Three-Legged Race

by Чарльз П. Кроуфорд

  "See you later," Kirk said and left the room. He wandered down the long corridor looking into all the rooms whose doors were open.

  When Kirk got back to the room, Brent was lying on his back with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes when he heard the sound of Kirk's crutches on the tile floor.

  "Christ," Kirk said, easing himself onto his bed. "I've got so many pins in my hip I'm going to rust."

  He placed his crutches next to his bed and stretched out with his hands behind his neck. He looked over toward Brent.

  "How are you doing? All right?"

  "Not too bad," Brent said and tried to smile. The pain was still there, raging along the middle of his back.

  "Did you have a good walk?" Brent asked.

  "Oh, great. Just fine. It's so scenic along these hallways it almost takes your breath away."

  "What's wrong with your leg?" Brent asked.

  "Oh, it's something to do with the hip socket not growing fast enough to contain the leg joint or something. My leg popped out on me and they pinned it back. I have to take it easy and stay on the crutches or in the wheelchair until the hip catches up with the growth of my leg. I don't know for sure. I don't sweat the medical details. None of the operations were any fun, though, I can tell you that."

  "You been here long?"

  "Awhile," Kirk said. "And I don't think I'll get out until I'm eighty. They may have to move me to Geriatrics eventually."

  "You know, you get around so well on those crutches, I'm surprised they haven't sent you home."

  "Yeah, I guess. I don't know. My parents figure this is the best place for me. I have the feeling that the day I do get home they'll run me over with a car or something just so they can get me out of the house again. They're a real sweet pair, my parents."

  Brent felt embarrassed by Kirk's talk. He'd never heard anyone talk about parents like that.

  "How'd you slip your leg out in the first place?" Brent asked, trying to change the subject.

  "It was a little over three months ago," Kirk said. "I was going to this school called Gable Prep. You know, a private school, all gray buildings and soccer fields. It was my third school since sixth grade. I get around in the educational circles, you might say. Anyway, Gable Prep's no worse than any of the others.

  "So one day three months ago, I was sitting in English class. I was looking out the window as usual, trying not to pay too much attention to Mr.Davison, the teacher, who is a real horse's ass, I can tell you that. I don't even remember what the lesson was about. Something about lyric poetry or some other crap like that. I remember there was dirty slushy snow all over the ground.

  "Anyway, at the end of the class, old man Davison passed out a test that we had taken on Huckleberry Finn the week before. I got an F on it. What the hell, I thought. It's no big deal. I'm not dumb, you understand, Brent. I'm what the guidance counselor calls an underachiever," Kirk said with a laugh.

  "Anyway, the bell rang and I got up to leave and Mr.Davison tells me to wait a minute. I figured I was in for one of his heart-to-heart talks, and I wasn't wrong.

  "I walked over to the old guy's desk and stood beside it, holding my books behind my back.

  "'That's the second test you've failed in a row, Mr.Hughes,' the old guy says. They always call you Mister Hughes at a private school. It sounds pretty phony to me.

  "'Yeah, I know,' I told him.

  "What I wanted to say was, Lay off me, will you. Just get off my back, why don't you. But I didn't. I'm really pretty good by now at keeping a straight face and looking sincere when adults are giving me a lecture, if you know what I mean.

  "Well, the old guy takes off his glasses, which is always a bad sign. He stares at me with his beady little eyes and asks me if I have an explanation of why I'm doing so poorly.

  "I looked all interested and sincere and told him that I didn't have the foggiest idea except that I just didn't get the stuff, was all.

  "So he tells me that he figures that I'm just not trying. He tells me that I'm a great disappointment to him, do you believe that? In his snotty old voice he tells me that I failed the test, if I would kindly remember, because I only answered one of the four essay questions.

  "So I say, 'I know, sir. I didn't feel like answering the others.'

  "Well, that really pissed him off. He goes on about how that's just what he means. If I'd just make the effort to do the required work, I'd be doing just fine. He even told me that the one essay question I did answer was the best one in the class.

  "It was the old 'Get off your lazy butt and get to work' speech that I'd heard a million times before. He went on about the worst thing to see in life is when someone with real talent wastes it and all that crap. I wanted to tell him to stuff it, but all I said was, 'Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I'll do better, sir.' I tell you, Brent, if I want to screw up my life, what's it to him, anyway.

  "My next class was gym, and since I figured I was late already, I stopped in the boys' room for a quick smoke. I did that a lot. So I sat in one of the stalls for a while puffing away, watching the smoke drifting around my head, cursing old man Davison and trying to cool off.

  "Finally I tossed the butt in the john and wandered on to the gym. I knew that class would have started already and I felt about as much like sweating my ass off on the basketball court as I did hearing Davison's spiel about what a great mind I'm wasting. So I went up to the locker room and hung around there for a while. Finally I opened up my locker and got my gym stuff on. I wandered on down to the gym. I was about fifteen or twenty minutes late by then.

  "I walked in the door, and the first thing I hear is the gym teacher screaming, 'Hughes! Where you been, Hughes?' He sounded like some sort of wounded hippo or something.

  "So I say to him, 'I was talking to Mr.Davison.'

  "He asks me if I've got a note and I tell him no, I don't. Mr.Davison didn't give me one and besides I had to stop at the bathroom.

  "'Duck walks,' the guy screams at me. "Ten laps around the court duck walking. Move!'

  "I should have told him where he could have put those duck walks. If there is anything I hate it's doing those damn duck walks.

  "'Move!,' he shouts. 'And make it fast. If I see you out of a squat or slowing down, we'll make it twenty. Get going.' He's such a sweetheart, I can tell you.

  "I squatted down and began duck walking like crazy around the edge of the basketball court. The stupid dribbling of the basketballs was giving me a headache. You ever have to do duck walks, Brent?"

  "No," Brent answered.

  "Well, it's a real pain. Within about two minutes the muscles in your legs hurt like hell. I started getting cramps in my thighs before I was even around the gym once. I started to get up from the crouching position slightly, but the gym teacher shouted me down again.

  "By the time I was around the court three times, my legs were hurting really bad. I had to slow down a little to keep my balance, so he shouted at me, 'Speed it up, Hughes. Make it twenty laps.'

  "It probably wasn't the brightest thing I've ever done, but I yelled back at him, 'Thank you, sir. I'd love to, sir. Screw you, sir.'

  "Well, I looked up and the gym teacher was headed across the floor toward me and he wasn't looking any too pleased.

  "I started to brace myself for what I figured was coming, and a flash of pain shot up my left leg to my hip. I mean, it really hurt. I yelled and tumbled over. The gym teacher had gotten to me by then but my leg hurt so bad I couldn't get up. I was pounding my head on the floor it hurt so much.

  "So the guy grabbed me and pulled me up. He lifted me right off my feet. He was really ticked off, I can tell you that.

  "He said, 'Just what did you say, Mr.Hughes? Repeat what you just said to me.'

  "I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I mean, I was really hurting. The gym teacher dropped me and my feet landed on the floor and I collapsed again.

  "Being a real bright guy, he finally noticed I was rolling around on the floor and I wasn't exactly la
ughing my head off. He asked me if I was hurt.

  "I couldn't answer that question either since my vocal chords seemed all frozen up. He sent a kid to call the ambulance, I guess.

  "My mother arrived just before the ambulance did. I had been moved to the office by then. I was surprised they had found her home when they called. I guess they hadn't told her what was wrong, because she came barreling in the door shrieking about what had I done this time.

  "I tried not to show her that I was in pain, but I guess I couldn't hide it. She patted and cooed at me all the way to the hospital once she figured I wasn't in trouble again. She was gabbing away about how she was going to sue the school and all.

  "I didn't say a word to her all the way there.

  "So here I am. And it's been a long three months, I can tell you that."

  "That's a shame, Kirk. It must have really hurt," Brent said.

  "Oh, it hurt all right. The whole thing was a mess. But that's the story of my life. How about you, Brent? What do you do with yourself when you're not falling through trapdoors?"

  "It sounds like I've got an easier time of things than you do, I guess. My parents are nice. I like them. I like to read and I paint a lot."

  "Sounds exciting. As long as you don't watch soap operas, we'll get along just fine."

  Jewel appeared at the doorway. "You want a Coke, Kirk?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Unless you want to make it a gin and tonic."

  "No deal, Kirk. You know the rules. No gin and tonics in the youth ward before noon. Brent, when that I.V. comes out, you can have something, too."

  "Thanks."

  "Right. One Coke coming up."

  She turned and left.

  "I'll tell you something, Brent. The hospital's no worse that Gable Prep and it's a hell of a lot better than home."

  I like him, Brent thought. I feel sorry for him, in a way. It would be a shame to have parents you didn't like. But I like him, and I envy him. He's so honest and casual. He must make friends easily. I envy that. I hope we get along all right.

  Brent closed his eyes and tried to shut out the growing pain again. They waited in silence for Jewel to return with the Coke.

  Chapter Three

  Amy had left the sun-room too. She watched Kirk's back as he walked into his room down the hallway. She turned left outside the sun-room door and wandered down the hallway. The pediatrics ward was in that direction.

  Amy felt strange as she walked through Pediatrics. She had always liked little kids. They were honest and open. She had enjoyed the baby-sitting jobs she had had. But she hated to see children in the hospital. They missed their parents and cried a lot; and some of them were really sick, and that always depressed her too. She liked to see them anyway, and sometimes she would stop in and talk to any little kid who was lying in bed looking lonely.

  Amy went into room 284. She often stopped there to say hello to a little guy, about six she guessed, who seemed really sick and didn't have many people visiting him. She had met him the week before on a stroll through the pediatrics ward.

  The room was empty and the bed stripped. All the cards and books and crayons had been removed from the room. All the things which made the room his were gone.

  He had left without saying good-bye to her.

  Amy continued down the hall toward the pediatrics playroom. It was filled with blocks and dolls and trucks and had bright animal posters on all the walls. There were never too many children there, though, since most of them couldn't leave their beds for roughhouse or play. Usually by the time they were well enough to go to the playroom, they were well enough to go home.

  The walk down the hallway had made Amy tired, and when she reached the playroom, she sat down in an easy chair. The room was empty. The sun streamed through the windows and the bright posters made the room look cheerful. It was better than the other sun-room. It shouldn't be so quiet, though. It looked like a place that needed noise.

  Amy looked up when she heard the soft slow sound of rubber wheels and saw a small child sitting in a wheelchair in the doorway. The boy looked to be about seven. Amy smiled at him but he didn't smile back.

  "Why don't you come on over here by me and talk," Amy offered.

  He didn't move from the doorway.

  "Come on. I won't bite. I'll play a game with you."

  The boy rotated the wheels of the chair and maneuvered the chair until he stopped next to where Amy was sitting.

  "That's better," she said. "I'm Amy. What do folks call you?"

  "Zero."

  "That's an interesting name. Why does everybody call you Zero?"

  "I don't know. It's my name."

  "Do you like it here?"

  "No."

  "Why are you here?"

  "I'm sick."

  "Are you going to be in the hospital for a very long time?"

  "No. I'm going home soon, my mother says."

  "That's nice. I bet you miss your home."

  "Yeah. I do."

  "Would you like to play a game?"

  "No. I don't know any games."

  "I can teach you one."

  "No. I don't want to learn any games."

  "Would you like me to tell you a story?"

  "If you want."

  "Good. I like to tell little boys stories. What kind of a story would you like to hear?"

  "I don't know. A scary one."

  "Okay. I'll just make one up for you. Let's see. It should begin like this, since all stories begin like this: Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She lived in a pretty house with her mother and her father. She was very happy there."

  So Amy told Zero a story that she made up as she went along. She told how the little girl found a door to a strange white room hidden behind the attic stairs and how she went into the room, but couldn't get out no matter how hard she tried.

  When Amy had finished, Zero said, "That's a sad story. Will you tell me another story sometime? I like stories about animals too."

  "Sure, when I see you again, I'll tell you another story."

  Zero turned his wheelchair around and moved toward the door.

  "Thanks for the story," he said and left the playroom.

  Amy sat for a while longer and let her eyes roam along the walls of the room, looking at the animal posters again, the streaks of sunlight coming through the flowered curtains against the stark white walls.

  Soon she gathered her strength and began to walk back to her room in the youth wing. She felt aches and small pains inside her and was weaker than she had been for days. She planned on lying down, maybe taking a nap before lunch. Maybe it would help.

  Outside her room she ran into the blood lady wheeling her cart. The blood samples were lined up in labeled test tubes.

  "Well, there you are, Amy. Just the person I was looking for. I'm afraid I've got to steal a little more blood from you today."

  "Okay, Lady Vampire," Amy said with a smile. "You're welcome to any you can find, but there couldn't be more than a couple of tablespoons left, with you at me every day."

  "Let's go into your room so you can lie down while I take my sample. We wouldn't want you crashing down in the hallway."

  "What's it for this time?" Amy asked.

  "Just to keep tabs on various levels of things. Your doctors can explain it to you if you want. I'm just the plumber around here."

  Amy walked through the doorway into her room. The blood cart rumbled in behind her, the glass test tubes clinking against each other.

  Amy's room was filled with plants. They hung in pots by the window. They stood on stands by the sink. The room was a jungle. Asparagas ferns festooned, begonias tumbled, philodendrons sprouted everywhere.

  "I always love coming to your room, Amy," the blood lady remarked. "It's like a florist's shop. You certainly have a green thumb. Every single one seems to have grown since you've been here."

  "I love plants," Amy said. "I've got a greenhouse at home. You have to talk sweetly to them. Taking care of them here gives
me something to do."

  "Well, they certainly are beautiful. It brightens up these blank white walls so. Anything green I touch dies immediately. I envy you."

  "That's because you have a red thumb," Amy said with a laugh.

  Amy lay down on her bed. The nurse took her left arm and wrapped the rubber tube around it, just above the elbow. Amy clenched her fist and saw the veins tracing like rivers down her arm.

  The nurse swabbed Amy's forearm with alcohol and sank the needle into the skin. Amy always watched. Each day her eyes would be drawn to look and see the dark red fluid slowly fill the cavity of the syringe.

  The nurse removed the hypodermic, capped it, placed a cotton ball on the small hole in Amy's arm and unwrapped the rubber hose.

  "Thanks a lot," the nurse said. "I'll be by again tomorrow."

  "Thanks. I'll mark it on my calendar. I wouldn't miss your visits for the world. See you later."

  "'Bye now. Take care."

  The nurse wheeled her cart out of the door and disappeared down the hall in a soft tinkling sound of clinking test tubes. It sounded like wind chimes.

  Amy climbed out of bed and crossed the hall to Brent and Kirk's room. They were in their beds, Kirk drinking the Coke that Jewel had delivered.

  "Hi," Amy said. "I thought I'd check in before my morning nap to see how you were coming along, Brent."

  "Pretty good, thanks," Brent said. "I finally got another pain shot from Nurse Rush a few minutes ago and I feel a lot better."

  Amy smiled at him and he tried to smile back. Brent liked her smile. It was so open and friendly.

  Amy patted his leg beneath the white sheet. "Good, I'm glad you're feeling better. Kirk treating you all right? He's kind of a bear, you know. You just can't take him seriously is all."

  "A bear, huh?" Kirk said. "I'd love to catch you bare."

  Amy laughed and her brown hair swung around her head. "You just try," she said. "I'm still faster than you are on crutches, you dirty old man. See what I mean, Brent? He's all talk and no action. Underneath that tough shell, there beats the heart of a lamb. Or a black sheep, anyway."

  It sounds so easy, Brent thought. You just say funny things and you're friends and they make it look so easy.