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It wasn't the chaplain's first visit, but this was a special case. This kid was the one he dreaded seeing but who needed him the most. He sat, legs crossed, listening as Benny muttered through one tormented story after another.
All he went through, all the pain and suffering he lived most of his life with, Carl's death was the worse.
"All I ever wanted was to grow up to be a man. And what am I? A freekin crip, for God's sake."
From the first, it was like God planned to destroy him.
No, God had nothing to do with it. Not this mess.
But still, when he looked for the God in the quiet place, all he ever saw was their backs.
"I wish I died on the Stone," he told the chaplain. The man asked what Benny meant by a Stone, Benny turned his head away and stared at the wall until the man finally left.
He stared at the ceiling, counting tiles until chow time.
"Up and Adam, Marine," an orderly called. He pulled a wheel chair into the room and grinned. "This got you name on it." At the look on Benny's sour face, the grin died. The kid turned his head away. The orderly shrugged. It happened a lot.
"Get used to the idea, Grey. The day's a-comin' when you won't have a choice. We got too many real casualties moving through here to put up with one snot-nosed mama's boy."
At the look Benny gave him, he backed up a step, his eyes widening in alarm.
Thoughtful, he stared at Benny and left.
One day slid into another and Benny felt the restlessness of the wolf come into him.
Geese called to him in his sleep, wind hissed through his soul, whispering songs of freedom, mocking him with its laughter. To pass the time he mocked anyone foolish enough to come to see him. By now even Myers rarely came around to visit.
He refused to admit it, but he missed the old woman and her mild form of insanity. When she did come, though, her words left bruises.
"Tell me, kid, are you some kind a fairy?" she demanded. "You got every man-jack of us pulling for you, an' all you can do is whine and dine on our good faith." Myers gave him a cold, ugly look, filled with all the scorn she could dredge into it. "I figured you for a man, what with havin' a pa like Ivanovitch."
Benny opened his mouth to chase her from the room. She snatched up his water jug and dowsed him with it.
Over his shouts, she bellowed, "What would Carl do, were he in your shoes?" With that, she left Benny to wallow in a soaked bed.
Pushing the wheelchair with one finger, the orderly sauntered in.
"You want clean sheets, amigo?" he asked, his voice low but hard. "Yes? Then allow me to get you lazy ass in here so I can change them."
Hoisted into the chair Benny stiffened.
The shame turned to rage and he railed against the man.
"Take the brat to the rec-room," Myers told Carlos. "With any luck the boys'll pound some sense into that thick injun skull o' his." She cackled an evil laugh and draped a towel over Benny head. "Stuff this in your face and shut it."
Carlos abandoned him in the rec-hall, snarling, "Man, I wish we'd o' had you when they dropped us in Buenos Aires. You could o' killed all them doper lords with that snake's tongue." He walked away shaking his head.
"Screw you, Carlos," Benny shouted after him. He drove the chair to a corner and wheelied it around, scoring black streaks on the floor. Eye hard, he defied Carlos to come and do something to him.
"Hey kid, you shoot?" A blue bathrobe clad patient grinned, holding up a pool stick.
Eye filled with hate, Benny stared at the friendly face until the man shrugged and went back to his game.
He sat, eye on the clock, fists clenched in his lap, for hours, waiting for Carlos to return. Benny made no bones about wanting to be left alone, and the patients ignored him.
"Hey, Ben-nee."
Benny spit at Carlos. The man sidestepped and smiled.
"My Grammy out in Arizona, she got lamas that ain't as good as you at that." He laughed at Benny's curses. "OK, man. You want it, you got it. I give up, you little perverto. You comfy? Because you can hie your own ass around in that chair from now on." Carlos snapped his fingers at Benny and strode off whistling.
"Yeah. Beat it, creep," Benny shouted, "Before I beat you."
What his mother laughingly referred to as :the wolf: in Benny's stomach growled, demanding to be fed. Benny rubbed his stomach and grimaced. No dinner. And it was already past supper. No one bothered to asked him if he was hungry. He chased them all away. Now he was paying for acting like a sheep-brain. Men let men be men. They didn't offer to help unless they were asked.
Chagrinned, he pushed himself from the rec-hall and into the corridor. Not far away a gurney was leaning against the wall. He saw a tray on it, and with a small grin, shoved over to it, hoping for a meal
"Huh."
The tray was sealed. Through the clear plastic he saw OR tools. A bitter feeling welled up in him. His eye took in the sharp curve of a scalpel and a hunger grew.
Standing near him, an asgina darkened sun whispered. "Ride free."
Benny glanced around. No one was looking. His hand trembled over the plastic. The hall was clearing, people were settling in for the night. Forcing himself, his finger put a hole in the plastic. It popped. Benny jerked his hand back to his lap. He glanced around. Nurses chatted down the hall, a doctor was hurrying home, elevator doors groaned shut on a dozen visitors.
Before he could think, the scalpel lay gleaming in his lap. He slid it in the pocket of the hospital issue bathrobe and the wheelchair glided away.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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