Spinner. In the boring hours of the hospital, in the time suspension of the hours that dragged by Jimmy thought about Spinner more and more. More and more he was angry with him, angry that he couldn't show up even one time, or call, or anything. In ways he didn't always like to admit, Spinner was his best friend. Some best friend.
At least he had Craig and Marco's daily visits to look forward to, at least they broke up the monotony of his days. He could tell by the light outside his window that it was the end of the school day. He sighed, trying to suppress his hope that today Spinner would show up.
"Jimmy!" Craig came in followed by Marco, and they snapped off his music and rearranged the chairs, and Craig sat in the wheelchair that was next to his bed, rolled himself back and forth. Marco adjusted his hair with his fingers, looked up at him from underneath shaggy bangs.
Jimmy put on his happy face for them, tried to talk on the casual level that was where he wanted to stay lately. He didn't want to tell them that the new thing was for him to straight cath himself so he wouldn't have to have the foley bag hooked up to his bladder. It was more proof that the paralysis was here to stay. That was his schooling lately. He wondered bitterly what it was they were learning.
Hazel appeared in the doorway, and Craig and Marco looked at her and then at him, kind of nodded at each other.
"Hey, Jimmy, we're gonna get going," Marco said, slapping his shoulder. He could read their minds as they filed out, they wanted to give him privacy with his girlfriend. If they only knew how far from romantic he felt. Hazel could have been anyone.
Eventually she left, too, and he was left alone with the hospital staff and himself. Never tired, always being in bed, missing walking and moving with a vengeance, he cried himself to sleep. Crying didn't help. He'd have to wake up and face the realization that he couldn't walk and nothing would ever be the same again.
In his dreams and his waking hours he could see Rick, the gun pointed at him, and feel again the unreal fear that had come to him, that had flooded through him like his own blood. The sound the gun had made, the last sound before he hit the floor and was unconscious. He thought he might have died. He could have died. If the bullet had struck higher, if it hit a major artery or his lung or heart he'd be dead. And sometimes he thought it was too bad Rick was such a lousy shot.
He was tired of the hospital and the hospital walls and the hospital food, the bland little piles of food on his hospital tray. Tired of trying to seem okay for Marco and Craig even though he was glad they came to see him religiously. Tired of feeling hopeless, helpless. Tired of his father's concern, his relentless positive attitude. Tired of not really knowing what he wanted from people. Maybe the real problem was that none of them could fix it.
And again, no Spinner. It was almost mind blowing how he could be doing this to him. How callous. Jimmy could hardly fathom what was going through Spinner's head. He stared at the window, out the window, the sky a light blue. Evergreen trees in the foreground. Closed his eyes and saw Rick at his locker, dried paint and feathers stuck to it, his hand in his jacket, concealing. Nothing good was ever on T.V. in the afternoons. If he saw another life insurance commercial aimed toward dumb old people he'd scream.
The Physical Therapy nurse came by to see him and he smiled at her, tried to be cool, tried to be all, 'nothing fazes me, man,' Failed somewhat miserably. Tried on his too small smile.
"Hi, Jimmy," she said, and showed him the huge pad of paper she had in her hands.
"What's that?" he said, and she set it on the tray table by his bed.
"It's just something to do. You could draw or doodle. I know you're bored,"