Good Until it Hurts
28. Broken
I'm about ten feet up when my sneaker slips.
I didn't expect it to happen. Even if I thought about it before, I really didn't think I would fall. But all I have the time to think is Shit! when I lose my grip around the telephone pole, desperately trying to find my footing again - but I'm already on my way down, and I crash to the ground with my right arm under me, hear more than feel how it snaps while the impact knocks all the wind out of me.
xXx
"Oh, shit!"
"Shit, Curly, you okay?"
"Maybe we shouldn't-"
The voices come from miles away. I sit up slowly, blinking feebly, like I just woke up. My whole body feels numb, and I look down at my arm hanging strangely by my side, pointing in the wrong direction, but it's weird 'cause it don't hurt.
Shouldn't it hurt?
Pony is on his knees in front of me, his face pale, his mouth moving like he's talking.
"...okay?"
I just stare at him.
"Curly!" he barks, shaking me a little.
"Fuck," I hiss, 'cause pain suddenly shoots through my arm. I make a sharp inhale, hold my breath for a second while I wait for it to pass. Only it don't, instead it starts to pulsate, worse and worse, running from my elbow up to my shoulder and down to my fingers. I curse again, carefully cradle my arm with my hand, to steady it.
Pony looks a bit guilty, and he hastily moves his hand away from my shoulder, turning his head to talk to Johnny standing behind him.
"Go get Tim," he says rapidly. "We have to-"
"Not Tim," I manage, gritting my teeth. I can't really think clearly when my arm is hurting like this, but I think Tim ain't home. If he ain't, there's no point going there, and I don't want them to run into my pa or anything. I don't want him to come here.
"But you need to go to the hospital," Pony protests, his eyes darting between me and Johnny.
"No fuckin' way!"
"I think your arm's broken."
"You think?" I mimic sarcastically.
Johnny says something I can't hear, and Pony frowns, then nods, turning back to me. "I'm gonna go get my brother, then. Okay? He can bring the truck."
"Yeah, whatever." Why can't he just shut up and stop talking to me? I feel hot all sudden, sweaty even if I don't wear a jacket, and I blink hard, and then again, fighting the bile rising up my throat. Shit, but this was stupid.
Pony gets up on his feet, says something to Johnny again, and then he takes off running. I glare at Johnny, and he backs away and looks real nervous. I hope he won't start to talk to me or anything, 'cause I'm kind of busy with hurting like hell. Besides, this was all his fault, wasn't it? Letting some fucking bully kids take his shoes and throw them up a telephone pole, if he wasn't such a dip stick, I hadn't fallen down and broken my arm.
Okay, so maybe it was little my own fault for even caring about it, but I think it was mostly his anyway.
It feels like forever before an old truck parks at the curb in front of me, Pony and his brother Sodapop piling out of it.
"He's over there," Pony says unnecessarily, and Soda walks up to me, crouching down.
"Can you stand up?" he asks me, and I nod and try, only to sit back down again when I move my arm.
"Ow, fuuuck," I let out, squeezing my eyes shut in a grimace. I think it wouldn't hurt this much if someone had cut it off, for real!
"Should we call an ambulance instead?" Pony nervously asks his brother, but I snap at him no, and Soda leans down again to get a hold of my left elbow, helping me to get up on my feet. I have to bite my teeth down hard to not start to groan, 'cause shit, it hurts, and I sway a bit once I get up. Soda asks if I hit my head, too, but I don't think I did, so I say 'no' again.
He has to help me get into the truck,and he closes the door after me, staying outside for a while to talk to Pony, who nods and shakes his head and looks at me, but I just lean my head back and close my eyes, until Soda climbs back into the driver seat.
"Hospital?" he asks me. "Or do you want me to take you home first?"
I don't want neither, but I know someone needs to patch me up for real this time, I don't think a band-aid will do the work. And I really want some drugs for the pain, too.
"Hospital, I guess," I mutter. I shift in the seat, trying to get more comfortable, only it makes another jolt of pain shoot through my arm. Shit, but I wish this was over.
"You have someone to call once we get there?" Soda wonders, turning the key, making the truck jump to life. "'Cause I'm pretty sure you'll need a guardian or some shit there, to get treatment."
I think of Tim again. Is he home, yet? I hope so, but I don't know.
"Um, guess I can try and call my pa," I say slowly. 'Cause there is no chance in hell I'll get Ma to come. Not by herself, it don't matter if I was dying, she wouldn't leave the house without Tim or me or Angie.
"You know where he is?" Soda asks a bit casual, like he don't expect me to know but don't wanna say it.
"Maybe he's home."
He glances at me but don't say anything. I lean my head back again, thinking the only good thing with this pain is the distraction from other things, only when I think that, it ain't really a distraction anymore. Shit, but I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want anyone to fucking touch my arm, don't want anyone I don't know to touch me at all.
But I know I have to, and I can't really say that I don't want it either, so I keep my mouth shut. And then we're there, and Soda follows me inside and up to the nurses desk, talking to the lady standing behind it. She asks why we're here and all, before giving him some papers and a pen, and telling us to sit down and wait.
"Can you fill this in?" Soda asks as we have sat down on some chairs, but I just look at him 'til he grins sheepishly. 'Cause it's my fucking right arm.
"Shit, sorry. I'll do it." He puts the paper against his lap and grabs the pen, scanning the first question. "Your real name's Vincent, right?"
"Yeah," I mutter. I hope he won't laugh at me, 'cause his name is fucking Sodapop. But he don't, he just scribbles it down and continues to ask me questions, and I tell him what I know the answers to, like my address and if I have allergies and stuff, and the rest he leaves blank.
When he's done I glance at the phones on the wall across the room. But I don't want to move, I have managed to cradle my arm in a way I can handle the pain now, I don't want to move it. And Soda must see it, 'cause he asks, "You want me to call your house?"
I kick with my foot a little. "Maybe."
He takes the papers with him, I guess 'cause of the phone number. I watch him punch it in and then wait, and I wonder who will pick up, if Tim's home by now, and I hope he is. I still don't want Pa to come, he'll be so mad 'cause of the money. I bet it will cost a lot, fixing my arm.
Soda's talking to someone, and then puts the receiver down, coming back.
"Your brother's comin'," he says.
"Tim?"
"You got more than one?"
"No," I scoff. Soda chuckles and sits down again, and then he starts to talk about one time when he tore a ligament at the Rodeo. I don't know why he tells me all that, but maybe he just tries to get me to think of something else. Only when he mentions that his dad made him stop riding after that, he gets a lot more quiet, and I remember his parents dying just a couple of months ago. After that we just sit quiet and don't talk, and I'm kind of glad, 'cause I have all this stuff in my head by now, like, what if they won't be able to fix my arm and have to cut it off? But I don't think they will do that, but I don't know, I'm not a doctor. And then I start to wonder about the doc who will fix me, what if he tries something, but I won't be alone, right? 'Cause Tim's coming. He will be in the room with me, I won't be alone in there with some guy.
And when I think that, I get so totally nauseous, and my heart starts to beat wildly again, and my arm hurts so much that I just want to go home and forget about everything. But I just sit in my chair 'til Tim shows up with Ma. I get real surprised when I see him, 'cause he looks worse than me, real banged up, black eye and cut lip and everything. I sit up straighter when he says thanks to Soda, who greets Ma and wishes me luck before heading out.
Ma sits down next to me, patting my left arm and asking if I'm okay. But I just nod, don't let my eyes leave Tim 'til he has checked the papers Soda gave him and finally looks at me.
"What the hell did you do for stupid shit this time, Curly?" he asks. "Shit, that looks nasty."
"What the hell did you do for stupid shit yesterday?" I shoot back instead of answer. "You goin' to court?"
I hope he don't hear that I'm nervous about that. But he just grins.
"Nah," he says easily. "It was just a fight. Fuckin' Tigers, I bet they set us up. But the fuzz only brought us in to cool down, it was only skin so they can't do nothin' about it."
I don't think he's telling me the whole truth, but I'm in too much pain to argue more than frown. "Angie said Pa had to bail you out."
"She got it wrong, there wasn't any bail. He just had to pick me up." He looks down at my arm again. "You know we don't have insurance?"
He don't have to tell me that. I kick with my foot again, wondering when the hell they will give me some pain killers, 'cause it's real awful just sitting here. And right when I think that, a nurse steps up to us, glancing between me and Tim, like she don't know who she's supposed to come and get.
"Vincent Shepard?" she wonders.
"Him," Tim says, pointing at me with his thumb.
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