After an hour of watching through the window to the room as Shawn thrashed and writhed, Henry couldn't bear it anymore.
He grabbed a surgical mask from the nurse's station and opened the door to the sterile room.
"Henry! Don't!" Mel almost screamed, grabbing his arm. "He could die! The germs..!"
"Open your eyes!" Henry growled, shaking her off. "He's dying now!"
He slammed the door closed behind him and practically ran to the bed. He grabbed Shawn's wrists and pinned them down, trying to keep him still.
God! He's burning up!
Shawn's eyes shot open, wild and unfocused. He looked right past Henry, like he couldn't even really see him, continuing to kick and groan.
He has that same look in his eye…like when he was a kid… when I held him down while the doctor set the bone…
"He's just a kid, Mr. Spencer. He's scared. Talk to him…let him know everything is okay.."
Let him know everything is okay…
What did I say to him…?
Shawn's feet were flailing wildly, trying to break free of Henry's grasp.
What the hell did I say to him?
Suddenly, the words came back.
As if he was pulling them from the air, or from some place inside him long forgotten.
"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise"
Shawn's wrists suddenly went limp. Henry paused and slowly let them go, ready to pin them down again if he needed to.
He pressed on, the memories of that day so long ago flooding back.
The thoughts of a future without Shawn nearly paralyzing him.
"If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;"
Henry paused again, taking another deep breath.
Shawn was shaking, his bloodshot eyes still gazing emptily at the ceiling.
But he was breathing easier.
Henry closed his eyes and let the words flow, losing himself in the cadence.
"If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
with sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,"
Henry opened his eyes and gazed down at Shawn, his hand instinctively touching the crown of his head.
"And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son."