Painless

by S. A. Harazin

  In the car I turn on the light and check my hands. They’re red, but the light’s bad. I don’t trust it. A burn on my wrist looks like a tree turned red in the fall. Little blisters are forming. I’ll be okay. I’ll put some ointment on my hands later.

  On the way home I’m thinking about what a loser I can appear to be. The Spring Festival will probably be going on for hours. I was only there for a short while, but I want to start over and not end up looking like an idiot.

  I look for the stop sign at the dead end where I need to turn right. My fingers squeeze the steering wheel. Darkness engulfs the road, and I glance down at the switch to turn on the bright lights. When I look up, I see the stop sign ahead, and I brake, but the car keeps going. Gasping, I pump the pedal. Please, please, don’t let me hit anyone. The car enters the intersection and refuses to slow down. I’m in the middle of the road. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I’m crossing the road, hitting the grass on the other side, and bouncing down an incline into a ditch. The car stops. Ten more feet, and the car would’ve been sinking in a pond full of catfish.

  My heart’s pounding, but I’m not in shock. Well, maybe I am in shock. I can’t move. Two times tonight I’ve come close to getting hurt. I’ve got the right to be in shock.

  And there’s only me to do something. Unwilling to move, I don’t. I can’t believe I’m having all this bad luck in one night.

  “Do you need assistance?”

  At the sound of the voice, I jump, and then I remember that the Lexus has an onboard emergency response system.

  “I only need a tow truck,” I finally tell the person, balling my hands into fists. “I don’t need the police or an ambulance.” I’ll be in big trouble for driving without a license. Do they put you in jail for that? I wonder.

  “Help is on the way.”

  I shove the airbag out of the way, put the car into Park, and turn on the inside light. I check myself. I don’t see blood or bones sticking out. I must feel fine. Good thing there were no cars coming. Good thing I missed Mr. Henderson’s pond.

  The brakes went out. I don’t know why. Brakes can fail suddenly. I’ve seen it happen on TV. Maybe I hit the gas instead of the brake, but the car never sped up. Suddenly, I know what happened. I panicked. My foot kept hitting the floorboard, and my brain was telling me it was the brake.

  I get the flashlight from the glove compartment and then pick through the contents until I find the insurance card. Nana had a flat tire once, and I remember what she did. I could’ve changed the tire, but it was a hot, summer day, and Nana wouldn’t let me.

  I grab my cane, open the door, and tread through high grass and briars to the front of the car. Shinning the light across the fender and then the hood, I don’t see any damage.

  I climb up the slope behind the car to the side of the road and wait breathlessly for the wrecker. It’s dark, and I can barely see anything. I look down the road and see a car coming. It can’t be the tow truck.

  I think about a commercial from TV where the first person to arrive at an accident scene was a lawyer in a hot-air balloon. Then I remember a movie I watched about a girl breaking down on a highway. A serial killer stopped to save her. But the car I’m watching speeds past me.

  While I’m waiting for the tow truck, I think things out. I’m going to be in trouble for driving without a license, and I’m going to be in trouble for having an accident. I cannot hide that. But to avoid the most trouble, I have to get checked at the hospital or else I’ll end up being taken by Joe, and I’d rather have him yell at me on the phone than in person.

  The tow truck pulls up. Sticking my hands into my pockets and walking over to it, I breathe a mix of relief and fear. The truck has “Hills Towing” written on the side of the hood, and a hook and chain in the bed of the truck. You’d think he towed hills instead of cars.

  I ask the driver if he’ll drop me off at the hospital.

  I don’t want to go to the hospital, but who would? Doctors never say anything I want to hear, and they always find something wrong I don’t want to know about.

  After I check in, I’m taken to one of the semi-private rooms where patients are examined.

  The nurse pulls the curtain around the gurney and leaves so I can undress. When I have everything off but my underwear, I sit on the gurney with a sheet wrapped around me. A man’s moaning on the other side of the curtain. I’m used to hearing all sorts of human sounds when I come here. Burps, cries, screams, grunts, wheezing. You wouldn’t think a body could make so many different out-of-control noises. The worst is when somebody’s gurgling, and then you know there’s a good chance that soon you won’t hear anything else.

  Dr. Wilensky appears. I’ve met him before. One time I cut my foot and glued the skin together. It got infected, and I had to come here. Dr. Wilensky gave me an antibiotic in the vein and said I was lucky I didn’t have to have my foot amputated.

  “Let me guess,” Dr. Wilensky says as he reads my chart. “You didn’t know you were on fire until you smelled something cooking.”

  I stare at his stethoscope. “Not exactly,” I say. It’s embarrassing.

  “And you were in a car accident?”

  “It was a minor accident, and I don’t have any injuries. I didn’t hit my head or anything.”

  Dr. Wilensky checks me from head to toe, and I think about what Nana’s going to do when she finds out I ran into a ditch. She’ll probably kill me if she’s herself.

  When I was about ten years old I found a razor blade in the bathroom medicine cabinet, and I decided to do a pain test. I cut my arm, but it only bled and didn’t hurt. My grandfather opened the door and screamed.

  “Please don’t get rid of me,” I said.

  “You want to know how bad it’s supposed to hurt?” my grandfather said. “Remember how your dad hasn’t come back? That’s how bad it hurts.”

  At the hospital a doctor asked if I was trying to kill myself. He didn’t understand about a pain test.

  Back at home Nana made me write “I will never do a pain test again” a hundred times. There are thousands of my “I will not” papers in the closet in her room.

  I don’t have to worry about what Nana’s going to do or say.

  Not one bit.

  When I exit the treatment area, Joe’s standing in the waiting room. I’d forgotten that because I’m a minor, the emergency department would notify a parent or guardian.

  “I never thought you’d take the car without permission. You could have killed yourself or someone else.”

  “I’m sorry.” I stick my hands into my pockets. “I made a mistake, and then the brakes failed.”

  “You need to pay attention and stop walking around with your head in the clouds. What did the doctor do?”

  I shrug. “He checked me. He didn’t find anything wrong.”

  “What’s wrong with your arms?”

  I have marks from when Nana digs her fingernails into my arms. “Sometimes Nana won’t use her walker,” I say.

  Joe doesn’t say anything on the way to my house.

  I unlock the door. He follows me inside. We go into the living room.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about you,” he says and sits on the sofa. “Because the buck stops with me.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I’m your legal guardian now.”

  I groan and plop down onto the sofa. I can hear the grandfather clock in the corner ticking. “It’s time?” I say. “Things are getting worse?”

  “I don’t know, but your grandmother is in no shape to make decisions for you.”

  I stare at a stain on the sofa where I once dropped a burrito, wondering if I can actually take care of myself. I don’t want to be left alone. I hear the hum of the heat or maybe the air conditioner, but how the heck am I supposed to know? I figure it has to be the heat because
it’s fifty-six degrees outside.

  I pull my knees to my chest and hold on to my legs. The grandfather clock ticks so loudly that I want to break the glass over its scary face and stop time. Sometimes I’ve dreamed I’m walking through the house. It’s empty, and I can’t find a door or Nana to show me the way.

  I’m thinking that if I was never born, my parents wouldn’t have disappeared on purpose, and Nana wouldn’t have gotten stuck with me. I remember overhearing Ruby tell her I should never have been born. That’s the same as wishing I was dead.

  I rest my head on the back of the sofa and stare at the crystal chandelier.

  I figure my parents are as pain-free as me but in another way. All they cared about was dumping me so they could go on with their lives.

  So I figure it’s my fault nobody ever came to get me. I’m damaged.

  What’s sad is that whenever anybody would ask Nana, “How’s James?” she’d say, “He’s fine. He’ll be coming home soon.” Then she’d quickly change the subject. After a while, people stopped asking about my dad, and she didn’t have to lie about him coming back.

  “What’s going on?” Nana asks from the doorway. She’s stooped over and holding on to the walker.

  “We’re just talking,” Joe says.

  “Is it time for breakfast?”

  I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. A stranger is living in my house.

  “It’s eleven o’clock,” Joe says. “At night.”

  She’s not confused. She’s been sleeping for a while. So what if she woke up and thought it was morning? That’s happened to me.

  Joe stands. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He looks at me. “You be ready. We’re taking a ride.”

  Chapter 10

  When I was ten I was pretty stupid, but my grandparents wanted to adopt me anyway. They were in the study talking to Joe. My tutor was on the back deck either talking on his cell phone or texting, and I was hanging out behind the door to the study.

  Joe said I would require care the rest of my life, and they were already at the age where they did not need a disabled kid. “What’s going to happen to him if you die?” he asked.

  “For god’s sake, David is our grandson. He’s our responsibility now,” my grandfather said.

  Joe asked if they would like him to check into experimental studies or interviews to help with my medical expenses. My grandparents said no. They didn’t need money.

  I remember thinking I’d like to have my picture on a magazine cover because of my condition. I’d make a lot of money and pay a doctor to fix me to be like everybody else. The sooner I got normal, the sooner I’d be loved.

  How stupid is that? Not even all normal people are loved.

  Joe’s car has been in the driveway for ten minutes, and I’m not going downstairs to hear him lecture me again. He’s not my dad. He’s not even related to me. Unfortunately, I hear a knock on my door. Nana doesn’t knock. Luna will knock, but she’ll say, “Hey, David. It’s me.” And Spencer would just walk in.

  He knocks again. I better answer. Maybe it’s not Joe. He never comes to my room. I open the door and see Joe.

  “Look,” he says. “I know you want to see me about as much as I want to see you.” He looks me over. “Time to go.”

  “Luna’s coming over,” I say.

  He doesn’t say anything. I guess it won’t matter.

  I follow Joe down the steps, out the front door, and to his car. I get inside and hear my door lock. I don’t ask where we’re going. I don’t want to know.

  Joe’s perfect as far as Nana is concerned. You’d think he was her son or grandson instead of her attorney and my guardian.

  “We have an appointment,” Joe says.

  This is not going to turn out well. “Where?” I ask.

  “Twin Falls,” he says.

  I knew I wouldn’t be hearing good news. He doesn’t think he can just drop me off there today, does he? He wouldn’t try to get rid of me, would he? I hold my hands in my lap, folded together. “You can’t do this to me,” I say.

  He turns onto a private road. “You did it to yourself.”

  Twin Falls has golf-course grass covering rolling hills and a stream running along the side of the winding road. Joe stops at a gate, presses a button, and says his name. I hear a buzzer and the gate opens.

  For a minute, I look for a way out. I see a redbrick wall along the perimeter, probably built to keep someone from leaving without permission. The driveway winds past redbrick buildings. Joe stops in front of the one that has Office written on double glass doors.

  A lady shows us a studio apartment on the second floor, and it’s pretty nice, but there wouldn’t be enough room for my games and stuff. From the balcony I can see a pond with ducks.

  “I’m allergic to ducks,” I say.

  “David,” Joe warns.

  I stare at him.

  The lady says I’d have an aide to check in on me and help me shower and dress if needed. The aide will bring my lunch too, unless I want to eat in the restaurant.

  We go into the hallway and ride an elevator to the fifth floor. The door opens and I see a circular restaurant. A few senior citizens sit at tables. I don’t see anyone that’s not a senior.

  “Once a week, a shuttle takes our residents to a movie and shopping,” the lady says.

  “That would be too much fun for me,” I say sarcastically. I get a sick feeling inside. Here I’d be going in reverse instead of moving forward.

  “You’ll feel at home here,” Joe says.

  Only if I keep my eyes shut.

  Joe tells her he’ll be in touch.

  Looks like Joe’s trying to scare me, and he’s good at that. But he’d never dump me here, would he? Then I think about how my grandparents never expected my dad to dump me and never return.

  In the car, Joe starts lecturing me again. “You have bad judgment,” he says. “You should not have taken the car last night.”

  “I won’t do it anymore,” I say.

  All my life I’ve been trained to live by the rules or else I won’t survive. Check your body. Take your temperature. Don’t bang your head. Don’t bite. Don’t pick scabs. Don’t scratch your eyes. The thing is, I’m grateful I was reminded. Now I’m feeling like “Don’t breathe” has been added to the list, and I’m ungrateful.

  “I don’t suppose you can come up with a good reason why you were driving without a license and why the wreck wasn’t your fault.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve checked with the mechanic,” I say. “Maybe it wasn’t totally my fault.”

  “I did. The brakes are worn out.” Joe clears his throat. “I should have discussed a few things with you earlier, but to be honest, I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “You’re doing fine,” I say.

  “You go through life like a bull in a china shop,” Joe says.

  “That’s a myth. A bull can actually be very coordinated, but I get what you mean. I know what’s dangerous.”

  The world’s a scary place for me, but I want a life even if it’s short. If I mess up, I don’t have anything to lose. The worst that can happen is I’ll die from disease complications. Lately I have realized there’s more to life than staying inside, afraid to go out.

  Considering I’ve been in the hospital dozens of times, I’m doing all right. I’ve heard doctors say I wouldn’t survive. My lips, hands, and legs are scarred, and I’ve had a hole in my throat, tubes in every opening in my body. Wouldn’t the doctors who said I’d be retarded and die young be surprised to see me now?

  “You could say you’ll try to find my parents,” I say. “Give me a chance to meet them.”

  “And you think they’d want you with them?”

  “No.”

  “Even if I found them, I would not trust them with your future. You had two broken
legs when your father left you here,” Joe says. “Dog bites on your arms, bruises, and I don’t even remember what else. You thought you were like Superman with super-genes.”

  I remember using crutches and going fast. “I’m not a little kid anymore,” I say.

  “You had been in the hospital ten times.”

  Nobody wanted me. Not my mother or father or my make-believe friend.

  “I have hired a detective to find your father and let him know his mother’s condition. I’m warning you, though. Only one of three things can possibly happen. We find him, and he wants to be left alone. We don’t find him because he doesn’t want to be found. Or he’s dead. Somebody’s going to get hurt, no matter what.”

  “He’ll come if he’s alive and knows Nana is sick,” I say.

  “We tried to find him when your grandfather died,” Joe says. “And many times before.”

  Chapter 11

  The morning sun hangs over the top of the mountains in a clear sky. The light makes the backyard look like a garden in a magazine.

  Luna and I go down the steps of the deck to the swimming pool. When Nana was well, she’d sit on the deck and watch me. Sometimes she’d swim too. She swims better than she walks. A long time ago she competed in the Olympics.

  Luna sits cross-legged on the side of the pool. She’s wearing jeans and a heavy sweater, and I’m wearing a swimsuit.

  I sit next to her and kick the water.

  “Where’d you go yesterday?” she asks.

  “Joe took me to an assisted living community. He’s trying to force me to live there.”

  She shakes her head. “I think he was trying to scare you,” she says. According to her, the management of a retirement community doesn’t usually allow someone my age to live there. The residents who don’t want to be around kids would move.

  “Joe’s serious. He doesn’t kid around. He’s perfectly content not to have to worry about me.”

  “Then don’t annoy him,” Luna says, shutting her eyes and looking upward. “The sun feels good.”

  “Like what?” I ask.