Frisbee Page 53

FORTY-FIVE

  On Friday, the fourth, after the fireworks show, we had been heading inside when we had seen the ambulance stop at the Miller’s house up the street from us. Donald had been taken away after suffering a seizure and almost dying. He had most likely been lying in this very bed, after having been stabilized by the paramedics and looked over by doctors, ever since.

  After gaining my breath back, I stared at him for a long time, the old lady in the blue smock forgotten. The breathing sound that I had heard upon entering the room came not from a slumbering dragon but from a machine sitting on a wheeled cart on the far side of the bed. A black, rubber plunger rose and fell and pushed oxygen through a tube shoved up and through Donald’s nose. Just looking at it made my eyes water. A similarly small tube ran from an I.V. bag into his wrist. Wires attached to circular disks and placed at different points of his body led back to the beeping monitor.

  When Jason and I had peeked into his bedroom window a week before we could see his eyes rolling in his skull and limbs twitch under his bed sheets. Now, he laid motionless, mouth slack. He looked pathetic days before. Here, he looked like nothing more than a warm corpse.

  “Hey, Donald. Man, you don’t look so good,” I told him. I have no idea why I said it or if he could even hear me. I figured he probably couldn’t. And though it was pure coincidence that I had ended up in his room, I almost felt compelled to talk to him.

  How long had it been since he’d heard another child’s voice? How long had it been since he’d heard anyone’s voice for that matter? Did his parents talk to him at home while they changed his sheets or came in to make sure he was still breathing? Had they given up and accepted the inevitable?

  These questions ran through my head as I envisioned what a sad and horrific life this little boy had lived, this boy who was no older than I was, this boy who was already at the end of his.

  It sent chills up my arms.

  What went on in his brain as he lay there? Did he know what was happening to him? Was he dreaming? And if he was, was it of a better life? Were they happy dreams or sad dreams?

  Where they dark dreams?

  What if he were being tormented in his coma by dark, screaming figures, wearing away his mind the same way Canavan disease had worn away his physical brain?

  That was no way to go out. Surely he deserved better than that. It wasn’t his fault that he was born the way he was. It was nobody’s fault, although some people might place blame at God’s feet while others would argue that He gave us a will of our own and does not intervene in our lives, only guides us if asked.

  I reached through the railing and placed my hand on top of his, careful not to jar the I.V. line. Even though we were the same age my hand dwarfed his. Having been bed ridden for the last two years, his muscles had atrophied immensely and become almost non existent.

  I thought of the time, back in kindergarten, when I had pushed him on the swings and it brought a small smile to my lips, a little hope to my heart. Hope that wherever he went to next, it would be better than here.

  Pu me. Pu me high.

  “Once upon a time there was this beautiful dog,” I began, not knowing where these words were coming from, only knowing that a story needed to be told. All children loved stories and I wondered how long it had been since someone had told him one. “All the children in the neighborhood loved this dog. He wasn’t a big dog and he wasn’t a mean dog. He was the kind of dog that every boy in the world would want.

  “The dog liked to fetch sticks and bring them back to whoever had thrown them for him. He wore a scarf around his neck instead of a collar because no one owned him. But he was everyone’s friend and all the kids got to play with him. They would all take turns throwing a stick deep into the thick green grass of a field, and watch as the dog hopped away after it. There was an old dry well at one end of the field and the kids were careful to throw the sticks in the other direction, so no one would fall in.

  “One day, while the children and the dog were playing fetch, a big, green ogre came up to them and said, ‘This is my field, now. You kids get lost and don’t come back. And take your mutt with you.’

  “And the children said, ‘But we’ve always played here. What makes you think you can take our field from us?’

  “The ogre told them, ‘Because I’m bigger than you. And I’m stronger than you. And I keep my gold at the bottom of the well and if anyone tries to take it, I’ll eat them up, yum.’

  “The children were scared of the ogre. They didn’t want to get eaten, but the dog looked back at the ogre because he wasn’t scared. The kids ran off, calling his name, so he followed them.

  “The next day the children decided to go back to the field. They weren’t going to let the ogre bully them. Besides it was their field, they had found it first.

  “When they got there they saw the ogre sleeping next to the well and so they began to play catch with the dog. Things went okay for a while but they began to make too much noise and the ogre woke up.

  “’I thought I told you kids that this was my field?’ the ogre said.

  “One of the kids shouted, ‘You can’t make us leave. We were here first.’

  “’You asked for it,’ yelled the ogre. And it scooped up the children and put them down in the well. ‘Now you can stay there until I’m hungry. Then I’ll eat you up, yum.’

  “But the dog had gotten away. He was sad because the ogre had taken the children but he knew what to do.

  “That night he went back down to the field and saw the ogre sleeping by the well once again. The children were crying inside, yelling for help. So the dog took off his scarf and put it between his teeth. Then he lowered it down so the children could grab onto it. One by one he pulled them out, each child’s pocket full of the ogre’s gold.

  “Once they were safe and out of the well, it was time to take care of the ogre. So one of the kids took the dog’s scarf and tied it around the ogre’s eyes. Then he took the dog’s stick and hit the ogre on top of the head to wake it up.

  “’Who’s playing in my field?’ the ogre yelled.

  “And the kids shouted back, ‘It’s us, the children. And this is our field and we have your gold.’

  “This made the ogre very angry. It stood up and said, ‘Where are you? It’s too dark. Come out where I can see you. Come out so I can eat you up, yum.’

  “’We’re over here,’ said the children and the dog began to bark to get the ogre’s attention.

  “When the ogre headed toward the sound of the children and the dog, it stumbled and fell into the well.

  “All the children laughed and hugged the dog and thanked him for saving them.

  “’Now we can play in our field again and that mean old ogre won’t bother us,’ one of the kids said.

  “The children took the gold home to their moms and dads and made them all very rich. They even bought a new scarf for their beautiful dog.

  “As for the ogre; after a while it started to get very hungry. It didn’t have any food down in the well so it had to start eating itself.

  “First, it ate its feet up, yum. Then it ate its legs up, yum. Then it ate its hands and arms up, yum. Until there was nothing left.

  “The end.”

  I paused a moment, done speaking, wondering were that story had come from. Had I been told it before or had I just made it up? It had come out so smoothly, as if it had always been in my head and just needed to be spit out.

  But why Donald?

  Because I was here and he was here.

  Taking my hand away from his, I said, “Donald? I hope I get to see you again someday. I know we didn’t really get to become friends, but I’ll pray for you tonight. And for your mom and dad.”

  A thought occurred to me then; what if his mom and dad were here, at the hospital? I had seen television shows were little kids got hurt or sick and their parents always sat in a chair by their hospital beds until they got better. What if his parents came in to find me standing over their son? They�
��d flip out is what would happen. And since his mother had called our mother the day we peeked into his bedroom, I couldn’t afford to be caught by her again.

  “Bye, Donald,” I said and walked through the darkened room to the door. I poked my head out and looked up and down the hall. The coast was clear.