Omorphi (53 page)

“You okay?”

“Only the one leg is a little stiff.”

“Excellent.” Michael carefully gathered the negligee so the bulk of it rested in Christy’s lap, then took the lightest of the blankets from the bed and covered his legs. “Ready?”

“Jerry says this when the nurse pushes him. To the x-ray laboratory, James!”

Michael laughed at Christy’s perfectly enunciated British accent as he wheeled him from the room. As he raised a hand to knock on Jerry’s door, he heard soft laughter from inside. “Do you think he has a visitor?” Christy shrugged. Michael knocked softly and stuck his head into the room. “Hey, you busy?”

“Hi, Michael! No! Come in!”

Michael opened the door, and Christy took charge and wheeled himself in without Michael’s help.

“Thanks for the note. I was really worried about Stephen.”

“No problem, dude.”

“Stephen’s note is so funny! He says he gets so sick of the prayer meetings he starts praying in his head à la Dr. Seuss. Can you imagine it?”

“Better not let his dad know.”

Christy looked up at Michael. “Who is this doctor?”

“He’s not a doctor. He’s an author.” Jerry bounced off the bed and whacked his cast on the bed railing.

“Easy, little dude. Doesn’t that hurt?”

Jerry plopped into his wheelchair and pushed his purple glasses up his nose. “Only when I hit my hand.”

“Your parents brought the glasses at last?” Christy asked.

Jerry’s smile slipped. “Uh-uh. They won’t come here. Dr. Sattler called ’em because I couldn’t see, and they sent my neighbor by with them. They wouldn’t even let my sister bring them to me. Didn’t want her venturing into the snake pit of unbelievers.”

Christy clucked his disapproval, and Michael thought Jerry was a bit of a wiseass.

Jerry raised his good arm, fluttered his hand in the air, and bowed forward slowly as he spouted, “Here me now, oh children of the light! Come away from those vile heretics of science! Profane, they are! Foul! Blasphemous to the core! Perilous to your very souls!” Jerry burst into laughter as he sat up.

It was official. Jerry was a wiseass.

Christy’s eyes went wide. “It is amazing that your country is so progressive, yet some have these beliefs.”

Michael chuckled. “That’s the beauty of a country where you can worship anything you want, but I think Jerry’s taken it a little over the top. You’re scaring him, Jerry.”

“I’m just kidding, Christy. My parents aren’t that bad. Much. Do you have any money, Michael?”

“Yeah, why?”

“They have these awesome chocolate chip muffins in the cafeteria. I’ll pay you back.”

Michael chuckled and looked down at Christy. “You up for a trip to the cafeteria?” Christy smiled up at him and nodded. “Muffin’s on me, little dude. Come on.”

“I
F
I
didn’t know better, Jerry, I’d say you were having the time of your life in the hospital.” Michael watched him swallow the first bite of his third muffin.

“Are you kidding? It’s great! I get to do anything I want, eat anything I want, and say anything I want. The worst I have to put up with is nosy nurses and lots of x-rays of my head.”

Christy leaned in and whispered, “It’s the first time Jerry has ever done anything against his father’s wishes.”

Michael stroked Christy’s thick mane and pulled him in for a chaste kiss. “Defiance, is that it?”

“Yeah! It’s great!” Jerry exclaimed unabashedly.

Michael chuckled. “How is your head?”

Jerry shrugged. “I get bad headaches, and I can’t remember some things, but the head doctor said I should be okay.”

“How about your arm?”

Jerry shrugged again and raised the cast to wiggle his fingers. “The last two fingers are dead. The doctor said there could be some nerve damage. I’m just glad it’s on my right hand. Otherwise, I couldn’t paint anymore.”

Michael raised his lemonade. “Here’s to being a lefty.”

“Lefties unite, huh, Christy?”

Christy nodded.

“You’re not left-handed.”

Christy’s eyes gained that distant, empty expression that Michael had come to know as Christy’s reaction to fear or a bad memory. He put his arm around him and kissed his cheek. “You okay?”

Christy nodded. “I paint with the left hand but write with the right hand.”

“That’s unusual.”

Christy only nodded.

Two boys, who appeared to be no more than twelve or so, shouted “Queer!” as they ran past and pushed the back of Christy’s wheelchair. The chair lurched forward and bumped the table, pinching Christy’s fingers.

“Hey!” Michael stood, and the giggling boys darted out the cafeteria doors.

“What the—?” Jerry began.

Christy hissed as he shook his fingers out and flexed them. Michael retook his seat. “Let me see your hand.”

Christy shook his head and curled his hand into his lap. “It’s nothing.”

Michael lifted Christy’s hand. Three fingers had suffered scrapes and were beginning to bleed. The last thing Christy needed right now was to see blood.

“I’ll go get some Band-Aids.” Jerry turned his chair and wheeled away.

Michael wrapped Christy’s fingers gently in his hand and kissed each knuckle. Christy smiled. It was one of his sudden and bright smiles and, to Michael, it was the most wonderful sight in the world.

“They are better now.”

“Good.”

Jerry returned, a dour expression painting his face. “The cafeteria manager says we have to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re ‘making people uncomfortable.’” Jerry made air quotes with his fingers.

“I take it you didn’t score any Band-Aids.”

Jerry snorted. “Nope. He said he didn’t have any Band-Aids for people the likes of us.”

Michael turned to Christy. “You ready to go?”

Christy shrugged, and Jerry pulled his chair to the table. “Can I finish my muffin?”

“Sure.” Michael looked to the front of the cafeteria and met eyes with an old man wearing an expression of disgust. “That the guy you spoke with?”

Jerry turned, looked at the man, and turned back. “Yeah.”

“Did you get his name?” Jerry shook his head as he stuffed another piece of muffin into his mouth. Michael stood and looked around at the now empty cafeteria.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some napkins for Christy’s hand.”

Michael walked to the counter and pulled a few napkins from the dispenser. Before he knew it, the cafeteria manager had him by the back of his shirt. “You need to leave, boy.”

Michael raised his hands in surrender as his shirt tightened around his chest in the man’s twisting grip. “We’re leaving as soon as we’re done.”

“No done about it. You’re gittin’ outta here right now!”

A cook emerged from the back kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Frank? What’re you doing?”

“Throwin’ out the trouble-causin’ trash.”

“We’re leaving,” Michael said quickly.

“What kinda trouble?”

“The faggot kind, that’s what kind. Kissin’ and lovin’ all over that there other boy in public, of all things!”

“Damn, Frank, let that kid go before you get your ass fired!”

“Michael?”

Michael didn’t dare turn to the voice he recognized. “Hi, Dad.”

“What’s going on here?”

“You know this boy, doc?”

“Yes. Why do you have him by the shirt?”

“He’s been causin’ trouble.”

“He’s upset because I kissed Christy and wants us to leave. We’re leaving, I only wanted to get some napkins.”

“Let him go, Frank. He ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” the cook insisted.

The cook must have put a hand on Frank’s arm because Michael’s shirt twisted tighter yet around his chest.

“Unhand my son now, or I’ll call security.”

Michael had rarely heard anger in his dad’s voice, let alone menace, and it scared him a little. “Sir, we’re leaving right now. Please let go of my shirt.”

After a long moment, Frank shoved him away, and he stumbled, kicking a chair in the process and crashing into a table.

“Michael!”

Michael straightened up quickly. “I’m okay, Dad. Let’s just get Christy and Jerry and go.”

“You tell your boy to mind his manners, doc. We don’t tolerate no lewd behavior in this here establishment.”

Mac walked up to the man, deliberately invading his personal space, and spoke softly. “And this hospital doesn’t tolerate discrimination or violence. You touch my son, or anyone else, for that matter, in that manner again and you won’t work here any longer. Do I make myself clear?”

Frank glared at Mac for a long moment before walking away, spitting at the floor, and muttering something about goddamned, filthy, unnatural things.

Reading the cook’s nametag, Mac withdrew a card from the breast pocket of his white coat and handed the card to the cook. “Antoine, please give this to your manager and ask him to call me.”

“Frank is the manager, Dr. Sattler. I apologize for him. He’s not usually so temperamental.”

“Have you seen this sort of behavior out of him before?”

“Nah, I haven’t. He just has a problem with queers, ah sorry, I mean, gay people, and I guess your son was being real affectionate with that boy over there. That’s all. I apologize again for him.”

“I see. Thank you, Antoine. Michael?”

“I’m fine, Dad. Let’s just go, okay?”

Mac nodded and walked to where Christy and Jerry sat wide-eyed and decidedly pale.

“You okay?” Jerry asked.

“Fine. Christy, give me your hand.”

Christy raised his hand, and Michael wrapped his fingers with the napkins.

“What happened to your hand?” Mac asked.

Jerry gathered the remnants of their trash and put it in his lap. “Some kids came by and shoved Christy’s chair into the table, and it smashed his fingers.”

“Let me have a look.”

Christy rolled his eyes. “It is okay, Dr. Sattler.”

“They’re just scraped, Dad. He needs a few Band-Aids. Let’s get out of here.”

“W
E
’
VE
discussed the matter of discretion, Michael.”

Michael could feel a lecture from his dad coming on as he pushed Christy’s chair down the corridor. “I know, I know. I just don’t see why we—”

“You know why, Michael, and I don’t want to see you or Christy, or any of your friends who might be deemed guilty by association, hurt.” Mac gestured to Jerry.

Michael blew a long breath. “Yeah, okay. It’s just not fair.”

“It isn’t, but many things in life aren’t fair.” They arrived at Christy’s room and stopped in the hallway. “Jerry, let me have a look at Christy, and I’ll see you in a few moments.”

“Okay, Dr. Sattler. See you later, Christy. Bye, Michael.”

“Later, little dude.”

Christy waved his napkin-wrapped hand.

C
HRISTY
squeezed Michael’s hand as Mac removed the bandages from his thigh and hip. He gasped when he saw the smooth, pink skin on his inner thigh. He hadn’t believed Michael when he said Mac had lessened his scars. “Gone!”

“They’re not entirely gone, but you have a good start there,” Mac reassured.

Michael had always respected his dad but, at that moment, he respected him even more for his discretion. He hadn’t asked how Christy got the scars or inferred the slightest hint of pity. He simply took care of business in his usual affable manner.

“
Thavmásios!
” Christy’s voice cracked on the quiet exclamation.

Michael smiled. “Ah, okay, what does that mean?”

“It is ‘wonderful.’ Or I think you say ‘marvelous’ or this other word you have is ‘fabulous.’”

Michael ruffled his hair. “Maybe all three.”

Mac smiled. “Now, let’s see if you can stand without too much pain.”

Michael helped Christy to his bare feet. He hissed at the pain, and Michael put an arm around his waist to support some of his weight.

“It’ll feel tight and sore, but you’ll have exercises to keep your leg limber as it heals. Be sure to use the ointments and bandages, and keep the skin sterile.”

Christy grunted, and his fingers dug into Michael’s arm as he stood on his own with a quiet, “I do not wish to have more exercises.”

Mac chuckled. “You’ll do fine.”

“W
HAT
are you thinking about so seriously,
filos?
” Christy whispered sleepily.

“You.” Michael stroked Christy’s back as he lay next to him in the hospital bed.

“I hope it isn’t me who brings the frown to your face.”

“I’m not frowning. I’m planning. I’m going to take you down to the waterfront when you get out of the hospital to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Us and the fact that we have all the time in the world to be together.” It was Christy’s turn to frown. “Now, why are you frowning?”

Christy turned his crystal, cyan eyes to Michael. “Make a promise to me, Michael?”

“Anything.”

“You should not say this to someone.”

“To you, I can say it. What do you want me to promise?”

“If something were to happen to me, accept it and go on with your life.”

Michael sighed and ran his fingers through Christy’s ringlets. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Michael.” Christy buried his face against Michael’s chest.

Christy’s voice, though hoarse, was solid, no longer fluttery-sounding. As if the use of it over the past week had strengthened his vocal chords somehow. “Your voice is getting better.”

“You ignore my words.”

“I’m not ignoring what you said. Do you want to tell me some of those things about you?” Christy shook his head against Michael’s chest. “There isn’t a thing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you.” Christy growled, and Michael laughed softly. “There isn’t.”

“There are! You don’t know things! You don’t know about me, who I am!”

Whoa.
Michael worried that Christy was going to have another freak-out. He lifted Christy’s chin with gentle fingertips and met his eyes. “I know you, here, now, today. That’s good enough for me.”