The Bubble Boy

by Stewart Foster

  11 years, 3 months and 12 days

  There are birds tweeting outside my window. They’re on the ledge pecking at the glass like they’re saying hello and want to come in.

  Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

  Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

  The sun is shining through my window onto my bed. Its rays soak through my t-shirt onto my skin.

  Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

  Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

  A plane flies across the sky. I try to lift my head to see what airline it is but my head aches and my body is so heavy. It’s like I fell into Mike and Dave’s hole and now I’m covered in cement.

  The sun climbs higher.

  A plane flies across it.

  The birds keep tweeting.

  Am I awake or am I dreaming?

  Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

  Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  ‘Well, he looks quite rested.’

  ‘I know. It’s just that he’s been asleep all morning.’

  Another plane takes off inside my head and flies across the sun.

  ‘Mmm . . . let’s take a look at his readings.’

  I hear footsteps beside my bed.

  ‘What’s this?’

  I open my eyes and sneak a look. Dr Moore is pointing at my monitors.

  ‘11 degrees,’ he says. ‘What’s happened there?’

  Oh no. Amir forgot the monitor memory.

  Greg reaches in front of him and presses the temperature button three times.

  ‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. They both look up at the air vent.

  ‘Best get that checked,’ says Dr Moore. ‘But apart from that, well, his temperature’s up a little, but there’s little else to cause concern.’

  They turn around and catch me looking.

  ‘Ah, there he is,’ says Dr Moore. ‘He was listening all the time. How are you doing young man?’

  ‘I’m okay. Just tired.’

  ‘Did the cold keep you awake?’

  I shake my head quickly.

  ‘No, I didn’t notice the cold. I had the covers on all night.’

  Dr Moore looks over the top of his glasses at my screens.

  ‘Mmm, maybe you’re tired because you’re watching those all the time.’

  ‘I’ve not been watching them much.’

  Greg pretends to cough.

  ‘Well, I’ve watched them a bit.’

  ‘How about we give them a rest . . . Just for the day?’

  I want to tell him I need to watch Henry but I’m so tired all I can do is nod.

  Dr Moore looks at Greg.

  ‘He seems okay, but let’s increase his fluids and keep monitoring.’

  Greg says something I can’t hear. Their voices fade away as they walk towards the door.

  A wave of energy runs through my body. I put my hand on my head. I’ve been outside. I can’t believe I did it. I’ve seen the sky and the sun and the moon without having to look through glass. I’ve seen all the buildings. I’ve seen the river. I’ve been on a motorway.

  I look towards the door. I want to tell Greg and Dr Moore. I want to stand up on my bed and shout: I’ve been outside! I’ve seen the sun! I’ve watched the planes take off and land at Heathrow!

  Shall I do it? I could do it now. I’m going to do it.

  Hey! I’ve been outside. I’ve been in a car! I went to the airport and I saw the moon and the stars.

  No. I can’t tell them. I can’t tell anyone. It’s like I’ve won the lottery but can’t go to the shops.

  ‘You okay, Joe?’ asks Dr Moore.

  I put my hand over my mouth in case my words jump out. I nod.

  ‘You don’t feel sick?’

  ‘No, I’m okay.’

  He whispers something to Greg and they walk out into the transition zone.

  I look up at the ceiling and I can’t stop myself grinning. Did I really do it? I haven’t got any proof. I didn’t go to a shop and buy a souvenir or a postcard. I didn’t put a stone in my pocket or pick a blade of grass. I didn’t even remember my phone to take pictures of the planes. I wish I had.

  I don’t have any proof at all. Amir took my suit and helmet with him. He even made me have a shower to wash the chalk off my skin. It’s like it never happened. Amir said if it was a dream I was the only one who would know. I don’t think it was a dream, was it? It couldn’t have been. I couldn’t have had a dream that felt that real. I close my eyes and another plane crosses the sun.

  I roll over on my side, reach out and check the time on my laptop. It’s 13:03 in London. It’s 08:03 in Philadelphia. Henry will have eaten his breakfast already. If he wasn’t resting I could send him a message. I’d tell him that if I was okay in my suit I’m sure he will be okay in his. I don’t want to spoil his excitement.

  My phone buzzes by my side. I pick it up.

  Hey Joe. Still seeing planes?

  I slide down and pull my covers over my head.

  Amir. How do you know?

  I thought maybe they stay in your head like aliens stay in mine.

  I smile.

  Amir, I’m so happy!

  Then I happy too. I just text to check you okay.

  I’m tired.

  Me too. You should sleep.

  I will. But I want to watch Henry.

  Set alarm on phone.

  I will.

  I hear Greg’s voice getting louder.

  Think Greg’s coming back.

  Okay. I go. I see you Thursday.

  Okay.

  Delete these messages

  I will.

  Amir. Thank you!!!!!!

  You deserve.

  Hope you find some crop circles!!

  Me too. I send you pictures.

  The door opens. Greg walks around the bottom of my bed. I slide my phone under my pillow and pretend I’m sleeping. I hate not being able to tell him what I’ve done because I tell him everything. He’d be really pleased if he knew I was this happy. Maybe I can tell him one day when I’ve been fixed for good. I could meet him in a park in my lunch hour and we could sit on a bench. I’d tell him I was working for Marvel Comics and he would ask for free copies. I’d meet him every week and eventually, one day, I would tell him I’d been outside when I was ill. No one would get in trouble then; it would be too long since it happened. Amir could get the sack if they found out next week or next month. I’ve seen people on TV. Sometimes people get caught and get sent to prison years after they’ve committed the crime. Amir hasn’t committed a real crime. He hasn’t killed anyone or stolen anything. Some people might say he kidnapped me – but he bought me back! They can’t send him to prison for doing that, can they?

  I hear Greg’s footsteps fade away.

  I reach under my pillow and set my alarm, then I write a message on a piece of paper – Greg, come back at 8 o’clock and we can watch Henry on TV – I fold the paper so it stands up at the end of my bed.

  I lay back on my pillow. I’ve been outside. I’ve been outside. I close my eyes. Another plane goes across the sun.

  Going outside wasn’t a dream.

  I’ve never had a dream as good as that.

  ‘Mate, wake up.’

  I open my eyes. All I can see are flashing green lights and dark shadows.

  ‘Mate!’ Greg puts his hand on his shoulder and rocks me. ‘Joe!’ Greg’s stood beside me with the remote control in his hand. ‘It’s gone eight.’

  I try to blink myself awake. ‘It can’t be . . . I set my . . . I left you a message.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been busy, mate.’ He hands me the remote. ‘Amir’s taken holiday and I don’t know how to turn this thing on.’

  I push myself up on my bed. I’m half an hour late. Henry’s longest walk lasted forty-five minutes. He’ll have nearly finished by now; he’ll be on his way back to his room.

  I press the remote. The screens flash on. Too many buttons, too many chann
els. If only Amir was here to do it. I press the red start button.

  All the screens go fuzzy as the decoder searches for the satellite – a man rides a camel in the desert, a woman rows a boat across the ocean, a man throws a dart against a board. Where is Henry?!

  Amir, why did you get me so many channels?

  Greg looks around the room. ‘Mate, did he leave any instructions?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I say. ‘I think I can do it.’ I select the Astra satellite, then region 57.

  The names of all the American states scroll up the screen. My hands are shaking. I scroll down to Pennsylvania and select cable channel 121.

  ‘Ha, there he is!’ Greg points at the screens

  LIVE! LIVE! Bubble Boy at the King of Prussia

  Shopping Mall brought to you LIVE by WCTI TV.

  A rush of excitement goes to my stomach and can’t stop myself from smiling. On the screens is a picture of a boy in a spacesuit walking past a fountain. It’s Henry! Three cameramen walk behind him, another walks in front of him, photographers run around him taking pictures and a woman with red hair talks into a microphone.

  ‘Here he goes,’ she says. ‘After spending all of his life in a bubble, Henry Thomas gets to go outside. The crowds are so noisy I can barely hear myself speak. Just listen to them!’ She holds the microphone out.

  ‘Go Henry, go! Go Henry, go!’ The crowd chants.

  The reporter steps out of the way and the camera follows Henry through the mall. Boys and girls wave flags above their heads and blow whistles. Men and woman smile and clap their hands. And Henry leads the way, taking slow steps like he’s walking on the moon.

  ‘Wow,’ I look at Greg. ‘This is way more exciting than watching the FA Cup final on TV!’

  Greg laughs. Goosebumps crawl up my arms, cover my whole body. The camera zooms in. Henry’s white suit fills my screens. As he walks it creases when his arms and legs bend. He’s so big, it’s like I’m walking with him. His name is written in blue on his chest pocket. NASA is written on his arm. He lifts it and waves to the crowd again.

  I turn the volume up.

  ‘Go Henry, go! Go Henry, go!’

  The crowd chant and I want to chant with them. Children run around Henry carrying red and white balloons. They let go of them and they float up into the sky. Henry’s mum and Matt are walking beside him, talking and laughing. Henry takes a step sideways and trips Matt up.

  ‘Ha, he told me he would do that.’

  Greg smiles.

  I cough. My throat feels like I’ve got something stuck in it. I cough again. Greg puts his hand on my back and asks if I’m okay. I nod and he hands me a glass of water. I take a sip and hold the glass up.

  ‘What’s wrong, mate?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. I swallow. I don’t tell Greg I think I can taste metal.

  ‘And here we go,’ says the reporter. ‘The bubble boy enters the King of Prussia Shopping Mall.’

  The mall doors slide open. Henry walks through and the cameras follow him inside. People come out of shops with carrier bags in their hands – Nike, Levis, and Sketchers – and try to give them to Henry. The security guard takes the bags, and then hands them to another person who walks behind. It’s like Henry’s got his birthday and Christmas as the same time. A remote-control car races across the floor and crashes into his boots. A boy in a red RadioShack polo shirt jumps past the security guard and holds out the controls. I think Henry shrugs: his gloves are too thick to operate the controls. He turns and looks at Matt. Matt, runs over and picks up the car. The boy hands him the remote then does knuckles with Henry. I laugh.

  ‘He’s having fun!’ I say.

  ‘And now for a break,’ says the reporter.

  The picture changes.

  News from our sponsor. News from our sponsor.

  I watch an advert of a man trying to eat a doughnut while he bounces up and down on a trampoline.

  Amir might not have taken me to the mall but at least we didn’t get interrupted by adverts. My trip outside was so different. Me and Amir went out in a beat-up old car. Henry’s got a limo and is surrounded by people like he’s a movie star. I’d have loved to have gone to the mall and got presents too. I’d love to go to Forbidden Planet and buy lots of t-shirts and comics. I’d put a t-shirt on straight away and read the comic in the Rainforest Café. I’d like to meet lots of people like Henry has. But maybe Henry would like to see the moon and the stars and the planes, like I did. It means we’ve got lots to chat about.

  My legs are starting to ache and my hands are shaking. Greg stands by my side and asks me if I’m okay. I tell him I feel a bit dizzy but I don’t want to miss Henry. He tells me I won’t and leads me to my bed.

  The picture flickers. Henry is back on the screen. He’s sat down on a chair at a table outside Starbucks. The camera zooms in on Henry’s helmet and the cameraman is reflected in the glass. A woman walks over to Henry and hands him a brown paper bag and a cup of coffee. He holds the cup to his mouth and pretends to drink it. Everyone laughs. I laugh too. I think how much Henry would like to do it for real but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Henry’s just taking a rest here in Starbucks,’ says the reporter. ‘Let’s see if we can get a word.’ She weaves her way through the crowd. A security guard blocks her way.

  ‘No, mam,’ he says. ‘Not now, maybe later.’ He looks over his shoulder. Henry’s only been sat down for two minutes but he’s already being moved on.

  ‘He needs to rest.’

  ‘Yeah, mate. Maybe they’re thinking about the time.’

  Matt runs in front of Henry and grabs hold of his hand. He points ahead. They walk towards an escalator. The photographers run ahead, get on backwards and take pictures as Henry gets on. He’s smiling and his eyes are shining. It’s like he’s looking right at me. He opens his mouth and makes a shape like an O.

  ‘I think he said my name.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Greg. ‘Think he did, mate.’

  Henry lifts up his hand and points at a massive sign with green writing – Food Hall.

  ‘I knew it!’ I put my hands on my head. Then I cough and taste metal again.

  Henry walks past Burger King, Snack Shack and other shops serving Chinese food and pizzas. People are sitting on silver chairs at silver tables. They stop eating as Henry walks by. Some of them stand up and clap, the rest smile and wave. Henry stops and puts his hand up to his head.

  ‘I don’t think he believes what’s happening,’ says the reporter. ‘He’s having so much fun he wants to soak up every minute.’

  ‘Greg.’

  ‘Yes, mate.’

  ‘I think something’s wrong.’

  ‘He’s having a rest, mate.’

  ‘No, I think . . .’

  Henry’s mum says something to him and signals to one of the nurses.

  ‘Maybe he just needs some water,’ says Greg.

  ‘No, his drink is built into his suit.’

  Greg shrugs. ‘Then I don’t know, mate.’

  Henry’s mum and a nurse lead him to a chair. The reporter pushes her way in front of the camera and holds out her microphone.

  ‘Henry, you must be one happy guy?’

  The camera zooms in on Henry’s face. He’s smiles but I think he’s smiling for the cameras. That’s not how he smiles at me on Skype.

  ‘Just a few words?’

  Henry mouth opens but he looks too tired to speak.

  Something’s wrong. I know it. I look at the time. I try to work out how long Henry has been outside but I’m too worried to concentrate. I get off my bed and walk up to the screen.

  Henry, what’s wrong?

  Two nurses are bending down by Henry’s side. They’re talking to him but I don’t think he replies. He doesn’t even lift his arm or move his head. More nurses arrive with medical cases and two paramedics carrying a stretcher. Henry’s head falls forwards like his helmet is too heavy. Maybe his blood count isn’t right. Maybe his air is too pure. But NASA would ha
ve checked that, wouldn’t they?

  A man puts his arm around Matt and leads him away. My heart thuds and I feel a lump in my throat. A policeman with a gun on his hip holds up his hand and walks towards the camera. Henry slumps forwards. His suit crumples like all the energy’s gone out of him, like someone has walked up behind him and pulled out the valve.

  ‘Greg, what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t look—’

  I screw up my face as a pain shoots through my head.

  ‘Mate, what’s up?’

  I hold my hand up to my head. The pain shoots again. It’s like an ice-cream headache but I haven’t eaten any. My monitors start to beep faster. The room starts to spin, round and round, faster and faster, like Henry’s flying around in a washing machine. Greg’s standing over me. He’s spinning around too.

  ‘Greg, I don’t feel well. I can taste metal.’

  My head falls back on my pillow. Sweat runs down my neck.

  ‘You’re okay, mate. Take it easy, I’m here.’

  ‘Greg, I don’t—’

  ‘Mate. Joe!’

  Greg reaches over me and presses the emergency button.

  The world turns black.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Room temp.: 19

  Air purity: 98.1

  Heart rate: 113

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  I’ve got aeroplanes inside my head. They’re circling round, stacked high in the sky – Air New Zealand, British Airways and Virgin Atlantic – they go round and round and round and round. Air New Zealand, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic.

  There’s so many they make me dizzy.

  Air New Zealand, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic.

  Air New Zealand, British Airways –

  ‘What’s that, mate?’

  ‘. . . Virgin Atlantic.’ I open my eyes. The lights are dimmed. My room is full of shadows and the screens are as black as the night sky. I take a deep breath and feel a hand on my arm. Greg is sat beside me. He’s dark and fuzzy and merges in with the wall. My eyelids fall down. I hear Greg talking to other people but I can’t hear what they’re saying . . . it’s like they’re all talking underwater. I try to lift my head, but it aches too much and my body hurts in every place it touches the bed. I force my eyes open again and try to speak. A sharp pain shoots through the middle of my head when I cough. Greg leans over me and presses a cup against my lips.