Caterpillars In the Spring

The hospital room is brightly decorated. The walls are painted blue and there’s a big window right next to the bed that looks over the city. Cars rush by on the streets down below as civilians walk along the streets. There’s the occasional blare of a horn or siren, and shouting from below. A garbage truck passes, rumbling on by. And a few moments later, a bus, metallically clattering along. It comes to a halt in front of a bus stop and a handful of people climb onto it. A woman walks out of a building with two young children in tow. She looks flustered as she takes one of each of their hands, pulling then along with her. A teenager walks a huge black dog. It stops to sniff something, but the kid pulls it away. A man hurries through the crowd with a cell phone to his ear, elbowing people out of his way.

Inside the room, the air conditioning is on too high and it’s chilly. Two of the ceiling tiles above the bed have been replaced with paintings, since ‘people in hospitals spend a lot of their time looking at the ceiling’. There’s a TV on a chest of drawers across the room with a television and it’s on, but just for background noise, to avoid the long periods of silence that would otherwise fall over the room. The room that’s become far too familiar over the past couple of years.

Well, maybe not this room, but all of them look the same.

She stares out the window, drowning out the words of the doctor until she hears the familiar voice say her name. “Harlow.”

“Yep?”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Brief stinging sensation…”

Joe takes her daughter’s hand, stroking the top of it with his thumb, moving it in little circles. It’s soothing, and she likes it. She stares out the window, focusing on every little detail she can pick out. Joe leans in and softly sings to her. Then a jabbing pain in her spine. She hitches in a breath, gritting her teeth. Involuntarily, she squeezes Joe’s hand. Practically crushing it, but she doesn’t mean to, and Joe doesn’t mind.

Joe finishes the verse and runs a hand through her hair. It’s over now. “You okay, caterpillar?”

Nick reaches out to touch his daughter’s hand, resting his on top of hers ever so gently. It’s warm, and it feels nice. She runs her tongue over her bottom teeth and licks her lips. “I’m cold.”

Nick glances at Joe, who’s wearing a zip-up black jacket - the one with the big pockets and the red stripe going down the sleeves that he’s been wearing very often lately. Without hesitating, unzips it and peels it off his arms, and passes it over to her. “No, it’s fi-“

“Take it. I’m not cold.”

So she does. And she sits up and pulls it on, slipping her arms through the sleeves. It smells like Joe, and she likes that smell. But she still feels guilty for taking it. Her fathers have sacrificed so much for her and given so much that taking any unnecessary small thing makes her feel bad. They’ve already moved across the country so she can be treated at what’s supposedly one of the best, if not the best, hospitals in the world. They’ve spent so much money and time and energy on her treatment, and while it’s necessary… she sees what it does to them –the exhaustion, the constant worry…

She doesn’t talk about it, though. None of them do. She watches the doctor slip out of the room without even saying anything. She lies back down on the bed and the nurse smiles as she dresses her back with gauze, then squeezes her shoulder gently. “Gotta keep still for a bit, now.” She looks at Joe and Nick. “If she complains of a stiff neck, a headache, or a fever, take her back. Or if there’s any bleeding.”

Joe and Nick both nod. They know. The nurse smiles and murmurs a “You did good, Harlow,” and leaves the room.

Harlow looks up at the painting on the ceiling. It’s of flowers, in a pot. Sunflowers. In a blue pot. Not really all that special, but it sure does brighten up the room a little. “When can we go home?”

“I don’t know, sweetie.”

She sighs. “I’m just going to go to sleep. Can you turn the light off? And the T.V.?”

Nick gets up and flips the switch, and Joe goes over to close the curtains and switch the television off. The room is dark now, except for the lights that are on the different machines connected to her body. Her fathers sit back down, and Harlow rolls over onto her side, being careful not to disturb the IV in her arm. In minutes, she’s asleep. They both just sit there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her side as she breathes.

Nick leaves the room first, walking into the brightly lit hallway. He blinks and rubs his eyes at the sudden light and leans back against the wall, looking down at the tiled floor. It has a pattern of greens and grays and blues. Joe follows him, looking back at their sleeping daughter through the door. “Keep breathing,” he whispers. “Just keep breathing, keep breathing…” he shuts his eyes and turns away, pulling the door closed with the faintest little ‘bump’.

Nick rests a hand on his lover’s arm. “Come on, Joe, let’s go get something to eat.”

“Get what? I’m sick of hospital food.”

“Then let’s go out somewhere.”

“Without her?”

“She’s asleep, Joe.”

“I’m not leaving the building.”

“Well, then, what are we going to eat?”

Joe digs his fists into his eyes. “I don’t know. Don’t listen to me.”

“Joe.”

“What?”

“…Nothing. Let’s just go eat something, okay?”

Joe nods, and he sighs as they join hands and make their way over to the elevator. They go down a couple floors and to the cafeteria and shove the heavy doors open as they step inside. The smell of metal and sterilization overpowers the smell of food. There’s several tables and a serving line. It’s lunchtime. The two tired men shuffle over there, each grabbing a tray and some unappetizing looking food. Joe chooses some lumpy mashed potatoes and a little salad, and Nick chooses some chicken and rice.

They sit down at a table, and Joe looks around, observing everyone in the room. There’s a girl in a wheelchair sitting at the end of a table, but she’s not eating. Someone’s talking to her, but she has a far off look in her eye. An old woman hooked up to an I.V. sits at a table beside a young male nurse. He’s talking to her and she’s laughing as she fumbles with the silverware. A boy in a body cast. A young girl sitting alone. A little boy with a bald head, probably having lost it all from chemo.

He looks down at the food and pokes at the white lump. He takes a bite, but he doesn’t taste it. And Nick wonders, as he’s looking around, how many people are doing the same thing to him. Looking him over. Wondering what’s wrong with him – why he looks so tired and distraught. Or maybe they don’t care. Maybe, to them, he’s just another person and they have their own lives to worry about.

When they finish, they stand up and leave the cafeteria again. Holding hands, they walk back up to the cancer center. Harlow is still asleep, and she hasn’t stirred. They both silently lean against the doorway, watching her slumber. “Keep breathing,” Nick whispers. “Please, just keep breathing…”

________________________________________________________________________________

“I’m scared,” Nick whispers as he lies curled up beside Joe on their bed in the darkened room. The lights are off and the drapes are drawn, and it’s just the two of them curled up next to each-other on the bed. Harlow is at her uncle’s house. They’ve just been lying here in silence for quite a while, as they do sometimes. The sun peeks in through the edges of the drapes, casting a little line of dim light over the two boys. But other than that, it’s dark.

They don’t usually talk about Harlow. While sometimes they have to, they avoid it as much as possible. At home, thy pretend as hard as possible that it doesn’t exist. It hangs over their heads like a dark cloud and no one wants to have to be reminded of it. Sometimes they can even forget about it, at least for a couple of hours, but a day never passes without the thought crossing someone’s mind. And Harlow’s hairless scalp is a constant reminder.

A steady rain begins to fall outside the window. Nick rolls over to face it, but the drapes of course are blocking his view, so he rolls back into Joe’s chest. The tapping of the rain on the shingled roof provides a comforting background noise – but almost any noise is better than the silence.

“I am too,” Joe says softly after several moment of silence, admitting it for the first time.

At least if they were a religious family, they could take comfort in the thought that Harlow would go to a better place after she dies. Heaven. That she be in a beautiful place with God and all their dead loved ones and she wouldn’t be sick and she’d never be hurt again. No pain. No worries. Just bliss. But neither of them have believed in God since childhood. And Joe finds himself incredibly jealous of people who are able to believe – people who at least have that comforting thought – more and more every day. People have said they would pray for her – but God would have been the ne giving her the leukemia in the first place. So why would He take it away if people prayed? Maybe as some sick demonstration of His power.

Then, if He’s real, fuck Him.

Even Harlow thinks, in a little girl way, why would God, if there is one, do this to her? Has she done something to deserve it? No, she’s only nine, she can’t have ‘sinned’ too severely yet.

A couple more long moments pass before he whispers “but there’s still hope.”

“Not much.”

“But there’s some, and that’s all we have. We need to hold onto that as tight as we can.”

Nick nods, scooting closer to Joe. He rests his head on his lover’s chest, ear between his abs, to listen to the beating of his heart. Just to make sure he’s actually there. He feels the rising and falling of Joe’s chest and he hears the thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. It’s comforting, and he just keeps his head there for a while Listening, breathing, feeling. Listening to the thumping, the pattering of the rain outside, and feeling the movement of Joe’s chest and his lover’s hand running through his curls.

Harlow’s only nine and she was diagnosed with leukemia when she was six. It’s been an extremely rough three years, full of hospital visits and lumbar punctures and blood transfusions. All so much for a little girl to go through, but it is rare to see her without a smile on her face. Nick even suggested getting her a wig to cover her almost bald head , but she refused. It’s heartbreaking for Nick and Joe to see their daughter like this, but it’s also inspiring, and it’s taught them what to really be grateful for.

Nick moves his head off Joe’s chest to rest it beside Joe’s. They move closer and closer until their lips are touching, dancing silently with one another. It’s a needy kiss, but it’s still loving and passionate. Somewhere along the lines, loving and passionate turns into aggressive and lustful, with Nick climbing on top of Joe to get more out of it. When they separate, they stare into eachother’s eyes, breathing hard. Joe plays with the hem of Nick’s shirt, looking up at the boy, asking silent permission. Nick gives consent with a nod of his head and the shirt comes off, followed by Joe’s wifebeater.

No words are exchanged, but they both know what they want. They kiss again, this time even more needily, and Nick reaches down to unbutton Joe's jeans, his fingers fumbling over the button for a little bit until it pops open and he's able to slide them down, hooking his fingers in his lover's boxers so he can push them down at the same time. They roll over so Nick's on top now, and they kiss again as Joe pushes Nick's jeans halfway down and he kicks them the rest of the way off. "Lube?" Nick whispers, his breath hot and heavy against Joe's ear.

Joe reaches over and opens the sidetable, grabbing the little bottle. Lying underneath Nick he gently stretches the boy until he's ready, and then slicks himself up. The younger boy pushes himself up and lowers himself back down onto Joe's cock, resulting in a soft moan from both of them. It's fast and needy, but it's also as loving and passionate as always, and when it's over they separate just long enough for for Nick to push himself off of Joe and then lie back down beside him, breathing hard, both of their bodies sticky. Joe smiles as he pushes some sweaty curls out of the boy's face.

"Come on, cub, let's go shower."

He stands out of bed and then his arms move underneath Nick, lifting the boy into his arms, carrying him away to the bahroom.