Those Who Spoon

Chapter Three

 “We brought you a present.” Dolly smiled nervously, glancing at her husband. Cornelius’ face was inscrutable. When Ebenezer didn’t respond, she added timidly, “In the form of some very good news.”

Ha. That was a good one. What news could possibly be good? Hey, Ebbie, you can walk again! Did you know that people paralyzed below the waist can have intercourse? Guess what? Ava wants to go out on a date with you!

Unfortunately, a response seemed to be required of him. Ebenezer looked at his parents and said, “Cool. What is it?” Oh, they deserved to be yelled at. There was no possible news that was good; no surgeries that could fix what had been broken.

“Well,” Dolly began, “we talked to the Doctor about taking you back home in some weeks.” She smiled excitedly. “He said we could – although there are certain things to be done first before we can accommodate you, things that need a bit of fixing. But isn’t that great, honey? You’ll be able to sleep in your own room again!”

Ever so slowly, a smile spread across Ben’s face. It wasn’t a date, but hey – he would be getting out of this place. He could go home. Home; the place where he’d grown up; the place that smelt like cedar and mandarins; where the faded leather couch stood in the middle of the room; where he had his own computer; where he had a large room, in which were stacks of CD’s and DVD’s he liked. There really was truth in the saying, “There’s no place like home.” What they didn’t tell you was how much of a hellhole the hospital was, either. Even though he was in a specialized center, one which cost his parents a fortune, the food was gross, most of the nurses distant and the beds tremendously uncomfortable.

“I can go home?” he asked hoarsely. “You’re sure?”

“We’re sure,” Cornelius said gruffly. Emotion blinked in his eyes, but he held back, eyeing Ben’s burned face with distaste. Since the accident, he had been hesitant to touch his son, as if the latter was a leper. Was ugliness a contagious virus? Or petulance, for that matter? A parent’s love is not always unconditional; fathers and mothers expect you to be the perfect child. Of course, every daughter or son is bound to disappoint some time during their lives, but they always get over it. After all, isn’t every person flawed?

But what if your child changed so much you couldn’t even recognize them; wouldn’t have looked twice at them with even a hint of that parental affection if they passed you on the street? What if you found yourself wondering whether you’d made a mistake after all . . . and didn’t regret that thought?

Ebenezer didn’t know what to say, so he settled for a whispered, “Thank you.” Emotions raged through his body like a whirlwind. Sweet relief; untainted ecstasy; irksome incredulity.  They cleansed his mind of worry and resentment, leaving behind a boy who wasn’t really all that different from the old Ben Sooner; the lucky boy.

“Oh, darling!” his mother squeaked, rushing forward. Her short, chubby arms folded around his neck tightly. Ben could feel her wet tears mingle with his own as her cheek pressed firmly against his. “I’m just so happy,” she blubbered.

Cornelius shuffled towards the bed, looking ill at ease. “We’re looking forward to having you back,” he spoke hesitantly. “It’s been hard, living in such an empty house.”

For two years, Ebenezer longed to say, I’ve been in a hospital. I’ve been wheeled to the bathroom, while a nurse watched during my  first half year here to make sure I didn’t accidentally fall and break something. I’ve been through hell and back. I’ve lost count of the surgeries they performed on my face. I’ve had to look in the mirror again and again and admit that I’m hideous. I’ve been forced to accept the knowledge I’ll probably never have children; that I’ll always be in need of help my whole life; that no woman will want me; that I’ll never run or walk again; that things aren’t going to get any better from here on. And you – who has everything and doesn’t even realize it – think it’s hard to live in a quiet house. You think it’s hard to stand at the end of your son’s bed and see that he’s been broken. You know what, Dad? Think again.