DaySleeper

A week passes. The bruises on my face have nearly completely disappeared, but the bridge of my nose is still a few shades darker.

I spend most days with the kids that are too young to go school. They don’t ask questions about my bruises, a sad reminder of their home life, but enjoy playing with my cast and coloring on it. Maggie is taking me this afternoon to get it taken off. Then my arm will be all better. I wonder if it will work still. I get the feeling sometimes that it will never heal up. That it will always be ruined.

Josiah holds my pointer finger as we cross the dining hall to the community room. Alice, somehow, forgot to show me the only interesting part of the building. The room is the size of a regular wing, half full of kid’s toys, and half with a few couches and a television. People flock here to watch the news at night. The kids spend their days playing in the dining hall, where Alice and I and Ethel shove all the tables against the walls so they can have space, or in here, playing with the toys.

Ethel is always here. She stays in the house across the street, for free, because she works here. She’s been working here for years. I want to ask why she’s so drawn to this place, but it seems rude. I can imagine.

Most of the people in Wing D are at school. Once you hit 14, it seems, you move into Wing D. Alice and I are the only ones here all the time. We don’t work (Alice can’t explain her lack of a job) and we don’t go to school. So we watch the 12 kids. They’re all really good kids. Josiah is my favorite. His mom, Janelle, is the palest woman here, and Josiah’s father apparently was black. His brother, Kyle, stays with me and Alice in Wing D. He’s 15, and obviously half asian. We don’t ask any questions.

Regardless, Josiah is adorable. He holds my pointer finger and tells me a story about a giraffe that saved a goldfish. He is awestruck by his own ramblings. I smile at him and ask him questions occasionally.

“The graph held the fish in his mouth, like this,” Josiah explained, pulling at the corners of his mouth with his fingers, letting my hand go.

“Giraffe, Jo,” I correct him, “But that’s very good.”

He smiles up at me, fingers still in his mouth, very proud of himself. His freckles splay out a bit with his smile.

“Keep going,” I encourage him. He pulls his fingers from his mouth and continues his story. An alligator tried to fight the graph for the goldfish, who was the king.

“The end,” Josiah says happily. A boy on a tricycle zooms past us. I sit down at a table.

“That was very, very good,” I say, smiling. Josiah’s face brightens and he runs off, giggling loudly. I watch him go.

“Scared him off, I see,” Alice says, sitting next to me as the children play on the linoleum.

“I don’t really know why he left,” I say. She chuckles.

“I think Maggie will be here soon,” she says, checking her watch, “Do you need anything in particular?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I say, “Can you handle these things while I am gone?”

She scoffs. I take that as a yes. I hear a car horn blow outside. I stand.

“Be back in a bit!” I call over my shoulder. Alice yells goodbye, followed by the kids. I wave to Ethel as I pass the counter.

~~
I feel the blood drain from my face when I see the saw they want to use to cut my cast off. I think I may have just whimpered.

“They will not cut you,” Maggie promises.

“I’m sure that’s not their intentions,” I agree.

“Just don’t look. The saw is just cutting through the top layer. They can feel when it breaks, and they move on. No slicing up gay boys, I promise,” she says. I scowl at her.

“Okay, Cadence,” the nurse says, entering, “Ready to get this monster off?”

I nod mutely.

“He’s scared,” Maggie whispers loudly.

“I can hear you!” I object. The nurse laughs.

“No reason to be worried,” the nurse says, “It’ll be over before you know it.”

I nod. She turns the saw on, and I turn my head, burying it in Maggie’s shoulder.

“Life your arm,” the nurse says. I do as she says, keeping my face hidden. Maggie holds my hand.

The saw digs into the cast, and I flinch.

“Stay still,” Maggie orders. I freeze up.

The nurse rotates my arm and does it again. I look up when the saw is off.

“Ready?” she asks, smiling. I nod. She takes a pair of scissors and cuts the fluff from my arm. “Did you want to keep the cast?” she asks me, tossing the fluff into the trashcan.

“Yeah,” I say. There are some really good drawings on that thing. I stare at my wrist. “It’s thinner than I remember.”

“The other one is the same size,” Maggie says. I nod, and hold them up next to each other. Same size.

I bite my lip as I flex my fingers and twist my wrist.

“Does he need a brace?” Maggie asks. The nurse waves it off.

“No,” she replies, “His wrist didn’t lose too much strength. I think he’ll be fine. Did you want one anyways?”

“No,” Maggie says. I continue to move my wrist around. The nurse leaves the room. I wipe my eyes quickly. “Cade?” Maggie asks.

“Thought it would be broken forever.”

“Nothing will be broken forever.” She promises, and kisses the top of my head. “Let’s go, yeah?”

I nod, and stand up.