- Chapter 3 –

"Whisper of the Wind"

Chapter 3

"Billy Travis"

In my room later that evening, I stood in front of the mirror in my tiny bathroom and gazed at the face that looked appraisingly back at me. I'd never been a raving beauty, but neither did I believe the mirror would have occasion to crack, just by casting my reflection outward for closer scrutiny.

The "straw-stackey" hair I'd inherited from my dad's side of the family was brushed away from my face and pulled back in a French braid that reached to just below my shoulders. Easy to take care of. I hated to fuss. My ears were small and set close to my head, and my eyebrows were somewhat upswept at the ends. Mom used to tell me I looked like a pixie. My eyes were somewhere between light brown and green, and as I stared at my own image in reverse, I wondered how I might look if I had eyes like Leather's … the color of the sky in summer.

In that instant I felt silly and embarrassed at such a flight into fancy, and I flicked off the light with a muffled breath of nervous laughter. There I'd stood staring stupidly at my own reflection and seriously considering what physical attributes I possessed which might attract the attention of a sad, lonely man who was probably older than my parents, and with whom I had been acquainted for all of three hours.

I walked out of the bathroom, wandered across to the bed and plopped down. The living area at the side of the room opposite this one was still unoccupied. No dorm mate. I wondered if I had bad breath or something.

Here I sat, daydreaming about inconsequential trivia when tomorrow was supposed to be the biggest day of my life. I was standing on the threshold of a life-long dream and fantasizing whether I might be attractive to some decrepit old dude who could barely walk.

But damn! Leather was a bold thinker with a sort of melancholy manner about him and a deep sense of mystery. He had a sharp tongue in his head that delighted my sense of the ridiculous, but also a quiet vulnerability that was somehow endearing.

Oh …Stop this!

I stood up with a sigh toward the dramatic, determined to get my mind off such idiocy, and glanced around my room with the nervous fidgets. My first day of orientation was staring me in the face tomorrow, and I wanted to be ready for it. I had equipment to unpack, clothing to put away and my Zai-Zo to set up, and here I sat, wasting time.

Once I got started it only took part of an hour, and my little space began to look, if not terrific, then at least livable.

There were plenty of stashy places for books and charts and lab coats and the brand new stethoscope I would be issued in the morning. That … and all the necessary medical accouterments I would be required to keep with me at all times in my long and winding path to becoming a real, card-carrying, pill-prescribing Doctor of Medicine!

Looking around me, I felt satisfied with the way the room had come together, and suddenly my stomach reminded me that I was hungry. I hadn't eaten a thing all day since I'd piled off the plane and taxied to the Student Union Office for dormitory assignment.

A pack of peanut M & M's doesn't go very far nutritionally. Determination grabbed me suddenly and I got out of there. Stashed my Zai-Zo in my pocket, ran down the steps to the first floor and headed for the big front door.

The cafeteria was centrally located on campus, or so said the pamphlet in my pocket. I headed in the appropriate direction. I knew I'd missed the regular dinner hour, so if I wanted anything to eat tonight, I'd better hurry on over there in time to join second-shift break and check out the leftovers.

The "Caff" wasn't crowded. The building was a flat, one-story brick-and-mortar thing that looked a lot like a garage for some rich guy's fleet of cars. I headed for one of the front doors. There were three.

It was much too early for third-shift housekeeping, security and maintenance workers. Split-shifting RNs and LPNs were going in and out in a steady stream, which was normal for them, I guess. I took a seat at an isolated table at the rear of the room and hung my jacket on the back of the adjoining chair. There were a few first-year med students like me scattered about, easily identifiable by their wide-eyed uber-geek attention. I didn't know any of them yet.

There was a buzz of conversation hanging in the air over a few of the tables, but nothing I could pinpoint with any clarity. Also like me, these newbies would be reporting to their first hours of orientation very early in the morning, and the hands-on medical education would begin soon thereafter.

There would be very little sitting down around here. Most of the lectures would take place in the teaching hospital while we gained experience by doing. I looked around me, pausing to study some of the eager faces, wondering which ones of them might become my friends … and which ones I would probably never see again.

Some of the people in this room would never make it to graduation; never receive that coveted M. D. The glory seekers would be among the first to go, lacking the personal discipline to hack the pressure and the demands. Others, conversely, would gallantly give it everything they had and still not be good enough to make the grade.

Some would be forced to drop out due to economic or other reasons. Worst of all, some would make careless mistakes that would jeopardize a patient, or bring someone very close to death. The resulting backlash and shame could end a career before it got a good start. Fate was not kind in this exacting profession, and one such mistake was always one too many.

Sometimes that same fate extracted a terrible price from those seeking to skate by with a minimum of effort. Medical schools needed the very best there was, and it took a special kind of person to make the grade. I was confident that I was one of those who had this special gift, but I also knew not to become complacent, and I would have to work my butt off, like Leather had said, with concentrated attention to detail so I would not become one of those who took a life before its time.

I got up from the table and went through the food line, making myself a small salad, a sandwich, and spooning out a bowl of mixed fruit. I chose water to drink, placed everything on a tray along with napkin and cutlery and went back to the table. I was smiling to myself when I sat down, thinking of the two men from a long time ago who were jointly responsible for my choice of career.

Dr. Gregory House and Dr. James Wilson, the two doctors who had kept my mother reasonably active, though living with Multiple Sclerosis, had my full and thorough respect and admiration. I still had the dog-eared black and white photograph of the two of them in a new 8 x 10 frame, which stood in a place of honor on my dresser in my room. I had the same photo stored on my Zai-Zo, and sometimes I looked at it just … well … just because! They'd both been a lot younger when the photo was taken, and they were standing together grinning at each other as though sharing a private joke. You had to be a complete grouch to look at that stunning photograph without breaking into a smile yourself. I know I did every time I saw it. They represented the caliber of doctor I intended to be someday.

I munched my salad and sandwich and ate my fruit in silence, not looking up, still deep in the recurring fantasy. When I finally did pull myself out of the fog, however, I soon discovered I was not alone, and the face looking down at me with some amusement, was half familiar.

"Mind if I join you?" Asked a deep baritone voice.

"Be my guest!" I told him, and he draped his large frame onto the chair opposite mine. He was too big for the chair, but then I supposed he ran into that problem everywhere he went. He was all knees and elbows, and one large paw almost tipped his cup of black coffee all over the tablecloth. I did not try to suppress a snort of laughter. "Wow! If they modified a picnic table for you to use as a chair, it ought'a be just about right, huh?"

Snappish black eyes glared at me from behind half-closed lids, contemplating whether I was kidding or being an ass. I guess he decided I was kidding, because he grinned widely in response. "So … get busy and put in a requisition for a picnic table, okay, Gresham?"

"I can do that. But don't be surprised if they deliver it here!" We both laughed. "By the way, Billy … thanks a lot for taking off and leaving me in the basement with that growling old fart!"

"Oh yeah … that's the main reason I came over here to join you … so I could apologize."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Did he get under your skin?" Travis looked like he was ready to laugh again.

"Well no, not really, but he lit into me for being part of the 'lazy generation', then dressed me down about working my butt off. He said he was a personal confidante of every medic in the state. I felt like it was some sort of test, but don't ask me what!"

This time Billy Travis did laugh. "He said you'd bitch to me about it."

"Huh? You talked to him again after we left there?"

"Yeah, I talk to Leather all the time. He's my friend, sort of. He doesn't live far from me. He said you'd probably do okay."

"Oh man! Am I supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy about that?"

He peered at me with raised eyebrows and wrinkled nose. The expression on that black face looked very strange for a moment. White teeth and whites of eyes, surrounded by nothing but flawless black skin, might have been scary if the room were a little darker. He shook his head. "Lord!" He exclaimed, "You even sound like him!"

"And I suppose that's a compliment?"

He paused for a moment, taken aback. Blinked. "I dunno. S'pose it was." Then he grinned and tipped his coffee cup in mock salute. "Cheers! You stick with Leather, kid. Listen to what he says. He can teach you to make a difference. You won't be sorry. Just don't patronize him. He'll bite your head off if you do."

I grinned back, lifted my cup to salute his. "I don't see how he could make any difference at anything. He's a weird old man. He's … crippled …"

Billy's face softened and he looked away from me for a moment. "Don't let the lameness fool you. He's had some tragic times in his life, and his health isn't the best anymore, but don't underestimate what he can do, Gresham."

Listening to this man, I was beginning to sense a deep respect and admiration in his voice. Perhaps even love. "You care for him a lot, don't you, Billy?"

"Yeah, I do, and I don't try to hide it. It's because of Leather that I'm where I am today, and I owe him a lot more than I can repay. If it turns out that he likes you … and I already think he does … you can't go wrong. Just don't let him hear you call him an old man. Or a 'cripple'. Only person who has a right to say that is him.

"Leather's got the most brilliant mind of anyone I've ever met. His body is failing, and that's a shame, although if I were you, I'd ignore it. You'll live longer. He's a forward thinker. I've seen quite a few progressive academicians try to out-think and out-logic him, and they always came in second best. He says he hates getting into a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent."

I looked at Travis with skepticism, smiling at his words in praise of the mentor he obviously cared for, and becoming more and more interested in spite of my best intentions not to. "I'll take your word for it. He does have nice eyes. There were a couple of times this morning when I thought he was looking straight through me."

Travis took a final sip of coffee and peered at me over the brim of the cup, then set it down and shrugged. "He has that effect on new people sometimes … especially first-year med students … until he figures out what they're made of. Just don't get all … 'girly' … about it. Don't develop a crush on him, for cryin' out loud. Lay off the doe eyes and the open mouth. And don't ever touch him with the idea that you're going to help him physically. That's a sure-fire way to piss him off. If he needs your help, he'll ask for it. Challenge him academically, but don't ever make a move into occupied territory unless you're invited. You'll get used to it."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to get used to it. Billy's words sounded a little intimidating, but I was determined not to blow my chances. I'd retrieved Leather's scattered papers this morning when it was obvious he was unable to do it himself, but I was being warned not to make a practice of such things. Fine.

This job was important to me. I needed the money, and I loved a mystery. Working for Leather, I would have two mysteries from the git-go: putting together old ground-breaking medical cases and chronicling them for posterity, plus the even more intriguing puzzle of figuring out a deeper mystery; Leather himself!

Billy and I bussed our own trays a few minutes after that, just as the place began to fill up with second shift personnel on lunch break. The volume level went up into the million-plus decibel range. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the adjacent chair and we left quickly.

Billy walked along in silence beside me, and I took a moment to study him appraisingly. He was a nursing supervisor, he'd said, and from the look of him, he was at least as old as my dad and maybe a little more. In street clothing he looked like a million others just like him, except for the cornrows. But in his hospital whites, as I had first seen him that morning, his demeanor had been entirely different. He was easy to be around and easy to like, but I wondered what kind of supervisor he was. My best guess warned me that he was a no-nonsense taskmaster and very much a "company man".

Just outside the front door to my building we stopped and prepared to part for the night. I looked at Travis and decided to ask him a question that had been bothering me. "Did you and Leather ever work together?"

He smiled softly and looked at me sideways for a second, as though gauging my reason for asking. Then he nodded. "Yeah, we did … for years … but I don't talk about it much anymore … "

I squinted, puzzled. "Where? Here? And why don't you talk about it?"

"It was back east … a long time ago … before we both ended up here. It's a complicated story, Gresham, and I'm not the one who has the right to tell it."

"Something nasty happened, didn't it? It was something that hurt both of you a lot."

"Why do you say that?" Billy's defenses came up like an invisible wall between us.

"Because he is so brittle … and because he's in hiding! If he gets bumped too hard, he'll shatter. A blind man could see it with a cane."

"What?"

"You heard me. Leather is sad and angry and a lot of other stuff I haven't figured out yet. But I will."

Billy scowled and I thought he might be getting a little suspicious of me. "Don't do anything to hurt him. Just … don't! Like I said before, let him take the lead. There is no way he will ever allow you to pick his brain if he doesn't want you to. Give him time to trust you before you begin to twist the knife in his back …"

"Billy, I wouldn't do that. He is too … fragile. Even if he says he's tougher than he looks …"

"He's not fragile. You couldn't be more wrong about that!"

"And that means you know the whole story, right?"

"Yes I do. But like I told you … it's not mine to tell. If he ever wants you to know, he'll tell you himself. Please don't push him." Billy shrugged and turned to leave. "I won't let him be hurt again."

"You must not have a very high opinion of me, Billy, but that's okay. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. Just know that I'd never do anything to harm either one of you." I turned and sprinted up the front steps.

Behind me I could feel the air weighing down with the heaviness of his consternation.

Damn! Now how did I manage to get myself into that?

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