June 1893
They met in the hospital.
It was just after dinnertime, and Charlie was in his bed, massaging his right hip to see if he could feel anything but shooting pins and needles, when three nurses rushed in carrying a stretcher
He tried to sit up to see. He had to use his arms to push himself up-he wasn't used to that yet. It was a girl-about eight years old just like him-with a yellow sundress and very red cheeks. He was pretty sure her eyes were closed. Was she even awake?
Charlie stared as the nurses unbuttoned her dress and lifted her into bed wearing just a white slip. Her arms looked sunburnt, but she'd been wearing long sleeves.
"Don't feel good." the little girl mumbled. "Don't feel good."
"I know, darling," One of the nurses said kindly. "Everything is going to be just fine once we can get you cooled down, okay?" the other nurses were stuffing her dress, shoes, and stockings into a bag. "Rest, now, Emily."
Emily. Charlie thought. His arms were growing tired from holding himself upright, and he fell back into the mattress, exhausted.
Emily. For the first time in almost a month, he had a friend. Or at least, a roommate. Someone his own age.
...
The wooden ceiling was made of 87 boards. Charlie had counted.
"How long do ya have to be in bed before ya start to lose ya mind?" he asked Emily.
She was sleeping. Still. She'd been asleep for over a whole day, and she didn't even wake up when the nurses came in and out to check on her.
Charlie sighed, but he understood. A month ago, he'd been that sick too. Now, he didn't know what he was, except an eight-year-old kid who'd been kicked out of an orphanage because he could no longer climb the stairs to get inside.
He looked at the ceiling. The head of his bed was under board number 28. God, he wished they had a window.
...
When Charlie woke up the next day, Emily was already awake, propped up against pillows. Her cheeks were still pink, but her eyes were open and it looked like the nurses had combed her hair.
"Hey roomie." Charlie said. Ugh, that was so corny. "How are you feeling?"
Emily was fidgeting with her blanket and didn't look up. Maybe she was too sick to talk.
But he tried again. "Morning." he said, a little louder. She jumped and turned towards him.
"Oh." She said loudly. "Hi."
"Didn't mean to scare ya." he said. "My name is Charlie. I, um, I'm glad you're awake."
"Charlie…" She said. "You...sorry. I'm sorry, what did you say?" she leaned towards him and shook her head.
"I'm glad you're awake." he repeated.
"Me too, I guess." She said. "They said my sisters and my folks can't come see me. I...I guess I'm still contagious."
So she had a family. Charlie nodded. "We's in isolation. Where they puts the kids who too sick to be 'round anyone but each other."
"What's wrong with you?" Emily asked.
He moved his blanket and used both hands to pull up his pant leg so she could see his leg, thin and weak and useless. "Polio." he said. "Lucky to be here."
"Gosh." She said. Her eyes, still tired and fever-glazed, were brown and wide.
"I'm just so dang bored." he said. He flopped back against his pillow.
Emily was quiet for a minute, and she shook her head. "I...I don't really remember what happened, actually." she said. "My throat hurt somethin' awful and my father carried me to the carriage, and now I'm here."
"You were asleep a long time. Almost two days."
"I...I want my family." She said. Her voice prickled with tears. "I want my books and my kitten. When can we go home?"
Charlie swallowed hard. He didn't want to cry with her. He'd done enough on his own. "I've been here for almost a month."
"A month!" Emily exclaimed and then the tears came. Charlie knew better than to stare at a kid when they was crying. Nothing more embarrassing than bawling and having people look at you.
...
Emily cried more at lunch time, when the nurses told her they'd had to burn everything she'd come with when she was sick.
"My dress!" She said. "I want my yellow dress! It's my favorite!"
"Shh, shh." the nurse said sharply. "Hush, child, you're yelling. You'll wear yourself out."
"What am I supposed to wear?"
"You'll be feeling better in a couple days, and your family can bring you clean clothes when they come pick you up."
The thought of even one more second apart from her family made Emily feel even worse. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, tears running silently down her face.
The nurse pointed at the tray next to her bed. "Eat up, both of you." She said. "You'll never get your strength back if ya don't eat."
Charlie and Emily did the same things the rest of that day: they both picked at their food, then moped and slept and moped and slept some more.
"Being sick sure is the worst." Charlie said at one point, but the girl on the other side of the room didn't answer.
The fourth day of being roommates was different. Emily's fever broke and she was well enough to understand how miserably bored Charlie was.
"What do you do all day?" She asked him.
"Not much." Charlie said. "I know this ceiling real dang well."
"Can you walk? Can you stand up?" She asked.
"No."
"Did you used to be able to?"
"Yeah." He said. "Yeah, I was a normal kid til I got real sick 'bout a month ago. I walked, and I ran, and I climbed trees-"
"I love climbing trees!" Em interjected.
Charlie's face fell. "Well, I can't now!"
"Oh." she said. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, why do you talk so loud?"
"I don't talk loud!" she said. "The nurses said that too, but I promise I'm talking normal."
"No you're not." he said. "You're talking loud."
"Is this quieter?" She whispered, but even her whisper was a little loud. "Happy now?"
Charlie smiled. "Yes."
"Is it okay if I come over there?" she asked. "I like talking to you but it's weird being so far away."
"Of course!" Charlie said, too eagerly. He used his arms to push himself backwards.
She slid slowly out of her bed, her legs shaky like a newborn pony, and sat down at the foot of his bed. "I hate this." She said.
"I know." Charlie said. "Me too."
"Will we get in trouble?" Em asked. "For me sitting here?"
"What are they gonna do to a couple o' sick kids?"
"That's right." She said. "Can't be mad at us."
Em and Charlie talked most of the day: they were both eight-and-a-half, they were both thin and had blonde hair and brown eyes. She had two sisters, he had none. She lived in a big house in the country, and he lived in an orphanage. She loved to read, he hated it. They both hated school and sitting still.
"My friend taught me a hand clapping game." Em said. "Want me to show you?"
A month ago he would've said no, but now Charlie grinned. A game! "Sure!"
She showed him, slowly at first, clapping and snapping and left-hand-right-hand-both-hands. Charlie messed up. A lot. Had the polio made him stupid and clumsy, too?
"C'mon, try again." Emily said. She held out her hands and went at his pace. "Yeah! Good job." She nodded, and then, once they had the rhythm, she started singing. "Cinderella, dressed in yella, went upstairs to kiss a fella, made a mistake, kissed a snake, how many doctors did it take? Now turn your hands over." She said, and Charlie remembered to. "One and two and three and four and five and-"
He hadn't laughed in a long time.
xxxx
Okay, I gotta explain this a little because it's a weird little thing I haven't been able to get out of my head all day.
I was 7 years old when I had strep throat 4 times in 6 months and developed a moderate hearing loss. I've had hearing aids since I was 12, and I'm now 22, and thriving. Disabled people have always been a huge part of my life, and when I go to grad school it'll be for special ed. But I've been wrestling with a lot of feelings my own hearing for about year, and decided I'd try fiction instead of non-fiction to get them on paper. (That's the super-super-abridged version).
AND I'm just a history nerd, and Newsies trash. The burning scarlet fever-infected toys/clothes is from the Velveteen Rabbit.
Okay, note is officially longer than the story. Ask me about my hearing. Ask me about ableism. Talk to me about Newsies. Tell me you hated this. I'm just throwing it out into the universe. 3