"Hi, Debbie, I need help with lots of stuff," I said, wondering if the staff was listening in.
"Looks like you need fresh sheets and clothes, maybe even a bath. I have your
blood testing kit as well."
I stuck out a finger. "Let's do that first. I haven't had insulin since I've been here, for three whole days."
"That isn't good," she said clucking her tongue. "And they have dextrose in the IV. I will report this to your doctor right away, but...." She pricked my finger and collected the drop of blood. "Three hundred fifty. You need insulin right away, Jason, even before your bath." She put a vial of insulin on the bed, with a syringe. "I'll check
with your doctor, but let's get you out of those wet things."
I took the hint, and measured out a shot as Debbie gathered sheets and dry pajamas for me. Just as I was ready to inject, my door opened, and a nurse walked in. She screamed at she saw what I was about to do.
"What are you doing? Who are you?" she demanded turning on Debbie for the moment.
I gave myself the shot, before the lady had the chance to take it away. "My blood sugar was over three hundred," I said. "This nice lady brought in stuff for me, including my medicine since no one else will do it. Do you mind? I'm about to get a bath and change my clothes."
"We don't have any orders for that!" the nurse shrieked out.
"What do you mean?" Debbie asked sweetly. She opened the binder. "I have a page of orders from Dr. Richardson, and another from Dr. Kline. You don't read your patient's charts? That IV was to be discontinued three days ago, and I can't see where anyone signed off on Jason's insulin."
"Give me that," the lady said and snatched the chart out of Debbie's hands. "This is no concern of yours. He isn't a real, little boy."
"I'm an authorized volunteer assigned to this patient by the Chief Nurse of this hospital, Mrs. Grant. You know her?" Debbie said and snatched the chart right back. "Whether or not this person is seven or fifty he is still in desperate need of medical care that he isn't getting here.
"He can't get up to go to the bathroom, for pity's sake. His skin is soaked through with urine, he needs a bath, clean sheets, a dry bed, a urinal, a diabetic diet, insulin, and the list goes on and on. He's getting dextrose in his IV against doctor's orders, and when all this reported to the administration there could be criminal charges
filed as well as civil."
"What's going on here?" asked the old witch, herself, pushing her way into the room. "I am Mrs. Wright, the chief nurse of this ward. Is there a problem?"
"Since none of the nurses on this ward can follow doctor's orders," Debbie said, cutting off the nurse, "I have been assigned to this patient. I do have the time to take care of him, give him his medicines and keep him in reasonable comfort. The condition that I found him in, in fact that he is still in, is deplorable, and it will be reported."
Mrs. Wright frowned. "You have made your report, young lady, that will be all. This patient is the concern of this ward now, not yours. Good day."
"She gave him insulin," the first nurse said.
"What?" the chief nurse shouted. "You had no right! There aren't any orders for that."
"What do you call these?" Debbie said and displayed the chart without letting either nurse get close to it. "Dr. Richardson wrote these days ago, and not one has been carried out."
"Dr. Richardson is no longer the attending physician."
"Who is the doctor?" Debbie demanded.
"There isn't one assigned to this patient, now...." Mrs. Wright started.
"Then, in that case, these orders are still in effect until there is. Now, if I can't get this patient's blood sugar down to normal, with or without your help, I intend to take him to the emergency room if I have to carry him there. If you will excuse me, I have work to do."
"But he isn't a real, little boy," Mrs. Wright pleaded.
"So?" I answered. "I am a real human being, and a real patient on this ward, in your care, and you aren't giving it to me. I didn't ask to be in some sort of experiment for new biological agents. I didn't ask to be turned into this scrawny little kid, either, thus becoming the medical marvel of the century.
"I don't know what that stuff is that did this, but I can see the practical uses for it. Sure, spray it at an enemy army, turn them all into little kids that can't fight, and the war is over without any bloodshed. It's a weapon of mass baby-fication!"
Debbie groaned, and shook her head. "Did you have to do that?"
"No one told us anything about a biological agent," the young nurse said.
"It's in the notes," Debbie sighed.
"It still doesn't change anything. This is not a real child," Nurse Wright added.
"You don't know him very well," Debbie blurted out. "Now I am going to get this patient out of this wet bed. He needs a bath, dry clothes, and a new bed, in that order. Will you help me, or do I have to go to Mrs. Grant right now?" She bumped the bed, and I felt her hand slip something under my pillow.
"Fine, then go to Mrs. Grant, by all means," Mrs. Wright said. "I will show you the way."
****
After Debbie left, things got blurry for me. She had slipped my cell phone under my pillow, but I decided not to use it except for a real emergency. Days slipped by, and nothing changed. They hung new IV bags, even after the damn thing infiltrated since they didn't have time to flush the tubing. My left hand swelled up to twice it's size, it hurt like anything, but nothing was done about it. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get the tape off my hand to remove the IV.
After four, maybe five days, I felt a buzzing under my pillow. Five minutes later, it dawned on me that the cell phone was vibrating and I answered it.
"Jason?" Claire's voice screamed into the phone.
"Yeah," I managed to croak out, and I licked my lips. "Help me, please. I'm dying here."
"I was afraid you already had. Darling, please, hang on for another hour or so.
We will be right there."
"Thank God," I said as I heard her disconnect on the other end.
I heard the commotion in the ward long before it reached my room. With so many voices arguing, I couldn't hear what was said until they were right outside.
"You can't do this," Mrs. Wright's voice rose over all the others.
"The patient in that room is my husband, no matter what he looks like, and I have every right to get him to proper medical care."
"But he's no longer in that room. We had to move him two days ago."
"Then you won't mind if we just take a look, do you?" Claire said, in her best not to be denied voice. The door opened.
Claire, two uniformed policeman, several men and ladies in business suits all poured into the room. Debbie and Kevin brought up the rear.
I could see the look of disgust cross almost everyone's face as the stench from my bed reached them.
"What's wrong with him?" one of the cops asked.
Both Claire and Debbie hurried over to my
bedside. Tears poured down my cheeks as I looked at Claire's face, then I glanced down to my hand. "It hurts," I whispered.
"He's in DKA, big time," Debbie said. "Mom, smell his breath."
"I suppose you are a doctor, now, and can make that diagnosis?" Mrs. Wright said from behind the cops.
"No, but Jason is my father. You can't live with a type one diabetic for twenty-one years and not know the signs and symptoms," she said and pulled out my blood testing kit. A second later, she looked up and glared at the nurse. "It's over six hundred. His sheets and pajamas haven't been changed for well over a week. He's
been unable to get out of bed because of the IV, which is grossly infiltrated. He hasn't had insulin for five days. If we didn't make it here, today, there is a good chance he would have died before tomorrow morning."
Claire nodded her head. "This is nothing more, nor less than attempted murder."
"Who is the doctor assigned to this patient?" one of the suits asked.
"He doesn't have one," Mrs. Wright said.
"You said that five days ago," Debbie cut in. "Why doesn't he?"
"Because we don't have the time or the staff to do everything. There isn't an available doctor, and we had no orders about his insulin or anything else."
The other suit shook his head. "How long has it been since this child was given any sort of care?"
"I was in here as an authorized volunteer five days ago," Debbie said. "I gave him insulin then, but they had me kicked out of the hospital before I could do so much as give him a bath."
"When was the last time he had anything to eat or drink?"
I shook my head. "Thirsty now!" I croaked out.
The other man checked his notes. "It seems that three of the cafeteria staff complained to their supervisor about the condition of this patient. When she checked with Mrs. Wright, she was told to mind her own business, and apparently no further trays were ordered. That was six days ago."
"We can hash this all out, later. Jason needs medical attention immediately. If there aren't any doctors here on this ward, I will carry him down to the ER myself and demand that he be seen."
I looked up at Debbie. "My hand."
She nodded, and started peeling back the tape on the IV site. "Mom, would you get me a towel with hot water?"
"I will," Kevin volunteered.
"Stop it, stop it right now," Mrs. Wright shrieked. "You don't have the authority to do that. Stop it." She started to move forward, but one of the policemen stopped her.
"You are facing some serious charges, Mrs. Wright. Don't make it worse for yourself."
"What in the name of all that is Holy is going on, here?" I recognized the man as Dr. Richardson.
"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Wright demanded, turning pale.
"I was paged by the ward clerk for the emergency here, and.... Who is this, and when did he get admitted?"
"Jason Todd," I managed to say.
"He was admitted to this ward eight days ago," one of the suits added.
Dr. Richardson hurried over to bed, and flashed a light in my eyes. "When did he get back from the medical ward?"
"He's never left this room," Claire explained, and filled the doctor in.
"Betty?" he asked, turning on the nurse. "You told me that he had been transferred to the medical ward. In fact, that was about an hour after he was brought in here. This kid is severly dehydrated, acidotic, and I don't want to think what condition his skin is in. He needs insulin, now, and an insulin drip.... Why does he have D5
hanging here?"
"Because that's the only order we had for him," Mrs. Wright said.
"I wrote orders when he came in, I know I did. Where is his chart, and why aren't you getting anything done?"
"We took you off this case, Dr. Richardson. Your caseload was way to high for this, and - and his chart is at the auditors."
"I have a copy of it right here," Debbie said. "I have insulin, too, but I'm a pre-med student. I can't put in IV's, but I can take this one out."
Dr. Richardson pushed the call button, but had no response. He tried again with the same result.
"None of my nurses will lift a finger to help that - that thing," Mrs. Wright said. "It's an abomination is the sight of the Lord, and I am going to make sure it dies and goes back to the hell in which it belongs."
One of the suits looked at the other. "The Hospital will not contest this suit. We will need to close this ward down until we can replace the staff. Looks like all of the nurses here will be indicted on malpractice at the very least. I'll have my attorneys call your office to arrange a settlement."
Kevin wrapped the warm towel around my hand and flashed me a thumbs up.
Claire reached down, grabbed me by the armpits and picked me up, like a child. For the first time since I had changed, I had a good idea exactly how small I was. Claire kissed my cheek, and held me, even though I had no clothes on, and felt sopping wet from the sheets.
"You can't do this," Mrs. Wright screamed over and over again. "He's a demon that doesn't deserve to live. I can prove it!" She pulled a small vial out of her pocket and opened it.
"This will send you back to the lowest rung of Hell, demon," she growled at me. "This is Holy Water, blessed by seven times seven priests and ministers."
"Water?" I asked, and reached for the vial myself.
One of the cops took the vial from Mrs. Wright's hand, sniffed it, and shook a couple of drops out on his palm. "It seems okay." He handed the vial over to me.
"No, he will just dump it on the floor."
I let a couple of drops fall on my hand, "Not burning," I said, then took a swig to wash out my mouth. I gulped down the entire vial. "There, I can talk again. Please tell all those priests and ministers thanks a lot from me. I really needed that."
Mrs. Wright pulled a crucifix from her pocket. "This cross was blessed by Rev. Billy Rae Smith, himself. Be gone, spawn of Satan!"
Shaking my head, I could only stare at the cross. "That's for vampires, lady, get a life."
She glared at me, and then at the cross. "You are Satan himself. Of course, only he would have the power to do this...."
I laughed at her. "Very good, Mrs. Wright. You guessed the truth at last. I am Satan, the Fallen One."
"Arrest him, do something," she shouted at the policemen.
"Ah, but it's not against the law to be the Prince of Darkness, is it? What have I done but suffered your abuse? Now that you know, however, ask yourself one question - whose soul was I after, and whose soul did I win? The poor sap that had this body before me, or yours?"
"What? I am safe in the protection of the Lord."
"Are you?" I laughed again. Claire held me tighter, and sighed, but let me go on.
"Think about it, Mrs. Wright. I am an immortal, condemned to rule in Hell for all eternity. If this body dies, I simply go home for a day or so, but Jason Todd dies as well, and you - yes you, Mrs. Wright will be responsible for that death. Murder is a mortal sin.
"I have done nothing to Mr. Todd, except make his body younger, and better than before. But you, and your staff have neglected his body and brought it to the point of death, have you not? All of you will find yourself on the Hell-Bound Train sooner or later, now."
"No, you're lying. You are the father of lies."
"But why would I lie about this, when the truth is so much more fun?"
"No," she said slowly. "I am not going to Hell. Take this." She pulled a silver knife from her pocket.
"That's for werewolves," I said as the cops lead her away. I tightened my hold on Claire. "I don't feel too good" I added just before I passed out.
****
I woke with a huge yawn. After a long stretch, I glanced around recognizing the Intensive Care unit. I found a new IV attached to the other hand, but I was dry. Somewhere along the line someone had bathed me, dressed me and put to bed someplace clean.
"Dr. Kline? Your patient is awake."
"Thanks, Mrs. Bowers," I heard the man's voice say. Soon enough, he approached my bed on the left side. "Hey, Buddy, how are you feeling?"
I looked way up at him and made a face. "You called me Buddy?"
"Sure, I called my son that, when he was your age. I still call him that, from time to time. It's something that you had better get used to, Tiger."
After a long sigh, I commented. "I was feeling really good, until you started all of that. What's my blood sugar?"
"One sixty as of an hour ago. We will take it again in an hour. I can't tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened downstairs. I still don't believe it. I knew Betty Wright fairly well, or so I thought, too."
"Not your fault," I cut him off. "Sorry, I am not in the best of moods right now. I mean I survived the pediatric ward, but what do I do with the rest of my life? I had a good life, you know, great wife, good career, a family, now what? I suppose we can live on Claire's income, but it will be tight, and...."
"You haven't been brought up to speed yet, kiddo. You all but own this hospital, you know. The scuttlebutt says that the hospital agreed to a three hundred million dollar settlement."
"Okay, I could live with that. In fact, I could really live well with that, but - but what about me? I'm not a real, little boy."
"Yes, but who outside of this hospital would ever believe that? Think about it, Tiger. You lost fifteen pounds while you were downstairs. You have the size and appearance of an average seven-year-old boy, not eight. Everyone you meet from here on out, well this year, of course, will relate to you as if you were an average seven-year-old. Think about it."
I hit my fist on the mattress a few times. "That's the problem. I don't want to think about it. Since I own this place, I think I'll stay right here. We have the money to move my family down here, Claire won't have to work another day in her life, and the kids, well the kids won't get a penny of this money until they turn forty, at
least."
"I heard that," Debbie said as she followed Claire into the room. Claire leaned over and kissed my forehead.
"I know you did," I answered Debbie.
"Jason and I were just discussing the future," Dr. Kline told them. "He wants to stay here, and not deal with the outside world, but at the current rates his settlement would be gone like that." He snapped his fingers.
"Well, we have other plans, don't we, Debbie?"
"Mom's right, we do but what we really need you to do is pick a name. It's a boys name, and we have it down to three: Trevor, Bradley and Derek. Which one do you like?"
I frowned for a moment. "Trevor, but.... Sweetheart, is there something you want to tell me?"
Dr. Kline left the room as Debbie sputtered for a moment. "It's not that, Daddy, nothing like that. The name's for you. I sent your picture to a couple of talent agencies in New York, and they want to meet you. Jason isn't that up-to-date a name anymore, and those three were about the best we could find for your stage name."
"We are going to be filthy rich, so why would I want a stage name? I mean, Jason was good enough for your grandmother and it's damn well good enough for you."
"No, it isn't, Trev. You are going to be the most adorable kid in the world, and you will be making a mint with all the commercials, modeling and TV shows you will be doing."
"And, if you think you are going to stay home, sitting on your butt playing video games and watching cartoons twenty-four seven, forget it." Claire gave me that, 'you don't have a choice in this' stare.
Kevin walked into the room wearing a huge smile. "Hey, lil' bro', you look better. So, is it Trevor?"
"Uh, Kevin," I said. "I am still your father, and I trust you will remember that."
His grin grew wider. "You think you can make me, huh? Want to go a few rounds? See if you can take me without an army?"
"No, but if you make me I will hold my breath until I turn blue and you will be sorry."
"Good one, sweetheart," Claire said. "Now I will go find Dr. Kline while the kids fill you in on what every second grader should know."
"What for?" I asked.
"You'll need to understand what the other kids are talking about," Kevin pointed out. "There are so many new things out, new cartoons, new music, it would help if you watched them. That way, when all your friends are talking about Spongebob, Dexter, Courage and Timmy, you will know what they mean."
"What for?" I asked again. "I'm going to be the star of commercials and TV and everything else your sister has planned out for me. I won't have time to worry about kids, other than the two of you."
"Daddy," Debbie cut in. "Once the word gets out that there's a new kid in our house, and it will, the other little boys will be at the doorstep trying to get to know you."
"So? I'm a grownup and they are little kids."
"Not anymore, sweetheart," Claire said. "When a little boy knocks on our door and asks if Trevor can come out to play, what are you going to do? Stand there like some sort of stuck up snob, or go out and spend all that energy you have with boys your own age? You want them to think you're cool, don't you?"
I sighed and looked at each of my family members. "And the opinion of the neighborhood rug-rats is important to me, why?"
"Because these are the kids you will be going to school with."
"Whoa, hold on there, babe. I've been through school, remember? I worked my butt off to get through college."
"Jason did, but not Trevor. Sweetheart," she said and put a hand on my shoulder. "What with one thing and another, you haven't had much of a chance to think about the future, but we have. The one thing that I think will be painfully obvious is that no one we meet, or deal with in any capacity is ever going to be believe that you are anything more than a little boy. That is how they are going to relate to you, and that is how they will expect you to act. Kids will be anxious to play with you, and adults will ignore you.
"The choice will be yours, you can ignore the kids and spend the next ten years irritating all the adults in the world if you try to make them treat you like an adult, or you can be a kid again, play with the other boys, go to school and relax about your life. You had a horrible childhood the last time, now that you have the chance, you can
really enjoy this one. It's not many people that go into their second childhoods looking
like a kid."
I sighed, and slumped down on the bed. "This is way too much for me to comprehend right now. I'm really that adorable?"
"Yes, you are," Claire answered trying not to laugh. "Wait until you see your new wardrobe. You will be the coolest kid, ever. I still need to hear from your doctor when you can go home, so I will find him. Kevin, Debbie, you get your little brother started, but you don't need to make him watch all the cartoons today. Just a few until
he gets used to it."
****
Claire held out a pair of red and yellow sweat pants, with a yellow T-shirt. I stared at the clothes. "You think I could fit into something that small?"
"These are going to be loose on you, sweetie."
"But sweats? I needs pants, with pockets, you know, for my wallet and keys and things?"
"You're seven, Trevor. You don't need to carry a wallet or keys or - things. This is what kids your age wear. I would think that you would want to get out of this hospital."
I sighed, "I do, but dressed like that? Okay, but it's going to take time for me to get used to the idea of being a kid. I am not going to play with the neighborhood kids, you know. I just couldn't."
"But you're hanging onto that Teddy that Kevin gave you. You are, and you will adapt to this, slowly. At least school won't start for another month. Dr. Kline was kind enough to draw up the papers that you will need for your new identity, and we have an appointment in two days in New York. Will you get dressed, or do I have to do that for you, too?"
As quickly as I could, I dressed in the little boy's clothes, slipped tiny shoes and socks on my feet, then turned to look at myself in the mirror. No one would ever believe that I was anything but a small child, I thought feeling depressed. This was going to be hard.
Claire led the way out into the hallway, "I'll get your discharge papers, just sit there," she said and pointed to a chair.
As she walked away, another kid, a boy a little smaller than me sat down in the chair next to me. It felt odd, sitting there, eye to eye with a real rug-rat.
"Hi, I'm Bobby. You want to play cards?" he asked and pulled a deck of animal cards out of his hospital bathrobe.
What could it hurt, I thought, noting the anxious look on the boy's face.
We played one hand before Bobby brought out a silver box. I stared at the box for a moment, while he opened it. "What's that?"
"Where do you live? The Moon? It's a Game Boy."
"No, I live in Antarctica. Nothing down there but penguins and seals, you know. We don't have things like that."
He stared at me, with his eyes wide. "For real?"
I nodded my head a couple of times. "No."
With a bark, Bobby broke out laughing. "Here, it works like this."
I played the game for a minute. "I gotta get one of these."
"Maybe," Claire said walking up to me. "Are you two having fun?"
I blushed, and nodded. "So I was wrong about playing with kids," I said. "Thanks, Bobby, now I gotta get her to buy me one. Bye."
"Bye," he said and went on with the game.
On the elevator, I tried to slip my hand into Claire's but she refused. "What's the matter? I know what I look now, but I'm still your husband."
"No, you are officially my son. Look, Trevor - Jason. We need to accept this, and get on with our lives. You need to be a little kid, and grow up again. I don't like what this has done to us, but what can we do?"
"If there was a biological agent that could do this to me, there has to be one that can reverse it."
"But would you take it? Just think, you can do everything over again. You can finally realize all of your dreams and ambitions now."
I shook my head. "The only dream I ever had was growing old with you, and playing with our grandchildren."
She laughed at that. "You will play with them, like an older brother now, instead of a grandfather."
****
Claire slammed the driver's seat closed, and deliberately reached over the seat to buckle me in, as if I couldn't do it myself. "Why did you do that?"
"Because they were so rude to me. I don't believe these people. They call themselves Real Estate agents, but did you see how that lady treated me? I know, I know they think I'm only seven, but they don't have to treat me as if I'm not there."
"Next time, Trevor Alexander Todd, you will take the lollipop and suck on it like a good boy, is that clear? We have tried five agencies so far, and I am not going to go beyond six. Children should be seen, and not heard, remember that one? Do it."
"But I'm the one buying the house, shouldn't they want my opinion?"
Claire glared at me. "Your opinion will always be important to me, Trevor, sweetheart, but if you start acting up again I swear I will take you home, pay Kevin to baby-sit you, and leave you out of the loop on every major decision we make
concerning that money."
"Okay, okay, I get your point, Mommy. I'll be good, really. Want to go out for a beer after this?" I said with my widest grin.
We stopped at the next Real Estate office on the list. Claire waited until I crawled out of the car before walking up to the door.
A middle aged woman met us in the office. She gave Claire a warm smile, then glanced at me. "Oh, and who is this handsome, young man?"
"I'm Trevor. Is this the house store? Mom wants to buy one."
"Well, yes, it is," the lady said, delighted. "Isn't he precious?" she told Claire.
"Very," Claire said. "Oh, look. There's a coloring book over on that table. Why don't you show the nice lady how well you can color. Go on, Trev. We'll be right here. Sometimes I swear that child is seven going on fifty," she told the nice lady.
Claire followed the lady down the hall, but still within sight of my table. A moment later, another mom with two kids walked through the door with the chimes of bells. A different lady emerged from the offices to take care of the newcomer. She
carried a toddler with her, but her son, about my size, immediately joined me at the table and helped himself to crayons.
"Hi, I'm Justin," he said and started coloring, well adding color to the page of a coloring book, in no particular order. Abstract painting at it's best, I thought.
"I'm Trevor," I answered as I worked on my own project.
"I got Hot Wheels," he added, and pulled a couple mini cars from his short's pocket.
"Cool," I said, and broke into a grin in spite of myself as I took one of the cars. In seconds, Justin and I were on hands and knees playing with toys.
"I used to have a lot of these - uh - before we had to move," I said.
"Yeah, Mom wants to move, but I hate it."
"Trevor?"
I looked up Claire, and felt my whole body blush. "I was just playing."
"I can see that," she said with a half smile, "we need to go look at houses."
"Okay. Here," I handed back the car to Justin. "Thanks."
"Did you have a good time playing with that little boy?" Claire asked me as we walked out to the car, behind the Real Estate lady.
"I don't believe I did that."
She patted me on the shoulder. "It's okay, you're accepting this, and starting to adapt. I understand, really. But, to change the subject, you have a commercial. They want you to do that 'Is this the house store' bit for the Agency."
"On TV? Yeah!" I said, then cleared my throat. "Okay, fine with me."
Without any help from me, Claire found a gorgeous house, in an exclusive neighborhood, but not that exclusive. We saw lots of toys scattered on some of the yards as we drove through the first time.
We moved in, two months after I was released from the hospital and two weeks after I was signed for my second TV commercial. Pamela, the lady from the Real Estate office met us at the house as the moving truck pulled into the driveway.
I stood on the front lawn, staring at the house, a white, with pale green accents,
sprawling, faked Victorian, but it had more than enough room. I still didn't believe the
way everything was going, especially since I now had my own room, rather than sharing one with Claire. I hated the thought, but I had to agree, if she had turned into a little girl, I wouldn't want her in my bed, either.
"Trevor?" Claire called out. "Trev, will you come here for a second?"
With my reverie firmly broken, I walked over to meet another family, complete with a boy about my age.
"Trev, this is Mrs. Clark from next door, and Danny."
"Hi," he said, with a wistful glance at the house.
"Hey," I answered then looked back at the house myself. "Who lived here before?"
"Ryan, he was my best friend."
"Yeah, I left my best friend at home, too. We moved here 'cause I'm gonna be on TV."
"Oh, yeah? In a show?"
"No, some commercial. I get to get dirty so my TV mom can wash my clothes in this new stuff - 'Kerplowie'."
"There isn't any stuff called 'Kerplowie'," he said, with all the authority he could manage.
"Is, too," I said. "It's new."
"Okay, cool. You wanna come over to my house? It's gonna be years before they get all of your stuff off the truck and I've got a computer and a Play Station."
"Okay. I've got Hot Wheels," I said and pulled a couple cars out of my pocket. I glanced up at Claire. "Mom, can I go over to Danny's house. He's gotta Play Station."
I saw the look she gave me, sad and resigned, yet happy at the same time. I realized I had just said hello to my new best friend. I had no choice. I was a little kid, and the best thing I could do was just relax, be a little kid, and enjoy it. At least, this time, I wouldn't have a drunk for a dad that beat me as I grew up. But, still, it hurt to say goodbye to Claire, my wife and the love of my life, and trade that in for "Hi, Mom," and a life full of love.
I chased Danny across the yard to his side door, and refused to look back.
End