Comfort
"How many times have you read this?"
Dr. Andy Yablonski turned. The tall physician saw the younger transplant coordinator walk up to him. In his left hand was a book, frayed around the edges. Its spine was broken multiple times. Although a couple of fingers covered part of the title, Andy knew what book Ryan was holding. A Game of Thrones. Andy smiled, thinking that his father would love the book Ryan held in his hand. He remembered how Alex Yablonski would read whenever he wasn't working on carpentry or toys for his little sister. "Fantasy is the most engaging genre of literature," he had declared once before he died. Andy still remembered how his books covered most of his parents' room. "Do you visit their graves now every day? Is that why you're late all the time?" Although Ryan didn't know it, he had spoken the truth. Everyone at the hospital believed that Andy was always late for other reasons, but they didn't know the truth. Ryan had wanted to learn the rest of the story. Andy had tearfully declined earlier, but now he thought it was time for Ryan to hear it.
"Look at the back of the cover," he told Ryan. The younger man's eyes widened.
"You've written the dates when you read this book?" Ryan's eyes scanned the writing. "That means this book has been read nineteen times." He looked at Andy in amazement. "Is this book really that good?" Andy nodded.
"My father was the one who read books. He always tried to make me read when I had no interest." Ryan's zealous eyes became somber at the mention of Andy's father. "You wanted to hear the rest of my story, right?" Ryan nodded. "As I told you and David, I allowed my family's organs to be donated to people in need. I didn't watch when the machines flat lined. I was in too much pain. I almost didn't hear the social worker speak. She said that I was going to a foster home after my family was laid to rest. I still remember her calling me Andrew. I hated that more than being placed in a foster home." Andy laid his elbows on the smooth white concrete as he looked at the sky. He and Ryan were on the roof, a habit that both of them shared after a work's day. Andy felt Ryan's eyes glance at him curiously.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I ran away," Andy said simply. "I…left everything behind in my house. I don't know why the police didn't find me. Perhaps I was just too well hidden. I lived on the streets for two years, begging for food and without a place to call home. I still remember the cold nights that shook my bones and hunger that haunted me most days. By the time I lived on the streets for a year, my clothes were shredded, stained, and ripped. So I stole. I still remember looking at the windows of middle class families, staring longingly at fresh baked goods at their table and warm clothes on their backs. Sometimes I begged for them for food, but most of them slammed the door in my face because of the grime and dirt on my face and clothes. I smelled. More often I scrounged for food from garbage cans than going to charity. Anything tasted good, and I found myself owning a weapon, a mere knife, at the age of fourteen. Eventually, he came." Suddenly Andy quieted.
"Who?" Ryan gasped.
"His name was Jeremy Bouvier, and he was new in the homeless community. If my father had lived, he would have been Jeremy's age. I didn't talk to the sullen man at first. But he had an interest in me for some reason. He told me about his son, Jason, who had died earlier that year from cancer. I was his age, he said. A part of me didn't want to talk with him anymore, because Jeremy reminded me of my father. He too had been a reader once, and had excelled in his art, writing. The man told me that as soon as his beloved son died, however, he had become an alcoholic. The drink was his solace, his refuge, and pain at the same time. His wife threw him out, and he had been on the streets ever since."
"Jeremy was like a second father to you," Ryan whispered. Suddenly he sensed Andy's stare, and flushed in embarrassment. Andy wasn't angry with him though. He nodded thoughtfully.
"Jeremy filled the hole in my heart that had been there since my parents, grandparents, and sister had died. I think I helped him too with his own grief." Andy fell silent for a moment. "He saved my life. The winter that year was hard and cold. Jeremy and I were weak with hunger. I remember him covering me up with the only winter coat that he had. He always had it on him. My fingers and lips were blue with cold, and I sobbed myself to sleep. I shivered all the time and could barely speak. Jeremy seemed to know that I was in trouble. He wrapped me up in a blanket and ran me to the hospital. I still remember how safe I felt in his arms. Eventually I woke. The doctor told me that I would have lost a finger or two if it hadn't been for Jeremy. I asked for him, but the doctor told me he was gone. He didn't know where he went...and I lived my uncle Michael until I finished high school."
Ryan was silent as Andy ended his story. The boy was deeply moved by Jeremy Bouvier's actions. He had saved Andy's life. Ryan couldn't help but to wish that someone had saved him. "I hate you!"
"My mother committed suicide when I was nine." Ryan's voice was quiet at first. He seemed hesitant and uncertain of what he should say. Andy' dark blue eyes focused on him now. "At that time, I didn't understand why she did it, or what it meant. I only knew it meant that she was gone. I understood why she feared my father though. My mother wasn't there to protect me now. He hated me. I don't know why…but he continued to put me down." Ryan closed his eyes and shuddered. "He told me that I wasn't worth nothing to him, and that my mother didn't mean anything to him either. I was nothing. I felt way for a long time. I felt that no one cared about me, you know. I thought I was the vilest and most disgusting creature on earth from the way he talked about me. Eventually, I understood why my mother did what she did. She must have had no choice but to end it. How she must have suffered. I tried once, and failed." Ryan quieted. He didn't say anything as tears washed down his cheeks. "I must have been the only comfort she had when she was alive. I still wonder if I could've stopped her from doing it if I had known." Suddenly, Ryan felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him and saw that Andy was crying too.
"You didn't know, Ryan. You were only nine years old." Somehow Ryan felt the older man's voice comforting. His breathing slowed, and he felt oddly at peace when Andy hugged him. He felt the book against his back. Eventually, the two parted. Both their eyes were red and puffy, but both of them managed to smile. Their sadness was disappearing. "Dr. Yablonski…" Ryan began nervously.
"Yes, Ryan?" Andy asked gently.
"Could I read that book? It looks interesting." Andy looked at the tattered book of A Game of Thrones and back at Ryan again. He handed the book to him.
"Sure, but be careful Ryan." Andy gave his younger colleague a small smile. "The fourth book is really boring." Ryan laughed, and Andy thought that it was the most beautiful sound he ever heard. As Andy walked away from the roof, he saw Ryan reading the back of the book in the moonlight. "Take care, Ryan." Andy whispered.