Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1)

by Jamie Mayfield

  “Jamie… missed you,” I said through the fog of pain and cotton. I tried to bring his hand to my lips to kiss it, but I found I couldn’t lift it. The pain got sharper, and as I took a deep breath, it felt like someone was stabbing me. I cried out.

  “Nurse,” Jamie asked, “when was his pain medication last administered? Okay, he’s due, go ahead and give it to him.” He sounded so authoritative, so sure of himself. Making a supreme effort, I squeezed his hand again. I needed to tell him what his being there meant to me.

  “Jamie… love you,” I said breathlessly, and then sleep started to overpower me. It was like trying to swim through mud; the lethargy and sluggishness of my body surprised me. I moaned again, the pain unfocused but radiating.

  “Brian, son, hold on, they’re bringing you something for the pain,” the voice said, and with an awful realization, I knew it wasn’t Jamie who was with me, but rather, Richard. The pain that ripped through me then wasn’t physical, and it wasn’t unfocused. The sobs came slowly as my heart broke all over again at Jamie’s absence. The problem was, the harder I cried, the more my body hurt. The physical pain was like an awful echo of the suffocating heartbreak.

  I felt the bed dip, and then someone was stroking my hair.

  “Brian, honey, you just let it all out.” Carolyn’s voice broke as she tried to comfort me. “We love you; it’s going to be okay.”

  “No, you’re okay, I just need to inject this into his IV,” another, softer, female voice said as I felt Carolyn’s weight shift on the bed. It no longer mattered what was happening around me. As the haze of the medication started to cloud the pain, I found myself wondering why Mosely and his friends couldn’t have had the decency to just kill me.

  When I woke up again, it was dark.

  It took effort, but finally I opened my eyes. There was light spilling in from the open bathroom door, enough to see that there was someone else in the room with me. I couldn’t summon the will to be frightened or even curious as to their identity. I lay there, trying to assess the damage, but the searing pain when I tried to move my head prevented me from doing so. The creaking of a nearby chair and the shadow that fell over me told me my visitor had noticed I was awake.

  It was Richard.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, and in the dim light he looked relieved.

  “It hurts,” I whimpered through my clenched teeth. Belatedly, it occurred to me that my mouth didn’t open when I spoke. Tentatively, I tried, but I couldn’t open it. Then it felt like I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to hold a conversation, so I kept it to a minimum and spoke very slowly. “How bad?”

  Richard’s face was directly over mine, so I could see it clearly. It looked like he had aged ten years since I’d seen him before school that morning. In an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, he pushed my hair up out of my face as he spoke.

  “You… you have a fair amount of bruises and cuts on your face, arms, and torso.” He took a steadying breath, and I could see he was desperately trying to hold on to his clinical detachment but was failing. “Four of your ribs, your right leg, and… and your jaw are all broken. There is also some moderate head trauma that we’re keeping our eyes on.”

  Dear God. Well, that explained why I couldn’t open my mouth: my jaw was wired shut. I closed my eyes and tried to nod.

  His hand slid into mine, and he said quietly, “You’re going to be okay. It’s going to take about a month for you to start feeling like yourself again, and probably two before it’s all healed.”

  “School?” I asked, being careful to enunciate as well as I could through the metal cinching my jaws.

  “You don’t worry about anything, Brian. We’ll work everything out, I promise you. You will graduate on time. Those bastards knew this was going to happen, and they did nothing to protect you. They’ll be lucky if they have a paper clip when I’m done with them, son. You are only to worry about getting better. I… I can’t even think about what would have happened if they’d… if you hadn’t….” A sob broke in Richard’s chest, and I squeezed his hand. Just the act of him calling me “son” was more than I’d ever hoped for, and for him to be that heartbroken about my injuries made me realize just how much he cared about me.

  “Mosely?” I asked, again enunciating carefully. It came out sounding more like “nosey,” but Richard understood.

  “He’s in jail, Brian. You don’t have to be afraid. The police came yesterday to say that everything those boys did to you was recorded on a cell phone camera. It seems one of the idiots put it on the Internet. There was no question; he didn’t even get any kind of bail. He’s been in custody since last Monday.” Well, that was good; he was in… since last Monday? I started to panic, and Richard noticed.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice anxious. “Brian?” Looking around, he grabbed a whiteboard and marker from the side table. “Here, I had this brought up so you could communicate with us without having to try and talk.” He held the whiteboard up in front of me, and I tried to frame the question I wanted to ask in my mind. My ribs ached as I lifted my arm to write.

  What day is it? When I was attacked by Mosely and his friends on Monday, it had been the seventh of September. Richard had said that happened last Monday, which meant I’d been unconscious for at least a week. I’d lost an entire week of my life to those animals. I’d lost a week that I could’ve been looking for a job or for Jamie.

  “It’s Tuesday, Brian. It’s the fifteenth.” I closed my eyes and let the whiteboard fall to the bed, stunned. “You were in a coma for a week; you finally woke up this afternoon. Well, yesterday afternoon, since it’s now one in the morning. We’d never wanted to see anything more than we wanted to see your eyes open.”

  I opened my eyes again. There was nothing I could do about it; all I could do was focus on getting out of the bed and back on my feet.

  “Why don’t you try to get some rest? I know you just woke up, but your body is trying to heal itself; you’ve got to be tired.” I looked into his eyes and nodded a fraction of an inch. Then I felt around the bed for the whiteboard. Richard picked it up and put the marker in my hand.

  Water?

  “You still have a feeding tube in, that’s what you feel in your nose, but I think a little water will be okay. I just don’t want you to get nauseated, especially with your jaw wired closed. I’ll be right back.” He took the small plastic pitcher and cup from the side table and left the room. I tried to let everything sink in, wondering how long they had beaten me to put me in a coma, and what had stopped them. Finally, I wondered how the hell I was going to graduate on time, being laid up for two months. Questions chased each other through my head until I started to get dizzy. I closed my eyes and felt a tear slip down the side of my face and onto the pillow.

  Richard was back within minutes with a pitcher and poured a little water into the plastic cup, adding a straw. Carefully, because of the wires in my jaw, he allowed me to take a few feeble sips before putting the cup back on the table.

  “Carolyn is coming up in a few hours. I made her go home and get some sleep when you woke up. Is there anything from home that you’d like for her to bring?”

  I thought about that for a minute. I doubted I could hold a book up for long without feeling tired. I didn’t have a laptop so I could search for…. Yes, there was something.

  Picture next to bed.

  It wasn’t until the next day that I could actually sit up. The pain in my ribs and my jaw was worse than my leg, and not being able to eat was a real inconvenience. They did remove my feeding tube with strict instructions that I was to drink broth through a straw several times a day. Carolyn made absolutely sure that I did. She turned out to be a great companion at the hospital, and I was thankful to have her there.

  “Want another round of gin rummy, darlin’, or are you getting—” Carolyn started to ask but was interrupted by a knock on the frame of the hospital room door. Looking up, I saw that it was Mr. Barnes. He smiled a little hes
itantly as he walked into the room carrying what looked like a tackle box with a bow on top. Before I could start worrying about his choice of gifts, however, he asked me how I was doing.

  I shrugged and grabbed the whiteboard.

  I’m alive. I guess that’s all I can ask for.

  His brow creased, and it was obvious he wasn’t thrilled with my answer, but he didn’t comment on it. “I come bearing gifts,” he said and set the tackle box on the small tray table we’d been using to play cards. Carolyn hurried over and cleared the cards away while Mr. Barnes opened the box. When I saw what was inside, I had to laugh, the pain rocketing through my ribs and down my leg.

  He pulled out two stacking trays that were full of art supplies. Crayons, colored pencils, paints, brushes, everything you could possibly need to draw, color, or otherwise keep yourself creatively entertained. The bottom of the box contained a package of blank printer paper and about half a dozen coloring books. I couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across my face until the searing pain caused me to suck in a sharp breath and try to relax.

  Thank you!! I wrote on the board and then looked through the coloring books. There were a couple of Halloween books, some generic animal books, and a few comic-book hero books. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to be bored while I was lying in the hospital. It wasn’t building materials so I could build my model buildings as I would if I was at home, but it was the next best thing.

  Mr. Barnes stayed to talk for a while. We steered clear of any topics having to do with school. I didn’t want to talk about that yet. I didn’t want to hear that my fellow students thought I should have died, or that I should get AIDS, or that I was going to hell. At least for the time I had to be in the hospital, I wanted to live in a little bubble and not think about the outside world.

  Mr. Barnes picked up the framed picture off the bedside table and looked at it for a long time.

  “I’m sorry, Brian. I told you that I would look out for you, and I failed,” Mr. Barnes said, and his voice was low, and I could almost feel his remorse, his sorrow, as if it were tangible.

  Not your fault you couldn’t be everywhere!!

  “It doesn’t matter. Mosely and his friends were in my class that day, and they were so quiet, only talking to each other. I should have known they were plotting something.” He looked up, and his eyes were full of pain. “I know what it’s like to be hated for being gay, Brian. I know how lonely it is, how tiring day after day. You’re a good kid, and you don’t deserve the persecution.”

  Thank you, but they would’ve gotten me no matter what you did.

  He nodded. “I guess that’s probably true.” Sighing, he checked his watch. “I need to get home. I just wanted to check in on you and see how you were.”

  I nodded, not really having anything else to write on the board. After he left, I opened the tackle box and pulled out a coloring book and a nice big box of crayons.

  IT WAS another four days before I was released from the hospital.

  “I can take him,” Richard said as he came up behind my wheelchair. I was dressed in a T-shirt, which was loose-fitting because I’d lost nearly ten pounds since the attack. The right leg had been cut off my sweatpants to accommodate the massive blue cast that covered every inch of my skin from my foot to my hip. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get me into the wheelchair and get the piece adjusted to hold my leg straight in front of me. My ribs were screaming under the tape, and my jaw ached with the effort of trying not to talk.

  Everyone watched as I was wheeled out of my room and down the hall. Their looks varied from indifference to pity. After the first hallway, I just kept my head down, not wanting to look at them. I half expected someone to say something rude, but we made it to the front door without incident. Apparently, reporters had been in and out of the hospital since Mosely was arrested, so the staff knew exactly why I was there. I wondered if Richard had to treat me himself because they were all afraid the gay kid had AIDS. Carolyn stood next to me with her hand on my shoulder while Richard went to get the car. Neither of us spoke or acknowledged the small crowd who’d gathered in the waiting area, no doubt interested in the fag who had been in the paper. Richard had shown it to me last night as we packed up my stuff for the trip home.

  Getting out of the chair and into the back seat of Richard’s sedan was painful but easier than I had anticipated. He pulled me up with his arms around my waist, pivoted me, and sat me gently on the seat. Then he went around to the other side of the car and pulled me under my arms while Carolyn lifted my broken leg. I knew they were doing their best, so I tried to keep my moans and whimpers to a minimum. As they closed the doors and I was safely in the back seat, I started to wonder how they were going to get me into the house.

  I sat with my back against the rear driver’s side door, my injured leg sprawled across the seat. Leaning a little to my right, I laid my head on the back of the seat and rested, listening to Richard close the trunk and get into the car while Carolyn asked if I was okay. I nodded, and we headed home. Richard drove carefully, avoiding potholes and quick stops, so it took considerably longer than it would have otherwise. As we pulled into the drive, I looked over at the house and couldn’t believe what I saw. There was a wheelchair ramp on the front steps extending down most of the sidewalk. I couldn’t believe they’d done that for me, so I could come home. I didn’t know what to say.

  Richard parked, and they got out and popped the trunk. After reversing the process they’d used to get me into the car, I was back in the same wheelchair from the hospital. Apparently Richard had borrowed it for me to use while I was in the cast. Richard pushed me up the ramp and into the house. In the living room, the furniture had been pushed against the far wall and replaced by most of my bedroom. My bed, my bedside table, even my models from the top of my dresser were laid out and waiting for me. The only addition was the armchair that always sat in the living room and a footstool, which were both next to my bed.

  I turned around and looked at my foster parents, my parents for all intents and purposes, with wonder. Carolyn smiled, and I gestured for her to come closer. I threw my arms around her, heedless of the pain in my protesting ribs. Enunciating slowly, I said, “Sank you so mut.” Carolyn wrapped her arms around me gently.

  “You’re welcome, honey. We want you to be comfortable, and this will help us too. Now we don’t have to lug you up and down the stairs!” I laughed a little along with them, my ribs burning. “Now, do you want to be in the bed or in the chair?” Coming home had drained me, so I opted to lie down. They helped me get into bed, and I was asleep, in my own bed, within minutes.

  “OKAY, Brian, you’re going to have a test on derivatives tomorrow. Are you sure you’re ready? I’ll have Mr. Butler give me your copy before school,” Mr. Barnes said as he sat in the old armchair in our living room. He’d been coming over for two hours a couple of days a week after school for the last month, bringing me my work and helping me to get through it. Richard and his attorney had gone down to the school the day after I’d been released from the hospital. They’d raged at the principal for nearly an hour about the school’s failure to act when I’d been pushed down the stairs and how that led directly to me ending up in the hospital after an attack on school grounds. Finally, they got the school board president involved. It was the same school board president who would have been sued in order to allow Mr. Barnes to teach if he hadn’t finally given in. I’m sure he wasn’t in a hurry for another potential lawsuit. When the subject of my education continuing while I recuperated came up, he agreed that as long as a teacher was willing to administer tests, and I could get through the work, I could keep up with my classes from home and graduate on time.

  What he didn’t know was that Richard was planning to sue them anyway.

  “Stop that,” Richard said as he came through the room, smacking the arm I was not currently using to poke a pencil down my cast.

  Itches! I whined, and even on the board it sounded fairly pathetic.

&nb
sp; “One more week, and I’ll take the cast off. You’ll also get elastic bands for your jaw instead of the wires. You can make it just one more week,” Richard said, and I could tell he was trying not to smile.

  Yeah, you stay in a cast for six weeks and tell me how you like it,

  I wrote and then went back to finishing up the last derivative on my math homework so Kyle could turn it in for me. At some point over the last five weeks, since he’d become my liaison with the school, he had gone from being Mr. Barnes to Kyle. We knew it wouldn’t last once I returned to class, but he said he respected me and wanted me to consider him a friend as well as a teacher, even if no one at school could know.

  “I was in a full cast like that in the summer after I graduated, just before I came down here to go to college,” Richard said dismissively.

  Why? I asked with real interest. Richard didn’t seem the rough-and-tumble type.

  “I fell off of a horse trying to impress a girl,” he said in a whisper and winked. I laughed, until Carolyn came into the room, and then we were all conspicuously quiet.

  “Kyle, darlin’, would you like to stay for dinner?” Carolyn asked, handing me my bowl of mashed potatoes. Everything I ate until my jaw was completely healed had to be something I could consume without chewing. As I dug in, he stood up, starting to pack away his stuff.

  “I’d better not. We don’t want people to think I’m blurring the lines here. After Brian comes back to school, I’ll take you up on that offer. Until then, unless you want to get stuck with Mrs. Barachek,” he replied, faking a huge shudder at me, nearly making me spit out my mashed potato dinner, “we’ll have to be good.”

  “You want to take a break for a little while?” Carolyn asked as I ate slowly and Kyle headed for the door. I nodded to her, and she helped to put my massive pile of schoolbooks and homework on a nearby table. Trying to keep up with the rest of my class, I’d been diligent, but the two weeks I’d been incapacitated after the attack had put me pretty far behind. I’d been working long days, sometimes into the night, just to catch up. Richard and Carolyn had been a huge help. I think they were worried, like I was, that if I didn’t make enough progress, the school administrators would pull the plug on my homeschooling. Richard was great with math and science, while Carolyn was a whiz at English and had minored in history. She liked to help me with the more liberal-arts-oriented subjects.