NUMB, Judy Colella [i am malala young readers edition .TXT] 📗

disgusted and give up. Like I gave up. Sort of. What loss? Why should I get past - ? Oh, hell. That is why I checked in here. But the pain is, is, is, the pain IS. I can’t handle it, doc. So shoot me. Please? Then no one can say I did myself in.

“You’re going away on me again. Focus, please.”

I’m thinking a bad, four-letter word. Can you guess what it is?

“Focus!”

Jett slowly shook his head. This was the first indication he’d given in over a month that he could even hear what was being said to him, the first sign of communication. If the doctor was surprised, Jett was positively astounded – at himself. Why had he done that?

Something was beginning to crack.

No, no, no, no, no….

“Look – the casts are coming off your hands tomorrow, and will be replaced with compression bandages, I’m told. That means you’ll be able to do more things. I’d like to see you moving around. You’ve developed bed sores and have almost no muscle tone left, despite the massages and forced physical therapy. You’re worth more than that. Everyone is.” Now the doctor looked like he was about to cry.

Too much. No one should care that much about me. Stop it. Closing his eyes, Jett leaned his head back against the pillow and uttered a hoarse, painful yell. It meant nothing, but expressed everything. It was the best he could do.

The psychiatrist stood, put a hand on the tortured young man’s head. “You will get past this,” he whispered, and went out.

The following morning, he was brought into another room. They undid the straps across his chest and lifted one arm. Using a tiny, circular saw the man in the white lab coat and yellow goggles cut through the cast that went from Jett’s knuckles almost to his elbow. This was repeated with the other arm.

The second person in the room, a middle-aged woman in blue scrubs, brought a basin of warm, soapy water to the bed and washed Jett’s arms, drying them with scratchy white towels.

Wow. I have stick-figure arms. I look like an anemic snowman. Ha. Now what are they doing?

The man who had removed the casts repositioned the goggles onto the top of his head and took several items from a nearby drawer. He pulled a rolling stool to the side of the bed, sat, and began wrapping Jett’s arm and hand in an ACE bandage. When he was done, he asked his patient to try flexing his fingers.

Is this more therapy? There. Happy? It hurts, too, but that’s okay. Flex, flex, flex.

“Excellent! I’ve scheduled X-rays for this afternoon to make sure the bones have knit together properly. I’m sure you’ll eventually want to get that legendary strength of yours back some day, yes?”

Jett let his eyes glaze over and looked through the man’s forehead into a distance that had nothing in it. He didn’t notice that the other hand was being bandage, nor was he aware of being wheeled back to his room. When he did return to cognizance, he was shocked to see the straps were no longer holding him to the bed, that his hands and arms were nicely wrapped and free of plaster.

He tried to sit up further so he could get off the bed, but his body wouldn’t respond. As much as he didn’t want to admit to any memories about anything whatsoever, Jett recognized that something like this had never happened to him before. He was simply too weak to do more than turn his head and lift an arm less than one inch off the bed. No wonder they weren’t keeping him in restraints anymore!

How unfair. Well, Alice, when you had the key, you were too big to get through the door. Now that you’re small enough, you don’t have the goddam key. He closed his eyes, wanting to weep, but too far beyond caring to do anything of the kind. Hurting himself was no longer a distraction he could manage, but he could make noise. Yell. Something. So he did, his voice no longer normal but still audible enough to be a focal point that kept him from actual thought.

The door opened and he looked away. Didn’t want to see whoever was there. Heard something being rolled toward him. It stopped. Sounds of someone doing something to whatever was on whatever had been brought to his bed.

“You can stop that, now.”

The doctor. Who? He wanted to laugh at his idiotic joke but couldn’t quite remember how. But he did stop yelling and look down.

A laptop computer. On one of the mobile table thingies they served his food on. Why?

“This isn’t connected to the internet. All you can really do is play games on it, but I thought, since you seem so obsessed with distracting yourself from life, this would be a distraction that was a little less manic. Find a game – you’ve got Solitaire, Mine Sweeper, Mahjong, Free Cell, and a few others. Using the mouse will also help you regain a degree of dexterity, I’m told. Can you do this?”

At first, Jett wanted to turn away and start yelling again, but the logic of the doctor’s words broke through some minuscule fracture in his wall of resistance, and he considered the offer. A moment later, he tried lifting his arm again so he could use the mouse, but couldn’t get it far enough up to reach the top of the table.

“Here.” The doctor went to the other side of the bed and lifted the wounded athlete’s arm, resting his bandaged hand on top of the mouse. “How’s that?”

Jett didn’t answer. Not yet. Couldn’t yet. He looked at the screen, moved the mouse, found the proper icon, and with more effort than he ever could have imagined needing for such a task, clicked.

As the doctor went out, Jett caught a smile of relief lighting the man’s eyes.

Breakthrough.

 

*******

 

Another pot of coffee. Celia felt like she had been brewing far too many of these lately. True, it was breakfast time. Nothing went with a hearty winter breakfast like coffee. It was also Saturday, so she didn’t expect to see either her husband or Jax until a bit later, so took her time preparing oatmeal, toast, sliced apples, a mushroom and bacon omelet, and – of course – the coffee.

Through steamy windows the growing sunlight gave no warmth, but was comforting in the way only a winter sunrise could be. She found herself hoping that wherever he was, Jett was enjoying the daybreak, too.

“Right, Cele – not much chance of that,” she muttered, stirring the oatmeal so it wouldn’t scorch. Even if no one else was up, she could have a bowl herself and warm the rest later for the others.

How sad life had become…with that thought came renewed acceptance of her decision not to tell Jett or anyone else about Atarah’s secret. She never would tell anyone, either – what would be the point? It would only hurt everyone.

“Mom! You’re up already?”

She jumped a bit, not having heard Jax enter the kitchen. “Oh! Well, have you ever known me to sleep in?”

“No.” He gave her the smile of the still-half-asleep and a quick hug. “Something smells great.”

“Oatmeal and coffee, so far. I haven’t started anything else. Didn’t think either of you would be up for a while yet.” She went to the coffee machine and filled two of the three cups she had set there. “Get out the cream, please?”

At the refrigerator, Jax took a deep breath as he grabbed the carton of half-and-half.

“Something on your mind?”

“Mind-reader. Yes.” He handed her the carton, grabbed his cup, and sat. “I’m pretty sure I figured out where Jett went.”

Eyes huge, she paused and turned. “You did? Oh, my! How?”

“I checked the history on his computer to see what sites he’d visited recently. Seems he was looking into various mental facilities, which tracks with the letter he wrote you guys.” He sipped at his coffee. “Nice. I needed the warmth.”

“What?”

“Well, the house isn’t exactly freezing, but you two have always liked to keep things on the brisk side in the colder months. I’m used to warmer weather, is all.”

“Okay. But…what did you figure out?”

“Oh. Sorry. I finally narrowed the list down to a few, then to two, and then one.”

“Are you sure about it?”

“At least ninety-nine percent. Only one way to find out, though.”

She nodded. “I take it you’re going to go there, yes?”

“I am. I mean, come on, Mom, he’s been gone now for over two months! Whatever he’s going through, he’s got to start getting better soon, wouldn’t you think? He needs to contact you and Dad – it isn’t like him to be out of touch for this long, even if he is a mess.”

“You won’t get an argument from me on that.” Bryson had come downstairs and stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, tying his robe closed and looking thoroughly rumpled. “Are you going by yourself?”

Jax nodded. “I think I should, at least until I can find out what’s going on with him. Besides, I don’t even know if they’ll let me see him. It all depends on…heck, I don’t know. I’ll call you from there when I find out, though.”

“When are you going?” Celia poured Bryson a cup of coffee and brought it to him as she spoke. “Soon, I hope?”

“Right after breakfast. Which is why, uncharacteristically for a Saturday morning, I’m fully dressed.”

She smiled. “What a good son you are.” She sat next to her husband. “Oh, who am I fooling? You’re both good sons. It’s just that one of you has been horribly wounded…”

The silence following her remark was, in Jax’s opinion, too sad.

Giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek, Bry stood up and stretched. “May I ask how far this place is?”

“Nope. Look, Dad. I have to respect that Jett doesn’t want to be found, so my going there is already violating that wish. I can’t risk you or anyone else deciding it might be in his best interest if we all tried for a group hug, if you know what I mean.”

Bryson grinned. “You sound so much like your mother sometimes. Yes, I do. All right. And I’ll trust your promise to call.”

Celia sniffled, but smiled and agreed.

Jax finished his coffee, grabbed a spoon and scooped out a mouthful of oatmeal from the pot, gave his mom another hug, and got ready to leave.

“I wish you would sit down and have a real breakfast, Ajax.”

“No time. I have a brother to locate, remember?” He went out into the front hall to retrieve his jacket from the closet, his parents following him into the foyer.

“Thank you for doing this, darling. If you aren’t too far away, you’ll be back soon, yes?”

“I haven’t re-packed my stuff, Mom. See?” He held out his hands. “No suitcase. I’m coming back.”

“All right. Be safe.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll call.” And with that promise, Jax went out, got into the small rental car he’d procured at the airport, and drove away, confident in his conclusions but fearful of what he’d find.

 

*******

 

After locking the front door, Celia frowned, lips compressed, arms crossed. Whatever else happened, she mused, she might at least know where her younger son was. But whether Jett would ever recover with Ajax’s or anybody’s help remained to be seen. All things considered, however, she was sure beyond all doubt that she’d made the right choice in not telling anyone that Atarah had discovered, a few days before leaving for Greece, that she was pregnant.