The operation was a complete success and I was given the word that the tumor would not come back. If it did, they would operate it away again.
For a few minutes after the operation, I had time to myself. I practiced moving my fingers under the blanket. The pinky and ring fingers were still stiff and painful, but the rest of my fingers could move diligently.
Charlie came back and saw me practicing. He forced me to try and write my name on a piece of paper. I told him that it was too painful for me to do, but he shoved a pencil into my hand and ignored me.
Every movement of my other fingers dragged the ring and pinky finger with it. Those movements sent jolts of pain up and down my stiff arms. Although in pain, I kept on trying to write my name. Four lousy letters drained me of most of my strength. When I finished, I looked back down and realized that they were completely illegible.
When Charlie came back, I expected him to be mad but instead he laughed it off. “Just try harder next time,” he said between chuckles. That’s what set me off because I did try hard. I put my heart and soul on that paper and if my soul was scribble-y then so be it.
It was hard for me to cop an attitude towards Charlie. I never realized how difficult it could be without words. The only way I could possibly achieve this was by pretending to sleep while Charlie talked to me. After about an hour, I was ready to give up, but Charlie stepped in.
“Are you trying to ignore me?” Charlie asked, putting his magazine down. I put my plan into effect and looked away. “Geez, you used to be such a good boy, what’s up your ass?”
I continued to ignore him and he began to get even more frustrated with me.
“I’ll call Louie damn it!” At the moment I didn’t take this as much of a threat. I was so sure that Louie wouldn’t care if I ignored the guy and probably get upset with him for getting mad at me. The route of the complaint was immature.
I was mistaken and Charlie got up to inform Louie of my behavior. They treated it so seriously that it took them a long time to develop a rational discussion with me. Somehow they figured that I had gotten completely out of line and that I was being so bad.
“Look kid, I can throw you to the sharks any time I damn well please. About the only thing that’s holding me back is that I’m losing money with this. And I’d be wasting it on you. Most people here now how much I hate to lose money. Besides, I’ve scheduled jobs for you to do. With luck, you’ll be able to pay for this and then some. Maybe Jizzy’s family members will get to stop paying through the nose. You know, Jizzy has a brother that looks just like him. Cute kid too, only five years old…too bad he has to work here all because of his big brother. Now you wouldn’t want him to work for his entire life this way would you?”
I shook my head no at the question. For the moment I was stunned. How could someone make someone else pay for something they had no control over? What could possess Louie to induce child labor, the sick bastard?
“I thought so. Well if you live, you can work and pay off all of their debts. If you refuse, I’ll change my mind and go after your family. Got that?” I shook my head meekly. That wasn’t much of a choice. If I was lucky I would die before it started and I wouldn’t have to worry afterward.
Louie turned to Charlie. “So what started this anyway?”
“He was ignoring me, that’s a sign of rebellion. I was just commenting on the lousy job he did on the simple task I gave him.”
While he talked, I wrote awkwardly in my notebook. I wasn’t going to let him get me killed without a fight.
When I finished, I handed the paper over to Louie. He squinted at it and took a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket. Charlie attempted to grab it from him, but he snatched it out of his reach.
“I can read it myself!” He hissed. “Hmm, let’s see…that’s an I, I’m sure of it. I, uh, treed? No that’s not right…tried! Ya, that’s it…my…boys? Does that say boys?”
Charlie was now leaning over his shoulder. “No I think that says best…or boss…”
While they were arguing over my first message, I attempted to write a second one, slower and neater this time. I was getting a little cross because I’d being writing pretty good for someone with no feeling or motor skills in their hands.
I cleared my throat loudly and waved the message in the air. Louie and Charlie had a little race for it and I just rolled my eyes at them. People who don’t act their age irritate me. Except for myself of course, I’m an exception to the rule. Maybe if I was in someone else’s body with the same mind I have now I might find myself annoying.
I’d taken Zofran twice that day already and I was feeling lightheaded. I fell asleep long before Louie or Charlie figured out what the next message read. For those who are curious it said: “I tried really hard but my hardest isn’t good enough apparently.” At the time I thought it was a pretty lenient statement. See, I didn’t know that Louie got insulted easier than I did.
On a gloomy, brisk day, I was given a set of wheels to prepare for the work to come. Condemned to my wheelchair, I figured that I wouldn’t have to work until I was well enough to walk. Apparently this wasn’t the case.
I was in a particularly good mood that day, not only because I’d gotten to go outside for the first time in weeks, but also because I’d overworked the Zofran again. Somehow the chemicals had stopped making me tired and started getting me a bit high. Never in my life had I been so close to experiencing a “high.” I thought that if it made me feel so good that I should get something stronger and do it more often. But then again I took CAPP in high school and I remembered the damage it does to your brain. Besides, it wasn’t that I didn’t have the supply, but that I was too afraid to do it.
Charlie pushed me out the door of the “clinic” and I found myself in a well-lit alley. I deeply inhaled the city’s air and nearly choked to death on it. I’d been gone so long that I had to get used to air all over again.
After my first out-of-doors experience, Charlie started taking me outside on a daily basis. The first few days I could hardly stand it and I had to wear a gas mask outside. But I got used to it eventually.
After I got used to it, Charlie started taking me for small walks. He took me to the park on a daily basis and while he read I attempted to explore the place.
At first I thought that he was mocking me, taking me to a child’s playground. Then I realized that he was trying to reunite me with the human mind. Specifically, a child’s mind. But most of the children were afraid to talk with me if I approached them.
The first few times he took me to the park I couldn’t move the wheelchair at all by myself. It was an aggravating struggle from an inch a day to a foot a day. After about six days, I was able to move myself into the bush at the back of the playground.
When I thought I was deep enough in the bush that no one was around, I wheeled myself toward a patch of grass and gently lowered myself onto it. I would lay there for hours, thinking about the strangest things. Sometimes I would think about how the world worked or how many Barbie were being sold as I was thinking. I avoided thinking about my life, because I didn’t want to think about things that depressed me. During that time with my soul I felt happy – that is until Charlie decided I’d been there long enough and came to get me.
I started going to go to the same spot on a daily basis. Somehow that spot was my way of life. My life away from the tiring chemotherapy and my thinning hair. In fact, I had to stop brushing my hair altogether because it started coming out in patches.
A week later I had a really off day. It started with Nancy. She was forced to take me for my daily walk to the park. I could tell that she wasn’t particularly pleased with the chore, but she did it anyway. I meant to ask her that day what I had done, but I didn’t want to make the situation worse.
The walk on the way to the park was awful. Nancy jerked my wheelchair this way and that and cursed every time she hit a bump. She once hit a pothole with full force and I damn near fell out of the wheelchair. In all the excitement, I’d bitten my tongue and bottom lip. I decided against telling Nancy, which wouldn’t have helped anyway.
On Charlie’s walks, people would say something to him in a low register so that I wouldn’t hear. Then Charlie would nod his head sadly and the person would smile at me. They would either squeeze my hand, or squeeze my arm gently, or even give me a hug. I knew that it was about me, but I didn’t really want to know exactly what was said.
Well, on Nancy’s walk I had the chance to ask. Nancy wasn’t particularly flattered that someone had stopped to talk to her about me. But she put on a phony smile and the same old ritual occurred.
“What was that all about?” I wrote on my notepad.
She grinned evilly, looked me straight in the eye and said, “She wanted know what was wrong with your face.”
It took all the strength I could muster not to bawl my eyes out in the middle of the sidewalk. I had in mind to ask Nancy if we could go back, but I knew that she wouldn’t let me.
When we finally made it to the park, Nancy dropped me off at my usual spot while she sat on the bench to read a magazine. I had a bad feeling about going to my spot, a very bad feeling.
At first everything was the same. Same old spot (except it was still a bit wet), same old scenery, but different feelings. Somehow I couldn’t concentrate on what I wanted to think about. I ignored all of the signs because A) I’m not a psychic in the least and B) I don’t even know what karma is. If it’s like this, then frankly I don’t want to know.
I was in mid thought when suddenly a round orange object came hurling in my direction. During my sessions with myself, I usually close my eyes to help myself to concentrate. That day I felt insecure about doing it, so I kept my eyes open. Good thing too, because I was able to catch this round, plump object that I’m keeping a mystery.
I reached up towards the sky and it fell so neatly into my hands. My hands stung familiarly from the impact of the ball. I felt whole with it in my hands and I didn’t want to give it up. For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, the object was…a basketball. A perfect Spalding NBA style basketball. It was so brand new that it still smelled like K-Mart.
I sat up straight and looked at the ball like it was a gift from God. It was laying on my lap and it seemed to smile up at me and say, “take me,” so I did. I didn’t consider it stealing at the time, because it fallen into my hands and I’d found it, so therefore it was mine.
In case someone went looking for it, I tucked it under a blanket on my wheelchair. I assumed that no one would look in there for it because I’d earned a length of respect from my condition.
It wasn’t long before someone came intruding in my favorite spot, looking for the thing. I wondered how they got the basketball all the way over there. From the basketball court, that’s quite a distance.
A chubby little boy with flaming red hair approached me solemnly. “Have you seen my basketball?” he asked, tears forming in his eyes. I was almost about to give it up because he looked so distraught and I already had a basketball. But I remembered that at Louie’s place, the only thing I actually owned was my little notebook.
I shook my head no and the little boys eyes went glassy. “Are you sure?” he asked. I shook my head yes. For a more honest effect I wrote, “Sorry” into my notebook. After he read the message, the boy ran off in tears. You could hear the kid bawling all the way back to the basketball court.
I’ve never taken anything from a child before, and I didn’t really want to. But there was something special about the ball. I don’t know why I thought that Louie would let me keep it. Even though it never made it to Louie’s. In fact, I thought the scenario was over with the redhead boy. But in reality, it had just gotten worse.
Chapter 29
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