Educational Experience

Part III--Chapter 22

This smaller chapter--well, smaller for EE--felt ready to go. So since it'd been a while, I decided to set it free. It sets the stage for a few things to come. And of course, we haven't heard from Wyatt in a while, so...you're welcome! JUST kidding. The song doesn't fit exactly, but it's a song about asking heaven to wait a little longer, which works well for one scene for sure. So...here we go! One more step toward "The End."

She said, "I just...I heard that you'd...had some trouble..."

It was Wyatt, finally calling me directly. And sounding sort of like she wasn't sure she should have. But they'd given me so much stuff to keep me from moving around and causing any more craziness that I almost couldn't answer. And I had to.

I haven't said a lot about her because I've been whining about my friggin' injuries and whatnot and I figure you're about done with me by now. But every day, almost all day, I thought about her. I could feel her there sometimes, like she was right next to me or maybe was thinking about me, too.

But then it would go away, and I'd feel just...normal again. And it sucked. I mean, I'm not in love with love, okay? Addicted to the idea, more than the person. But it's such a high that when it starts to go away, it's a real let down. And she'd pop into my mind, and the craving would come back...you've been there. Everybody has.

So I eased myself up on one elbow and then realized that was the wrong thing to do, because it hurt like a bitch and also I could feel the dressing they'd just put on sort of tugging at my skin and I did not want another tongue lashing. Let me tell you about that, and then we'll get into Wyatt and me talking, I promise.

See, the real young doctor who did the last surgery, Connor Martin's his cool as hell name, gave me the only serious lecture I ever got at that hospital. From the heart, too, so I felt it in the same place and was sincerely sorry. And scared.

After they'd scanned me to make sure I hadn't messed up anything, he came in and shut the door-always a bad sign.

And then he pulled up a chair, looked me dead in the eyes and said, "You love your kids, right?"

And I said, "Look, I know I--"

"Just answer the question. You love 'em more than anything, right?"

I nodded and shrugged and said, "Yeah. I do. I love 'em ike crazy."

And he folded his arms and sighed real loud, like you do when a kid has done something really stupid, but you want to let them know you love them before you tear them a new one.

"I get that. We all do. But dammit, if you get another infection in there, which you could, and it goes to your spinal cord, which it could, it's game over, okay? The tissue's all raw in there right now-wide open to all kinda nasty stuff. You could wind up with permanent injuries or even paralysis, dude. And they're not gonna give you your kids if you're stuck in here or rehab for God knows how long, are they?"

I was about to try to apologize and explain that I would've probably worried myself sicker if I hadn't gone to that meeting. But a nurse was slipping me some knock out juice in one of the tubes running into my arm, so before I could think of the right words, I konked out. I guess that was his way of making sure I didn't move around too much or run off again or something-too bad real parents can't do that shit. But then if they could, kids'd probably spend half their childhoods unconscious or nodding out like little junkies all the time.

But I heard that cell phone though-Wyatt's ring. I'd picked this stupid, frilly little song from the list of them built into the thing, because it sounded feminine or something. Most of my close friends had real .mp3 clips, Dubstep, R & B, Funk, something that sounded like them. I hadn't had a chance to run Wyatt through my music memory bank yet. We'd hit the ground running, her and me.