(Pony)
"This'll hurt at first," the doctor said bluntly, shoving the IV into my arm. Darry began stroking my hair as the chemicals trickled slowly into my bloodstream. I closed my eyes, feeling nothing except for the bit of IV at first. Until the liquid hit my blood stream. My arm was on fire....
"You all right?" Darry murmured. I clenched my teeth and nodded. The doctor bustled toward the door.
"Any last questions?" he asked, already halfway gone. Darry glanced at me, and I shook my head. "I'll be back in a few moments." With that, he left us alone.
"Did you get all he said?" Darry asked me. I hadn't: I'd been to nervous to pay very close attention. I would lose my hair, he said, and I would experience extreme nausea and vomiting. And there was no guarantee. That was the phrase everyone kept repeating, the phrase that scared me the most. There's just no guarantee.
"When's Soda gonna get here?" That was the closest I could come to telling Darry that I was scared. But he understood.
"Soon, I think. He probably can't find the room."
I jumped as more of the chemicals hit my arm: they burned, badly, slipping into my bloodstream, liquid fire that spread through my entire trembling body, biting at my veins like tiny snakes. I shut my eyes and set my jaw and silently willed Soda to hurry up.
Darry began pacing the tiny room, and without looking at him I knew his hands would be in his pockets and his eyes distant. I knew that he hated this more than anything: hated me lying there, scared and in pain with nothing he could do about it.
"Hey," Soda murmured, poking his head in the door. I opened my eyes and smiled at him.
"Took you long enough."
Soda grinned. "This room's small and the hospital's big." He crossed the room, eyes on the IV in my arm. "Is that the miracle juice?"
"Hope so," I sighed. Soda rubbed my hair. Darry was staring at the wall.
"I gotta go to work," he suddenly mumbled. "I already wrote the doc a check. We're broke, but that this is paid for, at least. Two-Bit'll be by at six. Go straight to bed when you're home."
Soda stared at our older brother in shock. "You're actually leaving?"
"I have to. We need money."
"But...."
"It's okay," I spoke up, because I could see the pain in my brother's face. I remembered the night I'd seen him in the hospital, the night of the fire when Johnny had broken his back, how'd he stood away from me, afraid to approach me, fearing that although I was alive he'd really lost me, just as he'd lost Mom and Dad and then Johnny and Dally. For the first time I was sort of glad the whole nightmare had happened, because I finally understood Darry. Months ago I would have thought this was him not caring about me; now, I realized that he cared so much he couldn't stand to sit back and watch me like this. "You can go," I repeated.
Darry crossed the room and ruffled my hair, not once looking at the IV. "Take care, little buddy," he murmured, his voice husky. Then he turned and fled the room.
Soda sighed, but I saw that he too, understood. He understood everyone.
"Hurt much?"
"A little," I lied. "How was work?"
"Slow."
"Is Steve coming over later?"
"Yeah. I made him promise not to cook dinner."
I chuckled, remembering the flour-coated kitchen. I'd thought Darry would have an aneurysm.
"Tuff," I mumbled as a stab of pain hit my arm. I jumped, startling my brother.
"You okay?"
I didn't pretend. I closed my eyes tight and set my jaw again. I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die, this pain will go away, it will go away and I'll be better...
Soda touched my other arm, rubbing lightly. "I'm here," he murmured. "It's gonna be okay."
"Talk," I pleaded, "it doesn't matter what you say."
So Soda perched on the edge of the bed and spoke in a low, soothing voice until the doctor came in to end my first session.
"This'll hurt at first," the doctor said bluntly, shoving the IV into my arm. Darry began stroking my hair as the chemicals trickled slowly into my bloodstream. I closed my eyes, feeling nothing except for the bit of IV at first. Until the liquid hit my blood stream. My arm was on fire....
"You all right?" Darry murmured. I clenched my teeth and nodded. The doctor bustled toward the door.
"Any last questions?" he asked, already halfway gone. Darry glanced at me, and I shook my head. "I'll be back in a few moments." With that, he left us alone.
"Did you get all he said?" Darry asked me. I hadn't: I'd been to nervous to pay very close attention. I would lose my hair, he said, and I would experience extreme nausea and vomiting. And there was no guarantee. That was the phrase everyone kept repeating, the phrase that scared me the most. There's just no guarantee.
"When's Soda gonna get here?" That was the closest I could come to telling Darry that I was scared. But he understood.
"Soon, I think. He probably can't find the room."
I jumped as more of the chemicals hit my arm: they burned, badly, slipping into my bloodstream, liquid fire that spread through my entire trembling body, biting at my veins like tiny snakes. I shut my eyes and set my jaw and silently willed Soda to hurry up.
Darry began pacing the tiny room, and without looking at him I knew his hands would be in his pockets and his eyes distant. I knew that he hated this more than anything: hated me lying there, scared and in pain with nothing he could do about it.
"Hey," Soda murmured, poking his head in the door. I opened my eyes and smiled at him.
"Took you long enough."
Soda grinned. "This room's small and the hospital's big." He crossed the room, eyes on the IV in my arm. "Is that the miracle juice?"
"Hope so," I sighed. Soda rubbed my hair. Darry was staring at the wall.
"I gotta go to work," he suddenly mumbled. "I already wrote the doc a check. We're broke, but that this is paid for, at least. Two-Bit'll be by at six. Go straight to bed when you're home."
Soda stared at our older brother in shock. "You're actually leaving?"
"I have to. We need money."
"But...."
"It's okay," I spoke up, because I could see the pain in my brother's face. I remembered the night I'd seen him in the hospital, the night of the fire when Johnny had broken his back, how'd he stood away from me, afraid to approach me, fearing that although I was alive he'd really lost me, just as he'd lost Mom and Dad and then Johnny and Dally. For the first time I was sort of glad the whole nightmare had happened, because I finally understood Darry. Months ago I would have thought this was him not caring about me; now, I realized that he cared so much he couldn't stand to sit back and watch me like this. "You can go," I repeated.
Darry crossed the room and ruffled my hair, not once looking at the IV. "Take care, little buddy," he murmured, his voice husky. Then he turned and fled the room.
Soda sighed, but I saw that he too, understood. He understood everyone.
"Hurt much?"
"A little," I lied. "How was work?"
"Slow."
"Is Steve coming over later?"
"Yeah. I made him promise not to cook dinner."
I chuckled, remembering the flour-coated kitchen. I'd thought Darry would have an aneurysm.
"Tuff," I mumbled as a stab of pain hit my arm. I jumped, startling my brother.
"You okay?"
I didn't pretend. I closed my eyes tight and set my jaw again. I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die, this pain will go away, it will go away and I'll be better...
Soda touched my other arm, rubbing lightly. "I'm here," he murmured. "It's gonna be okay."
"Talk," I pleaded, "it doesn't matter what you say."
So Soda perched on the edge of the bed and spoke in a low, soothing voice until the doctor came in to end my first session.