A Wild Ride (19 page)

R
YAN
cracked his eyes open. He felt like someone had squeezed his head in a vise. Light streamed in from the windows. It was so bright, he closed his eyes again. He tried moving, but the slightest movement caused his head to throb, so he lay as still as he could. Slowly he became aware of things around him: pressure on his arm and other stuff that didn’t feel quite right. But he hurt and didn’t have the energy to really care. His mind was covered in a fog he couldn’t get rid of and everything felt like it existed on the other side of the haze. “Thirsty,” Ryan said, or at least that’s what he meant to say. What came out might have sounded like it came from a two-year-old, but Ryan heard movement from next to him.

“Was that you? Did you say something?” He thought it might have been Dante, but he was too tired to open his eyes.

“Thirsty,” he said again, his dry throat dry and scratchy.

“Okay. I’ll get someone.”

Ryan heard footsteps as someone left the room and then multiple voices entered the room. “Are you awake?” a female voice asked.

“Thirsty,” Ryan said again, and then something cold touched his lips. Ice. Ryan sucked it in and swallowed. Cold water slid down his parched throat, hurting at first and then feeling much better.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” she asked. Ryan cracked them open again. The room had been darkened, and he held his eyes open, letting them focus. A woman leaned over the bed, but his gaze shifted to Dante, standing behind her.

“Look like hell,” Ryan said.

“You look gorgeous,” Dante said with a smile.

“
You
look like hell,” Ryan corrected and closed his eyes once again. “I feel like shit.” Another piece of ice was pressed to his lips, and Ryan sucked it in, letting it melt on his tongue. Keeping his eyes closed, he let the fog take him once again, but now it didn’t seem so thick, and he knew he could find his way back through.

The next time he opened his eyes, there was much less fog and he could half think.

“Do you want something to drink?” Dante asked, and this time, ice was pressed to his lips right away. “Jacky was here for a while, but he had to go to work. Your family called too, and they said they would be here later today.” Great, just what he needed right now
.
“The doctor says you’re doing better.”

“How? When?”

“Do you remember being hit in the parking lot?” Dante asked.

“Yes,” Ryan answered. He didn’t want to think about it, but he could remember what happened, or at least he thought he could. “How long?”

Dante sighed. “You’ve been here almost a week.” Ryan didn’t know what to say or how to react. He had so many questions they all got jumbled in his mind. “Your friend Marie from work has been by every few days, and she said to tell you not to worry. She’s got your back.”

Ryan nodded slowly, and his head throbbed, the pain beginning in his neck and blooming all through his head. Ryan closed his eyes and thought he might be sick, it hurt so badly.

“It’s okay, the doctor said your head was going to hurt. Your skull cracked, and they had to do surgery to relieve the pressure. It will get better.”

But it wasn’t okay. Ryan wanted to cry, his head hurt so badly, but he couldn’t, not with Dante looking at him. Ryan had to be strong. He was always strong.

“I’ll get someone,” Dante said, and Ryan didn’t get a chance to answer before hearing Dante’s footsteps. Each one etched itself on his brain like a huge bell was being rung in his ear. He heard footsteps return, along with the ringing again, and then activity around him. He tried to ignore it, and then the pain began to subside.

“On a scale of one to ten, how is the pain now?” the nurse asked in a soft voice.

“Six,” Ryan said, and then more of it dissipated. After a few minutes she asked again. “Three,” Ryan said as the ringing stopped and the throbbing died away. Now all he had was a background pain that he could take. “Better.”

“Good,” she said and lightly squeezed his hand. “All you need to do is press the button,” she said as she placed the control near his hand, “and we’ll be right in.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said and closed his eyes. “You should go home,” he told Dante. “Gramps needs you.”

“Everything’s fine there. He’s doing better, and I’ll leave once Jacky gets back here.” The chair creaked as Dante lowered himself into it.

“You don’t have to stay. You have things to do, and I’m going to sleep now.” Ryan kept his eyes closed, and everything fell away. He figured it was the drugs, but he really didn’t give a damn. The pain was gone and his head was floaty. He couldn’t ask for any more than that.

The next time he woke, Ryan slowly turned his head, expecting more pain, but his head just ached a little. “How are you feeling?” the doctor, judging by the white coat, asked.

“Okay,” Ryan lied. His stomach was starting to turn loops. “Well, maybe not so good.”

“That’s to be expected. You took a bad blow to the head and got a pretty severe concussion. You’ll have headaches and pain for a while. You may also experience memory loss and some troubles with motor skills. We aren’t exactly sure how much damage was done.” He put a pad down on the tray and pulled the curtain. “I want to check out your legs to make sure you haven’t lost any feeling.”

Ryan wasn’t sure what that was for, but the doctor pulled up the bedding and ran his fingers over Ryan’s skin. A few times he was about to laugh, but then the pain returned. “I can feel you.”

“Can you move your toes?” he asked, and Ryan moved both feet and his toes. “Good. That’s a very good sign.”

“My head hurts,” Ryan said.

“I know. We don’t want to give you too much pain medication. I’ll send the nurse in soon. Can you hold out for a while?” the doctor asked, and Ryan started to answer.

“He’ll call when he needs it,” Dante said, and Ryan closed his eyes again, trying to block out all sensation so that maybe the pain would go away. It seemed to work, so he kept his eyes closed.

“Am I ever going to feel normal again?” Ryan asked. “Will I be able to take care of myself, or am I going to need to be waited on by someone for the rest of my life? Will I be able to live my life? And will these headaches ever go away?”

The doctor rested his hand on Ryan’s arm, and Ryan opened his eyes. “Yes, you’ll feel normal again, but it will take time. The headaches should dissipate with time, and you should be able to lead a pretty normal life once you give yourself a chance to heal. You just woke up late yesterday. Give yourself a bit of time.”

Ryan closed his eyes again. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Good. Now relax. That will help the headaches to go away. I’ll have the nurse bring something for you in a little while. Stop worrying—you’ll be just fine.” The doctor left the room, and Ryan tried to concentrate on anything other than the way his head felt. Eventually the nurse came in, and after checking him over, she injected something into his IV. The pain floated away.

“Dante, you really should go home,” Ryan said, turning his head slightly and opening his eyes to look at Dante. “Gramps needs you. The ranch needs you.”

“You need me too,” Dante said.

“No, I’m fine. Gramps needs you. Go on home,” Ryan said.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Dante countered, and Ryan wanted to argue with him, but the drugs took over and he closed his eyes, floating on white cotton wings.

T
HINGS
stayed like that for over a week. Ryan would wake up and be fine for a while, and then his head would pound like hell. The nurse would come in to give him something, and Ryan would be out of it again. Slowly he realized that the amount of time between his bouts of pain was beginning to lengthen and the headaches weren’t as bad. “You should go home,” Ryan told Dante every time he floated away on pain meds, and yet whenever he opened his eyes, Dante was there.

On some level that comforted him, but it also highlighted his complete helplessness. “Are you hungry?” Dante asked, and without Ryan answering, a spoon appeared at his mouth and Ryan opened. The potatoes were bland as hell, but it was what he could keep down. Ryan tried sitting up, but the minute he began moving his head, the pain came back.

“It’s okay. I can help you,” Dante said, and Ryan wanted to cry. He was a person in control of things, his life, his work, but now he had no control over anything. He balled his fist and lightly pounded the mattress next to him. Dante brought another bite to his mouth, but Ryan turned his head.

“Let me do it,” Ryan said, and Dante handed him the spoon.

Ryan managed to get a bite on the spoon, and he even got half the food to his mouth, the other half dropping down his front. Dante picked up what fell, and Ryan growled. “Please just go home and take care of Gramps. I can take care of myself.” Ryan jabbed at his plate and came up with another mound of potatoes, but very little of them reached his mouth. The movements were a bit jerky, but at least he could feed himself—well, mostly.

“Fine,” Dante said. “I’ll see you later this evening.” Dante leaned over the bed and lightly kissed Ryan’s forehead. The bandages had been removed and the sutures taken out.

“You don’t have to come back. I can take care of myself,” Ryan said, and Dante paused as he walked past the foot of the bed. Ryan attempted another bite of food and mostly succeeded this time. Dante didn’t say anything, and Ryan watched him pass through the door and then disappear from sight. Ryan went back to eating and then gave up, throwing the spoon across the room. Of course, the movement made his head ache, and he closed his eyes to try to get the pain to ease.

“Honey,” his mother said, and Ryan opened his eyes. He must have slept for a while, because his mother and father had arrived for the day, and they looked like they’d packed for the long haul. They’d arrived a week earlier and spent most days with him. “Where’s your… friend?” his mother asked softly as she opened her bag to pull out her yarn and knitting needles and his father pulled over another chair. His mother knitted hats by the ton to support the church women’s league. She had for almost as long as Ryan could remember.

“He left,” Ryan said. His parents knew he was gay, of course, but they never talked about it and refused to acknowledge it in any way. So Ryan had “friends.” He supposed it could be worse. They didn’t talk about it, but they also hadn’t disowned him. But he knew they were disappointed, even if they didn’t talk about that either. They were great about ignoring what they didn’t want to see or didn’t want to deal with.

“Did you eat? Do you need help?” His mother set her knitting aside and began looking over the tray. She picked up a fork and looked at him expectantly.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Ryan said. He didn’t want anyone to help him, and he certainly wasn’t going to be fed by his mommy like a baby.

“Your mother and I need to leave later today,” his father said. “I wish we could stay longer, but….”

“I know, Dad,” Ryan said, some of his anger and frustration slipping away. “You can only miss so many Sunday sermons.” There were priorities, after all, and his father’s was to his Baptist congregation. Ryan knew his parents cared about him, there was no doubt about that, but they didn’t understand him. He knew his being gay was beyond their understanding. Their beliefs were set, and Ryan highly doubted they would ever change. Sometimes he wondered if they were even capable of change. At least after their initial conversation, they hadn’t continued insisting he was going to burn in hell. So maybe that was change for them. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m getting better, and I’ll call you and Mom to let you know how I am.”

To his surprise, his father stood up and slowly approached the bed. He leaned over and gently gave Ryan a hug. Ryan waited for the pain to bloom in his head the way it did when he moved, but this time there was nothing. “I love you, son,” his father whispered, and Ryan tried to remember the last time his father had said those words to him. It had been a while. His father believed in the image of a stern minister who led his flock away from temptation, and that often meant not showing weakness.

“I love you too, Dad,” Ryan said, hugging his father back. There were so many things he wanted to say, and as the hug ended and his father moved away, Ryan opened his mouth to say them, but the stern expression he’d come to know so well slid back on his father’s face, and Ryan stopped, leaving more unsaid.

Then it was his mother’s turn. She set her knitting back in her bag and leaned over the bed, giving him a gentle hug. “Please take care of yourself and don’t rush. I want you to get well.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he said as he hugged her. “You and Dad take care of each other, and I’ll call you.”

“We’ll be praying for you,” she said, and Ryan thanked her. “You know, this friend of yours, the one who rides bulls? He and I had a nice talk the other day, and, well….” She straightened up and glanced at his dad. “If you’re going to be… that way… then….” His mother’s voice faltered. “Well, he seems like a nice man,” she said, and Ryan knew that was as close to an endorsement and acknowledgement of his “lifestyle” as he was ever likely to get. There was so much meaning wrapped up in her words, or maybe it was Ryan who wanted to attach extra meaning. He wasn’t quite sure. Then she hugged him once again before gathering her things like a pack mule. His mother never packed light to go anywhere.

“Good-bye, son,” his father said. “We’ll call you when we get home.” They lingered for a few seconds in the doorway and then they were gone. For the first time in quite a few years, Ryan was truly sad to see them go. They traveled to see him every now and then, and each visit had been an ordeal of self-righteousness, prayer, and included at least one litany about what he was doing wrong in his life. But this visit had been different, and he felt closer to them than he had in quite a while. Maybe, just maybe, whatever had changed between them could be built upon.

Ryan closed his eyes and settled back into bed in the now quiet room. He was alone—something that hadn’t happened much the entire time he was in in the hospital. Ryan turned on the television and tuned it to one of the financial news stations, but within seconds the rolling stock quotes and the constant talking made his head throb, and he switched the channel before turning it off all together. It was just too much. He tried sleeping, but he’d done so much of that lately. Anyway, as soon as the television was off, his head felt better. He wanted something to do now that he was beginning to feel better, but he had nothing. Eventually the nurse came in, and Ryan smiled at the break in the quiet. “You look like you’re feeling better,” she said.