by K. C. Hughes
When he came to the next morning, he was facing the window. What a great way to wake up on my sixteenth birthday!. He wanted to turn his head to see if his mom was still there but didn’t want to risk the pain. Besides, he had a nightmare that he was paralyzed and feared it was true. So he remained still.
After a few moments he mustered the strength and turned to the opened door. He spent the next hour watching people walked by. A doctor came in reading a chart, not bothering to look up. When he reached the bed, he still didn’t look at Deakon.
“How are we doing today?” the doctor asked. He was in his fifties with a weed patch of black hair that covered his head. His eyebrows were thick and looked like squiggly leeches suckling his forehead.
Deakon pressed his lips together and didn’t respond. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mom rise from the chair and move closer to them.
“You had us scared there for a few days,” the doctor said.
On impulse, Deakon hefted his body up, and a blast of pain shot through him. He gaped at the doctor. “A few days?” When the words came out of his mouth it didn’t sound like his voice. His lips had doubled in size.
The doctor glanced towards his mom, then turned to him again. “Deakon, I’m afraid that you’ve suffered many life threatening injuries and you’ve been here for three days.”
He moved his mouth to speak but nothing came out. His lips were too big. It hurt too bad to stay in the upright position, so he grabbed the bedrails and eased back down in the bed. The doctor continued.
“A broken rib punctured your lung sac. We were able to repair the hole during surgery,” the doctor said. “You came out like a champ.”
Deakon didn’t stir, instead he looked at the ceiling in a distant stare. No words could make him feel good about having his ribs busted up and his lung punctured. What did he do to deserve it? Ever since kindergarten, his situation had gone from bad to worse. He felt like the gods were punishing him for being smart. It was a curse he carried with him since he’d been five years old.
Later that evening his mom tried the get him to eat. He wasn’t having any of it. What was the use in eating? He wasn’t going get any taller or stronger. The protein shakes that Marc Nash had given him hadn’t worked. The strengthening exercises hadn’t worked either. He would be an aberration for the rest of his life, and he simply didn’t care any longer.
“Come on son, don’t you want to eat so you can be strong when Karri comes back to see you?”
He sprang up, ignoring the shooting pain. “Did you say Karri?”
“Why yes, honey. She’s such a sweet girl and she came every day since the…,” his mom couldn’t say the word beating. He understood her reluctance, because it made him sick to his stomach. It was a personal violation, being pounding on by strangers. And for no real reason.
For the first time in three days, he felt excited. Karri had visited him. But when he visualized her standing over his broken body, his stomach turned over. He knew his face was disfigured from the beating. If his lips were double their size, he didn’t want to know what the rest of his face looked like.
His looks were not great to begin with. He was unnaturally pale which was an oddity for people who lived in sunny Phoenix. His light gray eyes gave him a washed-out look. Plus the curvature in his eyeglass lenses made them look as big as UFOs. He had a widow’s peak hairline, but fortunately his wild, mop-like hair covered it. The worst was his acne. Some days the red break-out marks looked more like a treasure map than his face. And other days it was as clear as a baby’s bottom. He hoped that his acne had disappeared when Karri visited.
“What did she say?”
His mom glanced down shyly. “She told me what happened and that those monsters jumped on you for no reason.”
He couldn’t believe that she’d came to see him. He wanted to jump out of bed and do the happy dance, but it wasn’t a good idea in his condition. But why did she come? He prided himself on knowing a little about everything, but not knowing why drowned his mind. He mother stroked his hair and he knew she was worried, but he was giddy. Then he heard the click clack of shoes hitting the floor in the hallway. The sound came closer and finally stopped in his room.
It was Karri.
CHAPTER 5
When Karri walked in, Deakon hoped she didn’t hear the audible gasp that escaped his good lung. He wasn’t wearing his glasses but the visual of her was impossible to forget, no matter how farsighted he was. Her warm honey-beige complexion reminded him of the color of the Sahara sand dunes he’d seen pictures of. Her cheeks were round and rippleless with a hint of soft peach. She made his soul smile. She was perfect.
She walked towards his bed. “You’re up! That’s so cool,” she said with genuine delight.
Her sweet voice reminded him of the feeling he got as a child when he heard the twinkly chime from the ice cream truck. She stood so close to him it made his heart pound like bongo drums in an African voodoo dance. For that moment Deakon felt just fine.
He couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to. The pain changed from the throbbing of a thousand scorpion stings to dainty butterflies flitting about. It was a lightheaded and woozy feeling that he had never experienced. He wished he had his laptop so he could Google the new feeling. When he looked into her sable brown eyes, he blinked rapidly, unable to turn away. They were so magnetic that he stared beyond the twinkletts of light to her soul. The longer he fixated on her eyes, the heavier the weight grew on his chest. He struggled to breathe.
His mom broke the silence, “I’m going to mosey to the gift shop. You need anything?’
Deakon shook his head, without looking away from Karri and his mom left them alone in the room.
“I’m so glad you’re doing better,” Karri said, smiling.
He nodded, too afraid to speak.
“I’m sorry about what happened. But to let you know, I reported the fight to the campus police.” Karri lowered her head, gliding her fingers across the metal bed railing. “They can’t do anything because it was my word against Matt and his stupid friends.”
“Do-do you know them?” There it was, the stutter.
Idiot!
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Kinda. Me and Matt use to go out in high school.”
Deakon squinted.
“We broke up, though.” She turned her head sideways and twirled her hair around her fingers. “He accepted a scholarship to UNLV and that was the end of our relationship. But then he changed his mind and came to ASU to be with me.”
Deakon glanced away from her to the window. The blinds had been raised and the sun settled behind South Mountain.
He returned his gaze towards her. She was so pretty.
“I’m sorry but did I say something wrong?” she asked. A worried look crossed her face.
Why is she being so nice to me?
“No no, it’s not that. I was just wondering why?” he asked.
“It’s not you. Please believe me. In his sick, twisted mind Matt thought I’d get back with him if he showed me how tough he was.”
Deakon leaned his head towards her. The sun bounced off her deep autumn hair, creating natural highlights. One ray of sunlight hit her eyes so perfectly that he saw the natural black flecks in them.
“So this happened to me,” he pointed to his face with both hands, “because of you?”
“Yeah-I mean no! Not directly.” She cut her eyes from his and twirled her hair fiercely. “After you took my side and when he saw us talking after class, he thought that something was going on.”
Now he knew why she was being so nice. She felt guilty.
The nurse entered, walked to his med pump, and looked at the numerical display. “You haven’t been taking your medication, young man.” She grabbed the controller and hit the release button.
Deakon reached out his hand for the pump and the nurse placed it in his hand and left the room.
He turned to Karri. “Thanks for visiting. You should
leave now.”
She looked at her feet as she exhaled. “I hope you enjoy the cake I baked the other day for your birthday.” She tilted her head towards the cake sitting on the counter.
"Just leave, please," he said pointing his finger to the door.
"I'll come back tomorrow," Karri said and backed out of the room.
As soon as he heard the click clack of her heels fade, a new pain in his stomach developed. It reminded him of the time he got food poisoning from eating butterfish. It felt like someone reached in his gut and squeezed his intestines. Since he had the medicinal pump in his hand, he pressed it- twice. His head fell to one side as the miracle drug coursed through his veins. He didn’t need pity from anyone, especially Karri McDill.
His mom entered the room moments after Karri left. Maybe she had been standing outside eavesdropping? Didn’t matter. He’d barely said anything, and what little he did say, didn’t amount to anything.
“I found a new book in the gift shop,” his mom said, almost hopping like a bunny rabbit.
“Mom, can you leave me alone for a while?”
“Well, I guess I could grab a bite to eat at the cafeteria.”
“No! I mean the rest of the day,” he snapped. He realized he’d said it too harsh when he saw her flinch. He no longer cared who he hurt. He needed to be alone. He needed to figure out why he had even been born. And he needed to find out why his stomach hurt so badly.
After she left, Deakon lay in his miserable hospital bed feeling worse than miserable. Where was the joy in life? Why had he spent his sixteenth birthday in a near coma after being beaten half to death? The whiz-kid genius had no answers to the questions that ate at him. He lived most of his life full of pent-up frustration, loneliness and contempt. He balled up his fists and let out a deafening scream. The scream turned into another and then another. Soon two nurses entered his room.
He didn't know if it was the double dose of pain medication that had him hallucinating, but he felt like he was having an out of body experience. The tugging and pulling was an ethereal experience. All he knew was that the pain in his stomach increased with every touch, push, and tug.
Deakon stirred to consciousness sometime the next morning. He was sluggish and couldn’t grasp what had happened. He tried to sit up but was paralyzed. Something held him down. He glanced over to the recliner, but his mom wasn’t in it. He tried to sit up again.
Then he panicked.
He thrashed as hard as his little body could to break the hold. The more he tried the harder it got. Deakon was alone, bound and terrified.
"Help me!” he screamed. Somebody please help me!"
When the nurse arrived, needle in hand, she gave Deakon a higher dose of the sedative.
Deakon dreamed that he was tall as Shaquille O'Neal, had average intellect, and struggled with Algebra. He had friends, talked to girls, and hung out at the mall on Saturdays. In his dream he went to movies and talked to school buddies about sports. He was a normal kid. It was the sweetest dream he'd ever had.
CHAPTER 6
Karri McDill walked out of Mercy General Hospital and made her way to the parking deck. The fourth level was quiet, except for the clacking of her heels. She shuddered, thinking of the image of Deakon beaten, bruised, and broken. All because of her. She walked faster trying to fend off the guilt that clutched her heart. She knew Matt had tried to impress her, but it was senseless that he and his friends had trampled on a kid twice as small.
Karri loathed ignorant jocks like him. They brought nothing to the table other than big-headed boasting. Guys like Matt expected their groupies to talk about what they wanted to talk about, laugh at what they wanted to laugh at, and do what they wanted to do. She’d had enough! In fact, she broke it off with him. She told Matt that she’d go to UNLV with him, knowing all along that she wasn’t going to miss out on attending ASU-the number one party school in the country. At the last minute she said her parents couldn’t afford the out-of-state tuition. But then he switched to ASU to be with her. And Deakon suffered.
The first day she’d visited him in the hospital, she met his mom and fell in love with her. The connection was immediate. Mrs. Metcalf stepped backed and gave her a once over. It wasn’t the look of hatred that she’d gotten from girls in school, but rather an admiring look.
Mrs. Metcalf told her about his life threatening injuries, and asked if she knew what happened. Karri dropped her eyes and started twisting her hair. After a few moments of awkward silence, she told to her, purposely leaving out the part that it had been her fault. As the words left her mouth and the vision of the beating relived, Karri’s eyes pooled with tears. Mrs. Metcalf pulled her close and hugged her. She had such a warm spirit and Karri wished her mother was like that.
Her mother’s whole being centered around looks. Every single day she pounded it into Karri’s head to watch her weight. If she had a dime for every time she heard, a moment on the lips means forever on the hips, she’d be rich. One time, she had the audacity to tell her that she wouldn’t land a rich husband with a muffin-top. And Karri didn’t’ even have a muffin top. She weighed a buck nineteen soaking wet. But Wanda, as she insisted Karri call her, radiated unconditional love. Karri felt special just being near her.
When she reached the car, she slumped in the seat unable to get rid of the feeling of blame. She turned the key in the ignition and wondered why she carried Catholic guilt when she wasn’t even Catholic. She drove home thinking about Deakon. It nagged at her that she had been kicked out of his room. She couldn’t blame him, though. She checked her face in the rearview mirror to make sure she looked the same.
****
On the way home from the hospital, a motorist honked at Wanda Metcalf when she stopped at a green light. Her mind was twisted in a knot about her son’s pain and she didn’t know what to do. She clutched the steering wheel tightly in the ten and two o’clock positions just like she was taught years ago. Wanda had always followed the rules and thought it was unfair that her only child suffered. She wished she had someone to talk to, but to her knowledge, there wasn’t a support group for mothers of bullied kids.
When she arrived home, she headed straight for the kitchen and plopped down in the chair. She immediately began peeling the cuticles off her fingernails, worrying about Deakon. Something was different this time, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She had no idea how he dealt with the constant bullying and fights. Hiring Marc for his protection had been a great relief. But when she saw the pain on his face as he lay in the hospital bed, she wished Marc had been on the payroll when the brutal beating happened. She had a strong urge to protect him and even though he was adopted, she had the natural motherly instinct for him.
She and her husband adopted Deakon from an agency in Passau, Germany, a small town about ninety miles west of Munich. Wanda had never seen such a beautiful place. The colorful buildings on the river’s edge reminded her of a Caribbean island. They were painted in bright yellows, greens, and varying shades of orange. It had been a wonderful contrast. Three rivers merged in the heart of the small town. Water was everywhere she turned. But the rolling hills of trees and foliage more inland looked like some east coast cities she’d visited in the US. The streets were narrower than what she'd been used to in Phoenix. There had been one oddity about the old town, though. She learned that the main attraction in Passau had been St. Stephen's Cathedral, a large church built during the sixteenth century. They didn’t have time to do touristy things but when they heard the awful music piped from the church’s organ, they were glad they hadn’t gone. In a beautiful town surrounded by three rivers she thought the music would have been a bit more upbeat.
The adoption agency treated the newborns especially well because baby Deakon was kept at a home instead of in an antiseptic orphanage. He was eleven days old when they picked him up. It was odd that the they found them. She had been so excited about getting a call about a newborn that she never bothered to ask how they were selected.
Wanda stopped peeling her cuticles and looked up when the doorbell rang. She pulled herself up from the chair and huffed through the kitchen to the living room. She glanced out the front window to see if it was another pest control company. They were always in the neighborhood trying to make a sale. One hot summer day a couple years back, a salesperson had the nerve to drop a dead scorpion on the floor, hoping to scare her into a deal. After that, she stopped answering the door for the lot of them.
Confident that it wasn’t Orkin or Terminix, she looked through the peephole. It was their neighbor, Zelda. In all the years that they had been living next to each other, she never once came over. Not to borrow sugar or anything. She’d seen her talking to Deakon a few times, but that was it. Wanda had too much on her mind to talk with her now, of all times. Besides, Zelda gave her the heebie jeebies. She stayed in the big house alone. To her knowledge, Zelda never had any visitors. And more than a few times, Wanda caught her spying on them. She took one more look through the peephole and saw that she held something in her hand. Reluctantly, she opened the door.
"Hello,” Wanda said.
"Mailman leave this at wrong house," Zelda said in broken English. She extended her hand, offering the package to Wanda.
"Thank you." Wanda reached for it. "Would you like to come in?" she asked.
Instead of answering, Zelda shoved the package in her hand and walked away.
Wanda stood there, rolling her eyes at the rude lady. Out of frustration, she slammed the door and walked back to the kitchen, carrying the package with her. She slid in the same seat and inspected it. It was addressed to Deakon. That boy was always receiving packages, mostly from UPS or Fedex. Not once had they left it at the wrong address. She set it down on the table and tried to forgot about it. She had other, more serious, things on her mind. Wanda needed to help her son.
