame them. He knew the nurses and the doctors were just doing their jobs, watching to make sure he didn't harm himself any further. But that didn't make him feel any better. After so many days of trying to go unseen, he found himself unable to disappear. He was no longer invisible.
Just after noon, the door opened, and John expected to see the nurse walk back in with that warm smile on her face. She wore white scrubs with pink dots and rubber shoes that sometimes squeaked against the hard floor, but she wasn't there. This time, Evan walked in with a casual nod. He pulled his chair back to the bed side and sat down. John noticed that he still wore the same black button-up shirt from the day before.
"How are you feeling?"
"You know that song 'Suicide is Painless'?"
"Yeah."
"That's a big, damn lie right there."
"They giving you meds for that?"
John nodded. "Don't much care for them, though. I kind of like being in control again, you know?"
"You'll have plenty of time for that. But first, you need to heal up. It's going to hurt, no doubt about that, so the painkillers really do help."
"You've been through this, too? Did you... you know?" John pointed at his bandaged wrist.
"No, not exactly. Bike accident when I was about your age--shredded up part of my arm." Evan pulled back the sleeve of his left hand, showing John a long, crooked scar on his forearm.
"Ouch. Guess I'll have one of those, too--the scar, I mean."
"Chicks dig them," said Evan with a wry grin, rolling his sleeve back into place. "That's what they say, at least. Not so much in my case. Sorry to disappoint."
"Did you talk to the doctors?"
"Yeah," Evan replied with a slow nod.
"So what's the verdict? Am I headed to the crazy house, or what?"
"Well, I turned the charm up to eleven, and they're releasing you to my custody. Apparently, they don't think you're much of a threat to yourself anymore. We'll need to come back first thing in the morning for a checkup, though."
"I think I can live with that. Thanks. Thanks for everything, seriously."
"It's nothing. You'll just have to pretend to be my brother for one more day, and then we're home free."
"So what do we do now?"
"They're going to release you in a few hours, just in time to catch the opening of my show tonight."
"Shit. I'd forgotten all about that."
"Yeah, well, I've got to get everything set up at the gallery, so I've got to book. As soon as they give me a call, I'll be back for you, though, okay?"
"Sure, I'm not going anywhere."
"Oh yeah, one more thing: I've got a surprise for you after the show tonight."
"What is it?"
"It's a surprise, dumbass. You'll have to wait."
Even after Evan left, the smile still hung on the boy's face. To him, it was a foreign expression and one that left the muscles hidden in his cheeks sore from relative overuse.
So this is what family feels like, he thought to himself. It'd been so long since he'd seen his father, even longer since he'd seen his mother. He'd forgotten that warm feeling, that embrace that remained with him, like the comfort of a ghost.
"How are you feeling this morning?" she would ask.
"Fine," he'd reply with a half-smile.
She would then see if there was anything he needed. There seldom was. The last time she came in, she opened the window blinds at his request, and daylight flooded the room. Then she would leave, only to return an hour or so later to check on him once again.
He hated the feeling of being watched. He knew that's what they were doing. They were watching him. They were careful about it, trying hard to be inconspicuous, but he knew better. Most of all, he didn't blame them. He knew the nurses and the doctors were just doing their jobs, watching to make sure he didn't harm himself any further. But that didn't make him feel any better. After so many days of trying to go unseen, he found himself unable to disappear. He was no longer invisible.
Just after noon, the door opened, and John expected to see the nurse walk back in with that warm smile on her face. She wore white scrubs with pink dots and rubber shoes that sometimes squeaked against the hard floor, but she wasn't there. This time, Evan walked in with a casual nod. He pulled his chair back to the bed side and sat down. John noticed that he still wore the same black button-up shirt from the day before.
"How are you feeling?"
"You know that song 'Suicide is Painless'?"
"Yeah."
"That's a big, damn lie right there."
"They giving you meds for that?"
John nodded. "Don't much care for them, though. I kind of like being in control again, you know?"
"You'll have plenty of time for that. But first, you need to heal up. It's going to hurt, no doubt about that, so the painkillers really do help."
"You've been through this, too? Did you... you know?" John pointed at his bandaged wrist.
"No, not exactly. Bike accident when I was about your age--shredded up part of my arm." Evan pulled back the sleeve of his left hand, showing John a long, crooked scar on his forearm.
"Ouch. Guess I'll have one of those, too--the scar, I mean."
"Chicks dig them," said Evan with a wry grin, rolling his sleeve back into place. "That's what they say, at least. Not so much in my case. Sorry to disappoint."
"Did you talk to the doctors?"
"Yeah," Evan replied with a slow nod.
"So what's the verdict? Am I headed to the crazy house, or what?"
"Well, I turned the charm up to eleven, and they're releasing you to my custody. Apparently, they don't think you're much of a threat to yourself anymore. We'll need to come back first thing in the morning for a checkup, though."
"I think I can live with that. Thanks. Thanks for everything, seriously."
"It's nothing. You'll just have to pretend to be my brother for one more day, and then we're home free."
"So what do we do now?"
"They're going to release you in a few hours, just in time to catch the opening of my show tonight."
"Shit. I'd forgotten all about that."
"Yeah, well, I've got to get everything set up at the gallery, so I've got to book. As soon as they give me a call, I'll be back for you, though, okay?"
"Sure, I'm not going anywhere."
"Oh yeah, one more thing: I've got a surprise for you after the show tonight."
"What is it?"
"It's a surprise, dumbass. You'll have to wait."
Even after Evan left, the smile still hung on the boy's face. To him, it was a foreign expression and one that left the muscles hidden in his cheeks sore from relative overuse.
So this is what family feels like, he thought to himself. It'd been so long since he'd seen his father, even longer since he'd seen his mother. He'd forgotten that warm feeling, that embrace that remained with him, like the comfort of a ghost.
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