Chapter 8
I was screaming and that woke me up. Woke up everyone on the entire floor. I felt better, more alert. Dad wasn’t there to greet me or Uncle Townsley, just the nurses and they weren’t happy I was making so much noise.
“Mister De Rosier, please quiet down,” warned the hatchet-faced blonde. I took an instant dislike to her. The other one was a pretty Hispanic lady with curly black hair and doe soft brown eyes.
“Whas the matter, honey?” She asked as I swallowed spit.
“Nightmares. Where’s my Dad?” The lights were dimmed still, and the shades drawn. I could see bright lights in the hallway and hear the sound of monitors going off.
“What kind of nightmares?” She asked.
“Could you please open the blinds?”
Hatchet-face whipped them back and I saw soft night skies with stars and clouds drifting, a huge moon that coated the towers in silver. Helicopters buzzed across from Quantico and I could almost hear the sound of Washington’s incessant traffic.
“Now what can a brave boy like you be afraid of, Chico?” She said softly, taking my wrist in her slender fingers. They were warm, and a pretty olive color like hot cocoa.
“I’m afraid of dying,” I said in a low voice. “Dying with my mind in tatters, drooling in diapers and not knowing my name or my Dad’s face, in the dark where I can’t see.”
The hatchet blonde touched my shoulder and I saw her blue eyes soften. “Hey, kiddo, you want to eat something? I can get you some dinner and help you with it.”
“What’s on the menu? I’m hungry.” I was, too. First time in days. “Where’s my Dad?”
“Senator De Rosier took your uncle back to the nursing home. He said to tell you when you woke, he was going there, home to shower, shave and rest. He’ll be back in a few hours,” she told me. “What would you like to eat?”
I put my hands to my head and found it covered with one of those caps surgeons wore and felt hair under the brim and over my ears. They hadn’t shaved me completely, more like a monk’s goofy haircut. She misinterpreted it. “The drain came out yesterday.”
“I don’t remember,” I said in dismay. “I don’t remember much of this last week. I remember the Space Museum and Dad being here. Uncle Townsley came. Did someone bring me a cat?”
She patted my hand which was black and blue with needle marks. I had an IV in one near my wrist. It burned.
“You can have roast beef, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, meat loaf, stewed tomatoes, salad, macaroni and cheese, chicken divan, butternut squash. Apple pie, strawberry shortcake, angel food cake, pudding, Jell-O, flan. Coffee, tea, milk, V-8, tomato or apple juice. Pepsi, ginger ale, root beer or orange.”
I picked roast beef, taters, corn, mac & cheese, angel food cake with whipped cream, Pepsi and ice pops for my throat. She promised to bring the pops right away and the meal in 30 to 40 minutes. I begged to get up and both of them helped me sit upright, holding me until my head stopped whirling around. The lines on me were a pain, and kept getting in the way. I especially hated the one between my legs. “What’s this one for?”
“Don’t pull on that,” Rosalita warned. “That’s so you can pee-pee.”
I turned red, and lifted the gown to see a bag tied to the bed and filled with pee. “No wonder I never had to go. Can you take it out?”
“Not till the doctor says so,” she shook her head. I dropped the gown and stood up. The blonde steered me over to the chair as I concentrated on keeping my butt covered and my feet moving. Reaching the chair was a milestone and Rosalita threw a pillow and a rubber pad down before my ass hit. The blonde’s name was Emerald, Emerald Caron and Rosalita Menendez. She brought me a warm blanket and threw it on my legs, a pillow behind my back, water cup pitcher full, my tissues and a basket from Dad stuffed with Dove Bars, Lindor Truffles and Ghirardelli’s chocolates. I offered some to the two nurses and the blonde took Dove dark while Rosalita sucked down Lindor white truffles. I ate one of each. I believe my eyes crossed as the chocolate melted in my mouth.
“Is my backpack anywhere close?” I asked and Rosalita went through my closet to pull it out.
“Madre mia, it weighs a ton! What you got in here, bricks?”
“Schoolbooks. My homework. I thought I’d catch up.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “School work is on hold for you for a while. Doctor Soong doesn’t want you to stress your eyes.”
“Not read? I’ll go nuts,” I protested and hugged my NOOK. No way was I going to give that up.
“He said no more than thirty minutes reading. You can watch TV for an hour. Your eyes are undergoing some changes, Danny because of your brain. Straining them only make it worse.”
“Worse?” I cried. “What’s worse than maybe losing my sight and my mind? I’d rather be dead!”
“Danny, you are a tough kid with lots of friends and support. You have the best neurosurgeon in America on your case. As long as you fight, you hang in there. Don’t give up, life is too precious to just hang up the towel.”
I felt ashamed of myself, swallowed and ate another chocolate. I poked my NOOK, turned it on and scrolled through my library, found Laura Hildebrandt’s novel of Unbroken. Turned to page 88 where I’d left off. If he could go through what he’d suffered, my problems seemed puny in comparison.
Dinner came. I managed to clean my plate, which made the nurses happy. The two new ones came and picked out some chocolate and fruit, offered to give me a sponge bath, which I politely declined. They changed my sheets, and left me a clean gown threatening me not to get up on my own and told me to call when I was ready for bed.
I turned the TV on and scrolled through the channels, HBO, Cinemax and Showtime were on along with the movie channels. I knew had Dad paid for them, so I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind. Maybe I even had a phone.
I looked. On the bedside stand was a land line. I wondered if my cell phone was still in my book bag and charged up.
Dad said I wasn’t ready for an iPhone; he’d given me a Droid. I texted Felice, the line in my left hand pinching as I smashed the buttons. She texted back in minutes.
Miracle boy! How R U feeling?
Im still here , eating dinner.
Watching TV. Reading.
Miss you. Head feels weird.
I’m nearly bald! Shaved my head.
Don’t know when I’ll B home.
Saw my uncle T got a cat.
Downtown.
Cat? I thought you were allergic 2 pets?
Lisi.
Some agent brought it from a crime scene.
It’s a fugitive cat.
Name Harry Turtledove.
Downtown.
Cool name, dude.
U think that up?
No it’s his name.
When U coming 2 C me?
I missU.
Not now. 10 PM Downtown.
I heard UR school is sending
U a big card.
whole place signed it.
Wish U were here. I’m scared.
Oh, baby. Wish I could make it all go away.
ILU. What can I bringU?
Will come by tomorrow.
UR Dad offered to PMU.
I yawned.
WhereU at?
Home with MND. Dusty here2.
Give him a pat 4 me.
I closed my eyes and looked up at Felice from Dusty’s golden eyes. She was laying at the foot of her bed in the White House family quarters, texting on her pink iPhone. She had her legs in the air, crossed at the ankles and wore fuzzy pink, blue and white lounge pants with a T-shirt top over a purple sports bra. She was biting her bottom lip, a habit she had when she was nervous.
“Are you tired, Danny?” She asked as she typed. “Danny? Oh, Danny boy, please don’t have cancer.” She murmured, texting again furiously. I couldn’t see from Dusty’s viewpoint, but I heard her Dad yell for the dog.
“Dusty! Time for our walk! Dusty, come!”
The Golden chuffed and stood up, poking her nose in Felice’s face, and gave her a warm lick. She tasted like cinnamon and soap.
Dusty, stay, I thought in her mind and she hesitated, torn between her master and my control. I kissed Felice and she rubbed our head, pushing us towards the door.
“Go on, Dusty. Dad wants to take you potty before bed.”
I stepped back and let the dog take over and found myself a passenger at the end of a leash as I padded through the White House corridors to the South lawn where President Rickover, Dusty and I spent fifteen minutes looking for the right spot.
He at least, cleaned up her doggie do in a plastic bag and deposited it in a trash bin off the kitchen. The odor lingered and I felt sorry for the poor chef who’d greet the garbage in the morning.
Once inside an animal, I always knew the ‘I’ of my own self, never merged completely with the mind of my host, but there were definite degrees of encroachment. I learned how to back off enough to see and hear what was going on without being too close to it.
President Rickover went to the study with Dusty. She sneaked up on the couch, and he didn’t chase her off, but sat next to her, petting her noble golden head.
“Hey, Dusty,” he murmured. “Felice’s birthday is coming up. What can I get a fourteen-year-old girl that would impress her? Ski trip to Aspen? Jewelry? Clothes, car? She’s still too young for a car and a trip to Disneyland is too kiddie for her. Summer camp, maybe Space Camp?”
Wow. Space Camp would be cool. Dusty fell asleep and with that, I was back in my own head.