Monday, March 10, 2008

Legshield Rider (3)

Bits and pieces of dreams came to memory as he stumbled out of the mental fog. The hospital bed reeled back and forth while his mind tried to hold onto something his eyes could focus on.

Oh god, not the TV. The box itself would have been fine had the machine been turned off. The flash of the commercials made his head ache. When the program came back on he knew his father was somewhere near. Alex Trebeck was answering another question someone had yet to ask. This was the type of show smart people really paid attention to.

There. He could latch onto the box but not the images inside it. Too blurry. He eased his head to look to his right and two shadows hovered against the blinding sun of mid afternoon. That glance hurt way too much. He recoiled, sun spots on the insides of his eyelids.

"He's awake!"

His father's relief and joy could barely be hushed. The boy was tough and withdrawn. You had to read him by small shifts in his movements. The ways he tilted his head.

A son who knew that at that very moment his father had an overly firm grasp on his mother's forearm and was shaking her out of joy. He could hear her weight shifting. Could hear her feet scuff the floor as she scolded Dad for being unintentionally rough. But it was alright. His father was the strength of a ten pound sledge. And his mother knew just how to swing such a hammer. The shared relief of Mom and Dad was enough to answer the important questions. No matter how this ultimately would turn out, he believed he was coming out of this fine. Just get through it. His parents' presence in the room virtually eminated those words. He cracked a smile and raised his eyebrows. Signs he knew they were there. It was all he could give at the moment.

For two more hours a mother and father sat in their son's hospital room. A quiet solace of knowing their son was still the same kid they knew more than a week before. Relieved and drained they went home in peace for the first time in eternity.



Steve Williams said...

After reading this I'm reminded again how fragile we all are --bodies, spirits, relationships...

It's best to pay attention and cherish what we have.

Thanks for writing this. And I hope you find some peace with whatever is going on with your work.

Steve Williams
Scooter in the Sticks

irondad said...

This could be figuratively autobiographical for any of us. Troubles, disappointments, heartache, bereavement, and ( fill in the blank ) smack us like an accident on a dark road.

Weird as it may sound for a guy like me to say, feeling helpless can be a good thing. Once our walls are crumbled we find that someone really wants to help and we let them in. Eventually we heal and the walls come back up. Still, we smile, knowing we're not totally alone.

It's amazing how your story makes us feel things. There's got to be a part of you hurting and hoping that you're letting us see. The story's too powerful to be a mere fictional endeavour. Like Steve, I wish you peace.

American Scooterist Blog said...

Hi guys, it was the loss of a friend which drained me of writing this tale. I thought it would help pass the time over the winter but it somehow crept too far into my memories of Mel. Not that such a thing happened to either of us, but that recovery was really not the foremost thing on my mind lately.