Charles P. Crawford Three-Legged Race

Chapter One

Brent watched the second hand creep around the face of the clock. He could hear Lindsay Harper behind him gathering her books together. Miss VanderPoole talked on about the importance of continuing good reading habits during the course of the summer. No one was listening. A lot of kids hadn't even come to school for the last day, now that report cards were mailed home.

The bell rang.

The class cheered. Brent leaped from his seat as the class swirled around him. Everyone rushed for the door.

Brent could hear Miss VanderPoole shouting after them to have a good summer. He turned and waved at her and she smiled back.

The hallway rang with the sound of banging lockers and running feet. Brent was jostled several times and gave a push or two back.

Tom stopped by Brent's locker and said, "You coming over to the swim club?"

"Maybe," Brent replied. "I'll see you later."

Jim ran by and slammed Tom on the head with a book. Tom rushed on down the hall after him.

It was incredible how fast the corridor cleared, Brent thought. He saw the last few people disappearing down the stairs in the distance. The floor was littered with notebook paper and gum wrappers.

Brent opened his locker and took out his sneakers and gym shorts. The banging of the metal echoed in the empty hallway. He checked to make sure there was nothing left inside and then closed the locker door. He turned and walked down the steps. He could hear the roar of the buses as they swung away from the bus loop below.

When Brent got to the first floor, he stopped by the art room. Mr.Samuelson was taking the last few prints down from the wall. The room looked bare and colorless.

"Hi, Brent," Mr.Samuelson said. "Glad that summer's here?"

"Kind of," Brent replied. "I just wanted to pick up those watercolors I did this year."

"Sorry to hear that, Brent. I was hoping you would forget; I need something over my mantel. I hope you'll keep up with it this summer."

"Oh, I will, Mr.Samuelson. I always get a lot of stuff done when we're up in Maine."

"Good. It's important not to let yourself get stale."

"Well, thanks for all the help this year. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. It's good to have a student like you every once in a while, Brent. Have a nice summer."

"Thanks. I will."

Brent rolled the watercolors up and put them under his left arm. He walked from the art room, through the commons and out into the June sunshine. It was hot. It would be a hot summer, he guessed.

For a minute Brent considered walking up to Gino's in the center of Louella for a hamburger and a Coke. Everybody would be there. They'd all be laughing and talking and making plans for the summer. Brent decided not to go. He didn't feel like all that joking and noise right then. He'd see them all plenty of times over at the club anyway.

Brent walked up Windermere Avenue with his paintings under the one arm and his sneakers slung over his right shoulder. The trees made a bright green canopy over the street. Brent strolled slowly through the circles of light and shadow. The sounds of little kids playing drifted from a backyard somewhere. The large houses with their big front porches looked quiet and composed in the June sun.

It's like a Monet painting, Brent thought.

When Brent closed the front door behind him, his mother called from the kitchen, "Is that you, Brent?"

"Yes, Mom," Brent shouted back.

"Come on into the kitchen. There are some cupcakes if you're hungry."

Brent walked through the dining room into the kitchen. His mother was stirring something on the stove. It smelled good.

"Your sister's been and gone already. I just got back from running her over to the pool. They're having tryouts for the swim team this afternoon. Listen, Brent, if she doesn't happen to make it, you be nice to her at dinner tonight. She'll be heartbroken."

"Don't sweat it, Mom," Brent said. "She's a cinch to make it. She's half frog."

His mother laughed. "I suppose I worry too much about you two. How's it feel to be out for the summer? I would have thought you'd have gone up to Gino's with the guys this afternoon or over to the pool. Aren't you celebrating?"

"I decided not to. Maybe I'll hitch over to the club later. I'll see more than enough of them in the next few weeks anyway."

"Well, I think you spend too much time by yourself, Brent."

"It's okay, Mom. I enjoy it. When will we be headed for the island?"

"Probably not until sometime later in July. Your father's got too many things pressing at the office to get away right now. We'll have plenty of time there, don't worry."

"I wish we were going up sooner. That's the best part of the summer. I always feel like I'm bumming around and wasting time at home in the summer. Like at loose ends, you know."

"You can always do some painting, Brent," his mother said. "And the swim club is always there. I'm sure you'll find plenty to keep you occupied until we go."

"Oh, I know. I just like the island better, is all."

"I know you do. I wish we could be going up earlier too. But then Betsy wouldn't have the time to compete on the swim team, so it all works out for the best. You'll just have to be patient."

"You know what I'd like to do this weekend?" Brent said.

"What?"

"Do you think Uncle George would like a painting of his barn for a Christmas present?"

"Oh, I know he would. He'd think that was pretty special."

"Well, I'd love to get out of Louella for a day or two before the same old summer routine starts. I thought maybe I'd ask Uncle George if I could come out to the farm for the weekend. I'll do a picture of the barn, I just won't tell him it's for him."

"I think it's a fine idea."

"And it will get me warmed up for the things I want to paint up at the island this summer. Is it okay with you?"

"Sure. And I know your father won't mind. I'll give Uncle George a call this evening."

"Thanks, Mom. I figure I can get it pretty well roughed out in a day or so, if only John would leave me alone while I'm there."

"That might not be so easy." Brent's mother laughed. "You know how much he looks up to you. You may just have to put up with a lot of him."

"I guess. But he's a pain."

"Well, I'm sure you'll live," his mother chuckled. "You were seven once too, you know."

Brent finished his cupcake and the glass of milk. He left the kitchen and went upstairs to check over his paint supplies.

It seemed right to him to be going away for a couple of days just after school was out, instead of rushing over to the pool like everybody else and falling into the regular summer pattern.

I'd go crazy by September if we didn't have the island, he thought. The whole idea of getting over to the swim club before noon and hanging around all day every day messing around with the same people all the time turned him off. He liked the idea of getting away by himself.

Brent had been at his Uncle George's place for only a couple of hours and his younger cousin hadn't left him alone once. He was really getting into the picture now, sketching out in ochers and grays the siding of the barn. But John kept butting in and asking questions, and even had tried once or twice to start a game of tag by punching him on the shoulder and shouting, "You're it!"

Brent didn't want to be mean to John or anything, but he always found it hard to paint while someone was hanging over his shoulder, particularly someone like John, who couldn't sit still for more than thirty seconds.

"Why don't you run along and find out what time lunch is," Brent suggested.

"Mom will give us a call when it's ready," John said.

"Great," Brent replied and tried to concentrate on mixing just the right shade of gold for the sun streak down the roof of the barn. The cedar shingles turned all hazy and soft in the sunlight and he wanted to get it exactly right.

"How'd you like to play a game down in the pasture, hun? We could look for snakes or something, Brent."

"No, thanks, John. I want to get this picture done."

God, why won't the stupid kid just leave me alone? Brent thought.

Suddenly John grabbed the brush out of Brent's hand. He ran off around the side of the barn.

"You got to catch me," John shouted back.

Brent jumped to his feet. The watercolor pad fell to the ground.

Damn that kid! Brent thought.

Brent chased around the side of the barn and saw John disappear through the large hay doors on the second floor. Brent scrambled up the ladder after him.

The inside of the barn was hot. The smell of hay and horse manure filled the thick air. The light was dim and particles of dust drifted through the sunrays filtering through the roof. A stray chicken fluttered out of the back loft door into the barnyard below. John was standing on a pile of hay waving the paintbrush over his head.

"You got to catch me," he shouted again.

Brent lunged for John's foot but the younger boy jumped back off the haystack and ran farther into the dimness of the loft. Brent scrambled up the side of the hay mound. He leaped off the stack and landed for a split second on seemingly solid floor which abruptly gave way beneath him. He saw the floor of the loft desappear above him. The fall seemed to take forever. Above him he could just see the dangling form of the open trapdoor, one hinge hanging loose and broken.

Then he was lying flat out on the cement floor of the milking room. His whole body filled with pain.

He was vaguely aware of John yelling somewhere above his head and the distant sound of running steps. He was acutely aware that he was not breathing. Brent thought, Go on, buddy, just breathe in. But nothing happened. No matter how hard he willed his chest to expand and take in air, it refused to move. I'm probably blue by now, he thought He might have laughed if he could have. He felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. Suddenly Uncle George was leaning down above him.

"It's all right," Uncle George said. "Lie still. You'll be breathing in a minute. Just hang on."

The voice was comforting to Brent and so was the first small racking gasp of air that crept into his lungs. The air burned and Brent heard the wheezing sound of his first breathing. Soon the air returned more easily and Brent was able to lie on the cement and inhale without noise and pain in his chest.

"Okay," Uncle George said, "can you move at all now that you have your breath back? Took quite a spill, you know."

Brent pulled his legs up, bending them at the knees. He tried to sit up. The pain made him yell.

"You just lie there quietly and I'll call an ambulance. No sense having you up and marching around when you got so much pain. Hang on a little while. I'll be back."

Uncle George left at a trot and Brent lay back on the cement floor. The pain was bad now. Maybe I broke a bone or something, Brent thought. He wiggled his toes and was reassured that they still moved.

Brent noticed John standing nearby. The little kid's probably scared to death, Brent thought.

"It's all right, John. I'll be fine. It wasn't your fault anyway." It was an effort to talk.

"I shouldn't have made you chase me," he said.

"You couldn't have known that the trapdoor was broken," Brent said. "Could have happened anytime. Don't worry about it."

"I wish you hadn't come to paint your stupid picture," John shouted and ran from the milking room.

"I couldn't agree with you more, kid," Brent muttered.

He thought he remembered the ambulance coming but he wasn't sure. He felt cold all over and the pain continued to rush up and down his body. The ambulance attendants moved him carefully to a stretcher and he sensed the trees rushing past on the way to the hospital.

His parents were at the hospital when he arrived.

"Hi, Mom," Brent tried to say but it came out garbled and fuzzy. He couldn't seem to keep his tongue in line. "Hi, Dad. I'll be okay, huh?"

"Sure you will," his father said.

They moved him onto a rolling bed, and all of a sudden Dr.Matthias was beside him.

"We're going to send you down for a quick X ray, Brent. Don't try to move. Here's something for the pain."

Brent felt the sharp jab of the needle and waited for the rush of numbness. His back still throbbed constantly but it seemed as if the pain belonged to someone else.

He remembered the ceiling going by over his head and the nurse in the X-ray room gently turning his body to various positions. The X-ray machine lowered in, whirring, and rose again. It lowered and rose several times.

Soon he was moving through the halls again. The ceiling was just a blur now.

"Can you listen, Brent?" Dr.Matthias was saying. "Try to listen, and then you can just sleep it all away."

Brent heard his mother crying beside him as he moved on the rolling bed through the hallways.

"Brent, listen," the doctor was saying again. "You've a fracture of one of your vertebrae. It's a broken back, but you're very lucky. There should be no problems at all. You'll be fine."

"Broken back?" Brent managed to say.

"Yes, but it's not like it sounds. Don't worry. Just lie back and enjoy the next month," he said.

"Forget it, Doctor. I'm not staying for any month. I don't have the time."

"You've got it now," Dr.Matthias said. "You've got a compression fracture of lumbar one. With a month of lying flat and a few months in a brace, you'll be as good as new. No complications from what I can see now. Just remember, because you'll be asleep in a minute: When you wake up tomorrow, don't sit up. If you have a lot of pain, don't hesitate to ask the nurse for something. I'll leave orders and see you tomorrow. It won't be bad, Brent. It's a clean fracture and there's no damage to the spinal cord. You're a very lucky boy."

Brent drifted into sleep before he even reached his room.

Brent felt the slant of light across his eyelids. He was awake and the sun was making spots behind his eyes.

He could feel the pain again. It was steady and aching up and down his spine. He felt a sensation of falling and grabbed the criblike sides of the bed. He still felt drugged from the night's sleep, but he thought he would ring for the nurse for more pain relievers anyway. If I've got to be here, I might as well get zonked and enjoy it, he thought.

"Good morning, Supertube," a voice said.

Brent opened his eyes and looked to the right. The other bed in the room was about six feet away. A kid his own age was sitting up, propped against the pillow. He had dark hair and a sharp, angular face. He was smoking a cigarette.

Brent noticed an intravenous tube running from his own arm to a large bottle dangling from a stand. He didn't remember the doctor hooking him up to it.

"The only nice thing about eating through your arm is you don't have to taste the s... they serve here," the boy in the next bed smiled. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Heard the doctor tell your folks that you were going to be here about a month. I've got seventy years to go."

"I'm Brent McAllister," Brent said.

"Yeah. I know. I read your clipboard last night after you got here. You've got a broken back, you know."

"I know."

"Well, that's tough. My name's Benjamin Kirkus Hughes. Call me Kirk. All my friends do, but I haven't seen him for awhile." His laughter matched his mocking smile.

"They treat you all right here as long as you don't give the day nurse any crap. Mrs.Pegeen Rush is her name. Get on her wrong side and she'll sneak in while you're asleep, unplug your arm and let you starve to death. She's a mean old bitch. I just thought I'd fill you in on the good news."

"Yeah? Thanks for the tip."

"No sweat. We can handle her. You look a little white around the edges. You got much pain?"

"Some." Brent wasn't feeling much like long answers. The pain was worse and he tried not to show it.

"Look, I won't bother you any more now. We've got all the time in the world, it looks like. Push that button there and get something from the nurse."

Brent reached for the push button dangling from the cord over his head. The intravenous tube pulled taut and his forearm hurt. He could see the hole where the plastic needle went into the vein. Down the hall came the sound of a hoarse buzzing. He felt funny about asking for pain relievers with Kirk there. He didn't want to seem weak or anything. Maybe he should just lie there and try to stand the pain.

"Don't hold your breath, though," Kirk said. "You could be beating off an attack of huge hairy spiders and they wouldn't hurry. There was a guy here last month that rang for the nurse and she had to scrape the cobwebs off him when she finally arrived. Just hang on."

The pain was sure getting worse. You got to hang on, he told himself. You can't yell or cry or anything. Brent clenched his fist under the covers.

After a few minutes, he heard the sound of sharp hard heels against the tile floor in the hallway. A nurse swung into the room. She was short and her white nurse's cap was perched on tightly curled dark hair.

"Who rang?" she asked.

"He did," Kirk said. "He wants a little juice for the pain."

The nurse came over to the side of Brent's bed. He could read her name tag. She was Nurse Rush, all right.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes, please," Brent said. "The pain's pretty bad."

"Well," she said, looking at the clipboard at the end of his bed. "It says here that the night nurse administered a pain reliever through your I.V. tubing at five this morning."

"Oh, yeah?" Brent said. He figured that he must sound pretty dumb. "Could I have something anyway now? It really hurts pretty bad."

"Well," she said, "I don't think you should hurry your pain relievers too much. Suppose I check back later and see how you're feeling."

"What's the matter?" Kirk asked. "You afraid you're going to turn him into a junkie? I wouldn't worry about it. And I wouldn't sweat spoiling his breakfast seeing as how his three square meals all seem to be dripping into his arm."

"Now you keep out of this, young Doctor Hughes. This is a matter between this young patient and myself."

"I really would like something now, please," Brent said. He hoped that his voice didn't sound too desperate. He shifted his legs, but the pain was still there. "Dr.Matthias said all I had to do was ask."

"All right. Although there are certain minimum times between dosages of any pain reliever that Dr.Matthias should make you aware of. I'll be right back."

She left the room in a cascade of heel clicking.

"She'll probably take an hour to bring it back anyway," Kirk said. "And I'll bet she gives Dr.Matthias an earful when he gets here today. Her philosophy of life seems to be dedicated to increasing the suffering of the youth of America. She probably thinks it makes you a stronger person. There's a rumor that the sadistic old bitch steals babies from the pediatrics ward and uses them as dart boards for hypodermics. It's just a rumor though. I started it."

Brent laughed and it hurt. He winced with the pain.

"Sorry about that. No more funnies until you feel a little better. But anyway, you can see how well I get along with her. You couldn't find a greater example of mutual devotion. Just be polite and friendly like I am and she'll walk all over your body if you die. Maybe she'll walk all over it if you don't."

"Thanks for the help," Brent said.

"That's all right. It's what roommates are for."

Brent closed his eyes. He remembered the doctor saying that he couldn't sit up. How am I going to stand lying here for a month without even sitting up? he thought. I'll just have to. What a way to spend the summer! He guessed the family trip to Maine would be off. One day out of school and he had to go and fall through a stupid trapdoor. How dumb can you get.

Brent was conscious of a rustling at his bedside and he thought that maybe Nurse Rush might be back with the pain-killer. He hadn't heard her footsteps. He could sure use something for the pain. He was having trouble lying still.

Brent opened his eyes. It wasn't Nurse Rush. A girl stood beside his bed gazing at him. She wore a blue bathrobe and he could see that her feet were bare.

"Who's your friend, Kirk? A new arrival?" she asked.

Brent liked the sound of her soft voice.

"Name's Brent McAllister. He came in last night with a broken back. He's very graceful. His mother said he fell through a trapdoor in a barn. Brent, meet Amy, the only bit of sunshine in this godforsaken place."

"Hello," Brent said.

"Hi," Amy said. "It's nice to have you around. Whatever Kirk's been telling you, it's not that bad around here."

"Bullshit," Kirk said.

"And the nice thing about Kirk is his refinement. He reminds me of my grandmother, who was always such a gentle soul." Amy gave Kirk a smile.

"Anyway," she continued, "everybody's friends here. We have a good time. As good as we can, anyway. Except Kirk's last roommate. What was his name, Kirk?"

"I don't remember. Call him Toad."

"Well, anyway, this kid did nothing for a week and a half but watch daytime television."

"He was heavy on General Hospital," Kirk said. "He said it was so realistic. That shows you how far his head was wedged. He's the only person I've ever met around here who actually liked Nurse Rush. I think he was suffering from terminal ingrown toe-nail."

"So we're glad you're here," Amy said. "Maybe when you feel a little better in a few days, we'll see more of each other."

Brent decided that he would look forward to that. It would be nice to have a few friends here.

Amy reached down and grabbed Brent's big toe. She gave it a twist.

"Ow!" he yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking. Glad you're still all there. You just can't tell about broken backs, you know." She smiled at him and turned in a whirl of blue bathrobe, and left the room humming a nameless tune.

"You'll like her," Kirk said. "She's all right."

"What's the matter with her? I mean, why's she here?"

"I don't know for sure. I don't think she does either. Her parents told her that it's a bad case of mono, but I think she figures it's a little more complicated than that. Some days she seems better and other days worse. She doesn't look real good today, although she never tries to show it. This is her third week in."

"I hope she gets better, whatever it is."

"Yeah. Sure. But it's always the good guys that get kicked in the tail in this screwed-up world."

A young woman in blue walked through the door.

"Morning, Kirk," she said. "How're you feeling today? You look so well I guess I better stay clear of you. Who's your friend?"

"That's Brent."

"Hello, Brent. I'm Jewel, and that's no joke. I'll take care of you. You want anything, anything at all, you just ask old Jewel here and she'll get it for you. First thing I'm going to do for you is get you cleaned up a bit."

She walked over to Brent's bed. Brent liked her face. She moved quickly and without any wasted effort.

"You going to hang around here and make things tough for me, Kirk? I'm sure not going to make that bed with you sitting in it when you can hike that body of yours out of here. Why don't you head on down to the washroom and take a shower. Lord knows, you probably need it. I'll have you all straightened out by the time you get back."

"Okay, Jewel. I know when I'm not wanted. You watch her, Brent. First time I was left alone with that woman, she ripped the covers off and attacked me sexually."

"Oh, go on, Kirk. You should be so lucky. Now scram."

Brent looked across the room toward Kirk's bed and saw him shift himself uncomfortably until his legs were dangling over the side of the bed. He grabbed the pair of crutches that had been propped against the wall and used them to support himself while he stood up. Kirk walked slowly toward the door. He stopped and turned back.

"You be careful how you manhandle that character, Jewel. He's not feeling so hot."

"Don't you worry now, Kirk. He's in good hands with Jewel."

Kirk swung his body out into the hall and paused. In a loud voice, he yelled, "Nurse Rush, Brent here's dying from the pain. You better get that medicine down here fast before I report you to the SPCA."

Brent heard Nurse Rush's voice grate down the corridor. "You keep your mouth shut, Kirk. There'll be no yelling in this hospital. I've got too much to do without trying to keep you in line. I'll be down there as soon as I can."

Kirk turned and left, disappearing from Brent's view.

"Now let's see what we can do about a bath for you," Jewel said.

Out of the cabinet next to Brent's bed, she took a large blue plastic basin and a washcloth. She crossed the room to the sink and filled the basin with warm water.

"Maybe later when you're feeling a little better, you'll be able to wash yourself up, but for right now, you just let Jewel treat you like a king. It won't last for long."

She crossed back to the bed and pulled the curtain which blocked the bed from view from the hall. With gentle hands she soaked the washcloth in water, soaped it until it foamed, and began to wash Brent's face. The warmth and clean smell of the soap were good, and Brent began to relax a little despite the pain. He unclenched his fists. She rinsed the washcloth and wiped his face clean.

Jewel pulled the sheet down to Brent's waist and removed the hospital gown, exposing his chest. In a large circular motion she began at his neck and started to wash down his body.

Oh, Christ, Brent thought as Jewel's hand moved over his stomach. The moment of relaxation was gone.

"Now don't you fret none," Jewel said. "You've got no surprises for Jewel that she hasn't seen a hundred times before."

Her hands disappeared under the edge of the sheet and Jewel continued to wash matter-of-factly. Brent couldn't help clenching his fists again. Jewel switched to the foot of the bed and lifted the sheet up from the bottom to his knees. She lathered and rinsed his legs.

"Think you can roll to one side?" she asked. "It's all right with the Doc, so long as you keep your back stiff. It's called a log roll. You put your right arm out from your side and cross your left leg and arm over and you'll find you turn nice and stifflike right on over to your side. How about giving it a try?"

Brent kept his body rigid and rolled to his right side. He expected sharp needles of pain, but only the dull heavy aching continued.

Jewel began at his neck and washed his back, scrubbing surely and finely down his spine with a firm, tender hand.

"You're a good kid," she said. "Now we got to get these sheets changed."

Brent considered the practicalities for the first time. How do you change a sheet when someone's lying on it? He pictured Jewel whisking the sheet from under him as magicians do tablecloths from under full dinner settings.

As if she read his mind, Jewel said, "Now don't you worry about this either. You just follow my directions and we'll have you fixed up in no time flat. You stay lying on your right side just the way you are."

She began on the left side of the bed, and Brent could hear the pulling and rumpling of cloth as Jewel stripped the sheet off the mattress. The bunching of the material created a light pressure against his back.

"Now roll on your other side," she said, and Brent thrust against the lumped material ridging the middle of the bed and rolled over it onto his left side. He did it just as Jewel had told him to and his body stayed rigid. The motions continued on the side behind him. Brent was amazed to realize, when the fluttering and moving stopped, that the bed was tight and freshly made without his having left it.

Jewel bundled the dirty sheets into a ball and tossed them towards the door. Next she took a small basin and filled it with clear, cold water. From the bedside cabinet she took his tooth brush and toothpaste and handed them all to Brent.

"I figure you can handle this part yourself," she said. As Brent rolled onto his back again and began brushing his teeth, enjoying the crisp peppermint taste that relieved the staleness of his mouth, Jewel attacked Kirk's bed and had it changed within a moment.

"When I get all the beds done that I got to do today, I'll be back to see if Kirk wants his usual Coke. Be good," she said and left the room, her arms full of dirty sheets.

Brent looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there to see, so he turned his eyes to the right and watched the slow rise of the bubbles into the bottle that fed his arm.

He closed his eyes and tried to wait for Nurse Rush to arrive with the pain-killer. It wasn't easy.