He rolled up the driveway, and parked his bike in the back yard between a bogged, splitting picnic table, and a bowing overgrown bush. There was a drizzle barely more than a mist in the town, and the sounds of activity that echoed through the roads and over fences were unusually energized and playful. He wanted to stay outside. Dinnertime came too quickly today, and it was killing him. His head was still buzzing like a taughtly blown ballon radiating static. The pressure behind his eyes massaged at his cheekbones like a mother's healing kiss. An electricity of passion and victory tornadoed within the boy's lungs, and he could feel it carry into his bloodstream, warming every muscle and tissue, hitting the spot. It was his prize this evening for dreaming about being bad-touched by a group of slender men.
He floated into the house through the kitchen door, expecting to find a steaming meal to top him off, and possibly distract his mind from the children with later curfews, but instead there was a desperate crowd, and a sudden hush.
There was Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and cousins with step-moms, and strange second uncles with kids who had kids who brought cousins to hug them, all gathered around Grandpa. The kitchen overflowed, pouring into the dim family room where golf putted on the television, green and nauseous. No food was prepared.
All eyes were on Billy, anticipating with a bloodshot gloss. He wondered if he was higher than he thought he was, and if his eyes were as red as theirs, or redder, and if they would notice. Probably, he answered himself, very much. He could feel it in his veins. Pair upon pair of spotlights centered and focused, and silenced. Some mouths were frozen in half words as if when he stepped through the door a thieving gust burst past, and blew all the voices away. Or was it their breath that was taken? The clamor's brief life lingered in his imagination, whispering behind his ears, with repetitious indiscernible chatter. He was tripping hard.
"Billy", his mother cracked,"you should sit down."
"I'm hungry", he retorted stressfully, and immediately wished he'd come up with something cooler to say in the limelight.
"We need to talk, son", instructed his father softly. He shared a nod with Mom, then Aunt Gliddy nodded too, with a floral handkerchief patting her mascara. The aunt nearest to her copied, and then all of the little girls. Nods and sobs spread through the concerned family like a wave of yawns.
"Grandpa's sick!", wailed Billy's most annoying sister, Bridget, as she was swept into the moment.
"I'm hungry too", Grandpa added, unacknowledged.
Billy was freaking out.
"It's true", admitted Mom, to confirm her daughter's revelation. She moved herself even closer behind grandpa, who was seated lone at the kitchen table, save for Billy now squirming in the bar-backed chair across from the slouched, spotted elder. Mother's hands rested on the melting man's shoulders, squeezing and rubbing with mechanical comfort as she explained. "Grandpappy went to the doctor this afternoon. His organs are beginning to shut down. He could die, honey. Do you understand what that means?"
The audience, on their toes, stood anxiously by for his response. On the logical side, he thought it was a stupid thing to ask, and cautiously, he suspected it might be a trick question, but habitually, he hoped it could be an opportunity to shine. He reached inside of himself for every ounce of emotion left to scrape from his stash, sat up strait, puffed his chest, and lifted his chin to look his mom square in the forehead, and boldly declared,"Yes", like the brave little soldier he was. A pleasure surged through his body.
"But, you can save him", hinted the young man's father. Mother scurried the circumference of the table to kneel at the side of her son, and continued from some invisible, unrehearsed script.
"Would you like to do that, darling? Would you like to save your grandfather?", she asked encouragingly, sucking teardrops through a faithful smile. There was only a short pause for effect, and the boy was washed with relief as his mother resumed with the proposal, not putting him on the spot again just yet. Everyone else listened and waited in worried suspense as they watched the events play through.
Grandpa stared into space.
"You see, dear.." She took his hands into hers. "The doctors are sure that Pappy's kidneys are going to go first. He's already lost one. When he loses the other, they won't be able to help him anymore. Who knows how much time his other organs have left? Nobody. And we'll never find out if we just let him die..
"That's where you come in, honey. Our little hero."
"Our big man", Dad corrected.
"Yes", agreed Mom, so indulged in the sentiment that she snorted and slurped, and braced herself from trembling knees and nearly fainting. "Our big man", she repeated wetly.
Grandpa let out a long puppy like whine. "Ohhhhh, my kidney!"
Billy's pulse drummed at his throat, and a cold sweat dripped from his hair as the whines extended from the ninety-eight year old man into a procession of awes and ohs. The little hero, wise beyond his years, collected what he could for his big scene. Although, aside from himself, he had no clue as to what it was about. He was a star, and visitors came from near and far to be dazzled. He would make the magic happen.
"You hang in there, Dad", said Dad. "It's going to be ok."
The tightly packed relatives shushed one another's outbursts, until full attention was returned to mother and son, who held their positions professionally. Directed by father, Mom resumed the coercion.
"You know how hard things have been for everyone, dear. Like, when Grandpa lost Grandnan at the fair. And that explosion at the quarry that triggered Tourette's in all three of your brothers. Bridget's going off to collage, and Uncle Will is going back to high school. Your Aunt Gliddy has that thing on her leg. And then there's me, with my bunions.. And it hasn't stopped raining since your father lost his job.
"..But maybe you can change all that, and make some good things happen again. Maybe then, it could stop raining. Maybe we could even have snow this Christmas.
"That's all we want, Billy. One last Christmas with Grandpa.
"..And if any of us could give him that, we would, in a heartbeat, but we can't. It has to be you, baby. You're the only match.
"..And if you want to ..you can give Grandpa one of your kidneys."
"What??", Billy exhaled hazily. His instincts told him to run away from the insane woman, but his tiny legs lacked the proper nourishment, so he was snatched into her bosom, where she rocked her baby chanting,"It's the only way."
"It's God's will", informed Aunt Gliddy, admiring the ceiling fan.
The old man at the table was asleep.
Mother gently released Billy to an arms length, without letting go. She looked to her husband for a supportive lead into the remainder of the details, who then said,"This is a decision you'll have to make on your own, son", perfectly.
"Yes, Billy", Mom resumed,"but there are some things you need to know." She frightfully bit a quivering lip, and confessed. "Well.. they'll need to cut you open, all the way inside. And then, they'll have to reach in there very carefully, without hitting anything vital, or you could bleed. But then they sew you all up good as new.. And you'll be asleep through the whole surgery, you won't feel a thing."
"Unless you wake up while they're slicing you", Bridget mused, to refresh her dwindling interest on the subject. The sound of her ridiculously faked lisp startled Grandpa awake. He panicked for the next five minutes without remembering why.
"You miiight wake up", the mother unexpectedly was forced to admit. "But you won't, honey. It will all be fine. You won't wake up during surgery, or die on the table, or slip into a permanent coma from the anesthesia, or anything of the sort. I promise." She crossed her heart, and batted her lashes vulnerably. "I love you, son. We all do."
"No matter how many years this shaves from you're life, you'll always be my brother", teased Bridget. Her mother regretted ever letting the girl have friends. Her father had unique second thoughts of his own, but when he scolded,"Goddamn it, Bridget, go to your room!!", it relaxed him.
Mom was easily flustered and struggled to move the evening along. She suggested that the family pray together in the next room, to allow their hero some privacy in the kitchen to grasp the seriousness of this grown up decision. "When he decides", she offered,"we'll all have dinner."
One room cleared as the spectators sized themselves into every nook and cranny of the next, forming a new overflow up a creaky set of stairs. Grandpa called after them, unanswered, and all but Billy vanished from his near sight.
"Who are you?", snapped the rusty patriarch to his remaining company.
A bare horizontal lightbulb hummed above the sink where a block of bacon was thawing. Colliding into the bulb infinitely, flew a fat manic moth that ticked and pinged with each reckless crash. It haunted the boy with premonitions of the inconsiderate bug knocking itself unconscious, and dropping with it's powdery wings to contaminate his pork.
Onlookers sardined sideways to fill the width of the entrance to the family room. Behind them, Billy could see the slow unsettling flicker of a screen hidden from his view, and hear the dull tired applause, and disinteresting commentary from out on the green. It reminded him of a fever he once had after spraining his ankle. The seconds thickened and trapped him like never ending pits of impatient tar, that parted only by the sharp strikes of shifting weight on the creaky stairwell.
Who was he? He didn't know. Just another messed up kid, trying to make his way in this wild and crazy world.
"I'm Billy."
Grandpa leaned his elbows onto the table and examined the kid with a suspicious squint. "I've got a grandson named Billy. He's about your age. Fancies himself an artist. I have no use for drawings."
"It's me, Grandpa. I'm your grandson Billy." He rose from his seat, and spun lightheaded with determination. "And I'm going to save your life", announced the super boy, projecting his voice toward the people in need.
Cheers and applause carried into the kitchen, hoisting the savior, who was standing on air, and drowning the old man's confusion. Mother sped to prepare the bacon, being aware of how dangerously low Grandpa's blood sugar could become when a meal is postponed. Billy's stomach resounded with accomplishment.
"Then it's settled", confirmed Dad, showing the pride of a thousand lions. "We'll go first thing tomorrow."
Later that night, Billy laid swaddled in a blanket of layered emotion. He envisioned dragons, and white horses that he rode with an armor into the sunset. Day giving way to his valiance, as he laughed in the face of danger. There were opposing visions of danger laughing back, stealing him honorably away to Little Boy Heaven, where there would be dragons as well. His body tingled all over. His nostrils flared and stuffed as he sighed, and cut himself loose into the deepening hole of his mattress. Somehow, at the same time, he felt he was shooting upward. Stars flashed before his eyes, revealing an angel who praised the courageous knight while he sniffled off to sleep.
Bridget kept herself awake, scouting at the window for any tiny speckle of dawn. The instant it appeared, she sprang to alert the house. She sang through the hallway, and knocked rhythms at Billy's bedroom door. When the song was finished, she let herself in to kick her brother limply onto the floor. He flopped unresponsive as he was shaken and slapped, and every attempt to rouse him was explored. "Get up, you piece of crap", she demanded with a firm tug at his waistband. "You're dead", she concluded. "Good!"
The little boy listened as his sister skipped away, tattling all through the hall. When the coast was clear, he gingerly fished the underwear free from his butt. It hurt so badly, he feared it would bruise. It took every fiber of his being to conjure the willpower necessary to restrain from expressing his misfortune. He returned to playing possum. A good night's sleep brought a sober perspective, and awareness of mortality. He wanted to save himself. He didn't have a better plan.
A stomping drew nearer, quaking the floorboards where Billy lay slack-jawed. Then, a shadow blackened the yellow glow inside of his eyelids, and he felt the presence of a giant towering over his corpse. Dad bellowed in a baritone never known before. "Enough of this nonsense, young man. You are going to the hospital."
It terrified the young man who yearned to be a baby, but he refused to budge from his bluff so soon.
"I'm counting to three, Billy", threatened Dad, firing his artillery without mercy. "One!"
"Oh no!!", thought Billy.
"Two!"
"It's not fair!", screamed his conscience.
"Three!"
Billy reanimated with an attitude. "You can't make me go!", the once hero argued, flailing into a tantrum.
"I can, and I will. It's my job as your father to make sure that you own up to your word, and teach you to be a good man. Now you have a job to do, son. A man fulfills his commitments." He lightened to a more sensitive tone, and squatted to his son's level. "I know you're scared, we all are, but you can do this, slugger, I know you can. Grandpa is counting on you."
Ten minutes later, the hero was strapped inside of the car, gnawing at his seatbelt like an animal. It was the last he could recall when he found himself bandaged, and leashed with wires, in recovery.
The world was a foggy mass of beeps, that looked and sounded funny. Figures drifted and returned in trails of color. One of the figures seemed not to know if it was audible. It grew irritating, and no one else would answer, so Billy appeased it with,"I can hear you!! Ok, Mom?!"
"He's coming around, everybody!", Squealed the relieved woman. She gestured to the other figures with rainbows from her sleeve. Familiar shapes materialized, ringing about the hospital bed, chiming abrasively. Fingers gripped at the steel safety rails, and pricked at his limbs for reflexes.
"We're all here, Billy", cooed Mom, and it was true. The familiar shapes of aunts and uncles, and cousins and kids, took form, bumbling and shuffling, defying the capacity of the recovery wing. Billy rolled ever so slightly to gain a better view, still fuzzy as to what was going on. A stabbing through the stitches below his ribs sent him dramatically rolling right back. He winced, and turned pale, and his fans rooted him on.
His mother stroked the air above his bandages as if her intentions honed some medicinal property. "Go easy on your kidney, baby. It's been through a lot today."
"It's gone?", asked the weak boy, missing it already, and sick at the idea. "No, dear", answered Mom,"It's right here, where it belongs." She added emphasis to the area where she stroked.
"But what about Grandpa? He needs it!", the hero protested, baffled as to what purpose his stitches were served.
Mother's motions froze. Aunt Gliddy collapsed, and nurses swarmed to her aid. The dozens of others present were torn between the two diversions.
"I don't know how to say this, honey", said Mom, just as she practiced the entire afternoon. "..Pappy woke up under the knife, and.." She crumbled, and reassembled to continue on. "The pain was so excruciating that.." She held her heart, and fanned at her mouth. "He attacked the surgeons, and.." She panted, and twitched, and her voice was high pitched. "He started bleeding out, and.." She cringed, and swayed, and yanked at her collar. "..They had to give him more and more anesthesia to make him calm. And.. And.." She choked on her own fluids, and crumbled with no repair.
Dad came forward to complete the story. "Grandpa's dead. I'm sorry, son. I know how important this was to you."
Everyone around Billy shattered and howled with hymns and mourning. Aunt Gliddy was wheeled away. Bridget was bored.
Billy's pupils dilated. The needle in his arm glittered, and mirrored the sparks of his soul. A euphoria stalked him, and he lured it in. It caught in his bowels, and swelled to his palate. It offered release, and he didn't resist. It took off the edge, and tantalized the senses. It eased at his mind, and curled every toe.
He cried. He cried for his grandfather. He cried for himself. He cried for his aunt's shocking episode. He cried for his sister, because she wasn't crying, and he cried for his mother who was. But most of all, he cried to get high.
He'd been through so much in such a short time, he could hardly conceive the events. He risked everything, and the universe rewarded him with safe passage. He followed his dreams, and never stopped believing. He was sliced, and ravaged, and left to recuperate. He was intrepid, and selfless, though young and so fragile. He was an example to be displayed.
He snuggled cozily in his gown, letting the sounds of his family lull him, as they competed for the love of Grandfather's ghost.
A grand golden sun shone in the sky, where clouds that stormed and drizzled were dried. The shining knight's job was well done, and he confided in his act of completion. There would be talk of this at the playground for many years to come. And in the end, he learned, that was all that really mattered.
Really enjoyed this!
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