DARKENED WINGS

Chapter 29

"Stumble"

WE HAD TO WAKE HIM THIS MORNING SO HE COULD EAT HIS BREAKFAST.

WHEN BRANDY CAME IN AT THE CRACK OF DAWN TO TAKE HIM FOR A SHOWER, I ASKED HER TO PLEASE LET HIM SLEEP. IT WAS THE FIRST REALLY DECENT NIGHT'S SLEEP HE'D HAD SINCE HIS SURGERY. SHE ACCEDED WITH A SMILE AND LEFT AGAIN.

OUR LITTLE HISPANIC LADY WAS BACK, MUCH TO MY DELIGHT. SHE AND HER HELPER CARRIED THE BREAKFAST TRAYS IN AND PLACED THEM VERY SILENTLY ON THE ROLLING TABLE. "I AM SO SORRY TO BE WAKING HEEM," SHE EXCLAIMED, LOOKING DOWN AT MY FRIEND LIKE A DOTING GRANDMOTHER. HER NAME, SHE'D FINALLY TOLD ME, WAS 'PALOMA', AND HER COMPANION, 'ALEX'. IT WAS NICE TO FINALLY KNOW.

I TOLD HER TO GO AHEAD; SPEAK TO HIM IN A NORMAL TONE OF VOICE AND ALLOW HIM TO AWAKEN SLOWLY. HE WAS EASILY STARTLED IF ANYONE SHOUTED. SO THAT'S HOW SHE DID IT. I WATCHED HER AS SHE LEANED NEAR HIS BED AND SAID: "WAKE UP SENOR DOC. YOUR BREAKFAST IS HERE. SENOR DOC? WAKE UP PLEASE …"

HE ROLLED OVER GRACEFULLY ONTO HIS LEFT SIDE AND BLINKED UP AT HER WITH AN APPEALING BLUE-EYED SQUINT. "UNNNGH … GOOD MORNING PALOMA. HI ALEX … BREAKFAST ALREADY? WOW!"

"GOOD MORNING. YOU ARE WELL TODAY? SI?"

"I AM WELL TODAY … SI SENORITA, SENOR. GRACIAS."

After they left, he slithered around and perched on the edge of the bed. "I slept like a dead log in the forest that doesn't make any noise if you're not there to hear it."

"Thaaat's … interesting," I told him. I moved over to stand at his side and placed my hand on his forearm. "How the devil did you find out Paloma's name? And Alex's?"

He looked at me like I was seriously deficient in the brain compartment. "Duh … I've been here three years. I know everybody's name. I was pulling your leg when I pretended I didn't know theirs …"

"Well, you didn't know the names of the kids in therapy," I shot back.

He sighed. " Almost everybody's name!"

"That's what I thought. Anyway, nice going yesterday. You kind of put a lump in my throat."

He looked up, allowing a slight crease of 'snark' to invade a corner of his mouth. "I noticed. You weren't the only one. It was enough to make me want to cry. Almost."

I scowled. "Huh?"

"Oh … you and Hazel … you're such girls!"

I handed him his crutches and he slid off the bed, leaning between them gracefully. It was heartening to note that he had not lost any of his innate grace or dexterity; leg or no leg. "Get in there and do whatever it is you do, while I take our breakfast out from under wraps. Hurry up before it's cold …"

He cackled annoyingly and lumbered off, closing the bathroom door behind him. I took the covers off the food and the blended aromas wafted upward, tantalizing my taste buds. French toast with melted butter and maple syrup. One big sausage patty each. Dessert dishes containing three pear halves. Hot buttered muffins and strawberry jelly. Steaming hot coffee in a tall carafe. (They never brought us single cups anymore. We got two cups each in a carafe to keep it piping hot.)

He was back in five minutes or so, dressed in the usual cut-off shorts, clean stump sock and a "WHO" tee-shirt that had seen better days. He'd combed his hair with a washrag, or so it seemed. It was standing up on end like new-mown hay … and suddenly I was seeing the man from five-plus years ago. It gave me a few 'deer-in-the-headlights' moments, and I hoped he hadn't noticed.

He had. "I have the same reaction whenever I look at myself in the mirror." He crunched his face in chagrin as he studied me. "The before-face might be back temporarily, but I'm damned if I'll let the bastard part come back too. Promise."

I shrugged, all of a sudden feeling okay with it. "Y'know … it's all right. Really. That was the side of you I was drawn to as best-friend material, so don't put your alter ego down too much. Which is to say, I like this side of you even better, and it might be kinda fun to watch as you keep blending them together. I see the new guy emerging from time to time … and I think I could learn to … really … like him …"

His mouth gaped open around a bite of muffin.

"Shut up and eat your breakfast," I said.

It got quiet in there for a while, but I could almost feel the smirk.

As soon as the breakfast trays were carted away he opened the drawer of his bedside stand and lifted out the case file I'd seen him perusing the day before. He stood both his pillows against the head of the bed and squirmed back against them. He took out his reading glasses and perched them on his nose and then opened the file.

He looked over at me a few times, as if making sure I was still there; allowed himself a half smile and disappeared back into the contents of the folder. I noticed that from time to time his hand ghosted down to caress his stump, and I wondered for the hundredth time if it might be hurting him. I didn't say anything then, as the reexamination of the old puzzle took over his concentration and he became immersed in it.

But I should have.

I interrupted him just once to ask where he received his mail, and whether he would like me to pick it up. I was experiencing a little bit of cabin fever, I think. I needed to move. Either that, or climb the walls.

"Kitchen," he said. "On a nail inside the cupboard by the fridge. Box number is one-twenty. Do you even know where the post office is?"

"Yeah. I stopped there on my way into town last week to ask directions."

"Okay. The lady behind the counter is Maggie. Tell her I said hello." That quickly, his nose was back in the file, and the fingers of his right hand were back on his stump. My mind was on the fresh air and the simple pleasure of freedom, however temporary.

I still didn't mention it.

A new guy came to take him to P.T. as he was scribbling something down in a margin with a pencil. He closed the file and slipped it back into the drawer. He grabbed his crutches and transferred from his bed to the wheelchair with no problem. They were off and out the door before I could get into my coat and grab my keys.

It occurred to me that it seemed odd that he had not, up to now, expressed any sense of restlessness, and no desire to get out of here and go home. I had not known him to be this patient about anything since we'd known each other. I wondered why. Even this newer, nicer person must have looked out the windows at the bright winter landscape and felt the longing for a taste of it.

I fired up the VW and headed over to Etna. (I should soon stop for gas!) I pulled up in front of Kyle's place with two wheels on the sidewalk as usual. Went inside and into the kitchen to the cupboard where he said the key was hanging. And it was. He'd screwed a cup hook into the wood near the bottom of the door, and the key was there. I hadn't seen it when I was putting the groceries away yesterday.

It seems I'm not picking up on details lately.

A key chain in the shape of a small 'tarnished-around-the-edges' gold heart was imbedded with a fake pearl, the June birthstone. It was also engraved with the initials: "G. H." I took it down and frowned at it. He never, in a million years, would have had something like this made for himself. Then, in my next breath, I had to smile. My thoughts stopped on the name of the only person who would have given him this. Her name was Allison.

I remembered having a conversation with her one time. It was about fidelity. I said: "I met someone once. Made me feel funny. Good. And I didn't want to let that feeling go." She had no clue who I was talking about, and we never discussed it again. I wondered where she was now.

The post office was just down the road, and I parked out front. It was an attractive building, painted slate blue with white trim. I walked up the steps and opened the door. A small bell tinkled merrily nearby, and I turned around to look up. It was attached to a spring that made the bell ring each time the door opened.

I hadn't even noticed it the first time through … too hell-bent on my mission. Now I was wondering where my mind had been for the past week or so …

Along the far wall was a bank of individual boxes that opened with keys just like the one in my pocket. Judging from the look of them, they'd been here since at least the turn of the last century. They were glass and brass, trimmed with 'Gay Nineties' black, white and gold paint. Admiring them, I walked down along the rows, searching for number one-twenty. There it was; third row down, about a quarter of the way toward the far wall.

His box was crammed full of everything from ads to flyers to monthly bills to small catalogs to a couple of local newspapers. I began pulling them all out, scraping and tearing a few on the metal edges of the box and wondering how to manage them without scattering everything across the floor.

The solution to that dilemma appeared when I got to the final piece in the box. As I looked into it from my side, a pair of bright green eyes looked laughingly back from the opposite side.

Must be Maggie.

I grabbed the bundle of unruly papers inside my coat, against my body, and scurried around to the counter. I dumped everything on the surface and the pile spilled outward like flood waters over a sea wall.

The lady was waiting curiously. She saw the key chain with the pearl and tilted her head. " Ahhh … you must be the messenger gathering up Kyle Calloway's wayward mail. He hasn't been here for a month or more. Are you 'G. H.'? And is he okay? I knew his bad leg had put him on crutches, but he always came in the back way and shot the breeze awhile when he picked up his mail."

"You're Maggie," I said. "And no, I'm not 'G. H.' Maybe it's an old girlfriend." (Distract!) "He told me about you and asked me to say hello. I'm Kent, his younger brother. He's in the hospital … DHMC, and he's just had his leg amputated."

Her green eyes widened. "Ooooh … no. I'm so sorry. Will he be all right?"

"Please don't be sorry," I said. "It's the best thing he could have done. He's not in pain anymore … at least not that much. And it'll diminish more as time passes. He's going to be fitted for an artificial limb, and after that the crutches will soon be gone. Then a cane, and who knows, maybe later on he can throw that away too."

"I'm happy to hear you say that. He's such a sweet guy … and handsome too." (She was at least old enough to be his mother.)

Sweet guy? The man I knew could never be called 'sweet'. Even after his partial makeover.

Maggie reached beneath the counter and pulled out a plastic grocery bag. She began filling it with all the mail and junk mail I'd yanked from box one-twenty.

I thanked her profusely and took my leave before she could regale me with "Kyle" stories ...

Before I headed back to the hospital, I drove around on a small tour of the Lebanon-Hanover-Etna area countryside. The region was sparsely populated this far out. Small farms abounded and some of the fields had cows tromping around, pawing for grass that wasn't buried beneath a foot of snow. The creatures looked up curiously as I drove by, and then returned to their business. Every house I saw along the way had tall shafts of pale chimney smoke curling into the air like ghostly gray wraiths. I had always dreamed of living in a place just like these …

After a time I began to wonder how P.T. was going.

I circled around and drove back to the hospital. Parked, went in, and walked back to his room.

… and ran into chaos.

He was in his bed, lying flat, the sheet pulled to his waist. I tossed his mail on my bed and slipped out of my coat. Ed Thoreau was there, and Hazel, and the two young physical therapists I didn't know.

I hurried over and insinuated myself as close to him as I could get. He had been facing the other way, but turned his head toward me when he sensed movement. He looked angry, disgusted and pained. There was a long, dark bruise running along the entire right side of his face, and his right eye was swollen and darkening across his eyebrow. His cheek was swollen also, and his jaw ran the gamut of blues and reds and purples. His therapists must have just brought him back to his room.

"Kyle? What happened?"

Hazel approached with an ice bag and placed it against the extensive area of bruises. Ed Thoreau was doing the same with Kyle's swollen right wrist. He had an elastic bandage in his hand, ready to unroll. "Let us answer your questions, Kent. Okay? It hurts him to talk right now." Hazel placed her hand on my arm and I nodded agreement.

"He passed out in P.T. Fell against one of the stationary bike bases while he was working with his 'G.I. Joe leg', as he calls it. No warning. I was right beside him and Pete was at his opposite side. He went down like a ton of bricks, twisted away from us, and landed on his bad side." The speaker was the young physical therapist who looked like he was ready to cry. "We had to pry the leg off him …"

Thoreau said: "It wasn't your fault, Ray. Sometimes it just happens." Ed was talking to us both. "The X-Rays have shown that his wrist isn't broken, but it's going to be sore for a couple of weeks. His face makes him look like he was in a bar fight and lost, but the bruises should clear up okay. The skin wasn't broken anywhere. His stump seemed a little too warm, so we've treated the little cut there with Terrasil antiseptic and bandaged it lightly. Hazel and Brandy will keep a close watch to make sure it doesn't go septic.

"Kent, if you don't mind, and since you've known him longest …" (and his eyes twinkled when he said this) … "keep a close watch on his movements … and I know you're listening with both ears, Big Guy … so don't give your brother a hard time. Kent, don't let him get away with anything!"

"Part of this is my fault," I interjected as I looked down at my 'brother's' comically wounded face. "I saw him rubbing at his stump this morning, the same way he used to rub at the scar. I assumed he was just doing it out of habit. It occurred to me that he might have been hurting, but I didn't say anything. Sometimes he tells me I 'baby' him too much. Well guess what, 'bro' … if you thought I babied you before, you aint seen nothin' yet!"

Below us there came a sound like a bloodhound whose tail had been stepped on. "I gon' kik oo inna go-adds, Ken …"

I leaned away from him and laughed out loud.

"What did he say?" Inquired Hazel.

I looked around, including everyone there. "He said … 'I'm gonna kick you in the gonads, Kent'. Can't get much clearer than that, unless he could move his mouth when he talked."

"Uk Oo!" … and nobody had to guess what that meant.

He was settling down a little; burrowing deeper into the pillow and under the bed covers. Hazel took the time to pull the sheet up and then unfold the light blanket at the foot of his bed and cover him to the shoulders. His eyes told her: "Thank you …" and she nodded, "You're welcome …"

By the time they all filed out, he was sleeping lightly. It was 5:00 p.m. and the supper carts and med wagons were rumbling out of the elevator. I went out there to meet them and ask them to pass us by, and the reasons why. They were sympathetic. They understood, and they went past our doorway without stopping. I could get us something from the cafeteria later. Pablum, maybe … and I smiled to myself.

I paused to close the door and turn the lights to their lowest setting. I pulled the visitors' chair up to his side as I had done when he was first admitted, and prepared to keep a vigil for the rest of the night if necessary. I eased down into the chair and stared at his god-awful face.

He opened his eyes and looked at me reproachfully.

"You weren't asleep," I said.

He rolled his head slowly from side to side. "Uh-uh …"

"What happened in P.T.?"

He shrugged and then winced. "Ohn-oh …"

I paused a moment, interpreting. "You don't know?"

"Uh-uh."

"You mean you actually fainted … just like that?"

"Uh-huh."

"There has to be some explanation, you know. This kind of thing doesn't happen without a reason. Were you in pain that you couldn't handle? Do you want me to ask for some stronger meds than the ones you've been taking?"

"Uh-uh. Jus' … sore."

"I bet you are."

"Haw … haw."

"Well, if we keep jabbering, you're just going to have a headache on top of everything else. Let's wait 'til tomorrow. Maybe you won't be as uncomfortable."

"UH-UH …"

His voice was louder. Insistent. All he had.

I studied his face closely. "What is it?"

He lifted his right hand and held it across his body toward me. For the first time I saw that it was wrapped securely with the elastic bandage. I also saw that his fingers looked like sausages. "Too tight, huh?"

"Unhhh …"

I smiled at the relieved grunt. I removed the clips and unrolled the bandage slowly, listening to his huge sigh of relief. I rewrapped it in a looser configuration. I probably shouldn't have done it, but … what the hell …

"Ahhhhhhh …"

After that, he slept.

I tiptoed across the room, threw the plastic bag and my coat onto the floor, and crashed.

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