Special
Day 1
There was nothing special that day. Just another day in a hospital. I yawned, and the thought of my cold and made bed at home immediately jumped in front of my mind. A frown ceased my face by the thought didn’t last long when I heard noise.
I cringed almost immediately. I was the kind of person that liked to live in silence. No noise, no nothing. I turned my head and saw a scene unfolding in front of my eyes. It was scary, but intriguing at the same time. A teenager being carried into the hospital, he was thrashing around wildly.
My first reaction was to laugh, it wasn’t right for someone his age to act like that. But I stopped once I realized he was crying. “We need help over here!” a nurse shouted. I stood up without think about it twice. Almost automatically, like it was an obligation. I ran to him and understood almost everything.
Everybody was taking hold of his limbs, except for his left leg which was bleeding. A big wound was on it, blood dripping constantly. Disgusting, no wonder nobody wanted to hold it. I didn’t want to hold it, but a doctor told me to. Seriously, who would want to hold a bleeding foot?
He was being carried to a room, thrashing around and whining. I got a good look at him, he was shaking. He was terribly pale and clammy. I took pity on him; he must’ve been so scared. Tears poured from his eyes, looking up to the woman that was holding his hand, telling her to save him and the woman burst into tears.
She was his mother, I noted in my head. I felt sadness for a second; mother never cared like that for me. The thought tore me apart as we got him into a room. He was laid on a bed, and he calmed for a while, eyes shifting from side to side. “Gerard?” his mother said.
“Mama?” he looked in her eyes for a second before they started to move around again.
The older woman took his face in her hands, “Gerard, look at me,” she begged. He didn’t look, his eyes were too busy wandering around the room. “Baby, I love you. Be brave for me, okay?”
“I love you too,” he answered in a monotone, no feeling or affection whatsoever. This was surprising, his mother just told him that she loved him like he was about to die. Any other person would’ve answered the same way. I would’ve, but Gerard didn’t.
Gerard. His name was something I’ve never heard before. I might’ve misheard his name once, I don’t recall. “Here it goes. . .” a doctor mumbles, injection in hand. Gerard caught sight of the sharp object and started panicking again.
“Mikey?” he called out. I heard someone curse from behind, somebody that I’ve guessed was Mikey.
He walked to him, rolled his eyes and said, “What?” The way he said it was so angry. He glared through his wire glasses, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. The doctor got a few steps closer and for once, his eyes never moved away from him. He latched onto the arm closest to him; mine and he whimpered.
“Mikey, a needle,” he whispered, twitching. His tight hold around my limb could’ve been numbing, Mikey might’ve noticed.
Mikey sighed and looked down. He said, “Yes, Gerard, it’s a needle. You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t be scared of this kind of shit anymore!”
He was scolded, and I had a feeling that was not the first that happened that day. “Alright, Gerard I need you to calm down, I’m going to make all of the pain go away.” The doctor said in his gentle voice. I scoffed, I know gentle was far from his interests.
Gerard held on tighter, I suddenly felt the urge to hold him too. Mikey groaned, embarrassment swimming in his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Frank.” It was the first time I said my name that day. I was never good with introductions; he must’ve sensed that since he tucked a smug smirk on his face.
“Listen, only you and the other people in this room are going to know about my brother’s fear of needles and his childish acts,” he started. I took on the impression that he was ashamed of his brother. He looked over his shoulder, watching his brother try to back away from the needle.
“Why?” This question was stupid. I needed something to say, some kind of explanation. He didn’t give it to me, though.
Instead, “Frank, let’s be friends.”
I cringed almost immediately. I was the kind of person that liked to live in silence. No noise, no nothing. I turned my head and saw a scene unfolding in front of my eyes. It was scary, but intriguing at the same time. A teenager being carried into the hospital, he was thrashing around wildly.
My first reaction was to laugh, it wasn’t right for someone his age to act like that. But I stopped once I realized he was crying. “We need help over here!” a nurse shouted. I stood up without think about it twice. Almost automatically, like it was an obligation. I ran to him and understood almost everything.
Everybody was taking hold of his limbs, except for his left leg which was bleeding. A big wound was on it, blood dripping constantly. Disgusting, no wonder nobody wanted to hold it. I didn’t want to hold it, but a doctor told me to. Seriously, who would want to hold a bleeding foot?
He was being carried to a room, thrashing around and whining. I got a good look at him, he was shaking. He was terribly pale and clammy. I took pity on him; he must’ve been so scared. Tears poured from his eyes, looking up to the woman that was holding his hand, telling her to save him and the woman burst into tears.
She was his mother, I noted in my head. I felt sadness for a second; mother never cared like that for me. The thought tore me apart as we got him into a room. He was laid on a bed, and he calmed for a while, eyes shifting from side to side. “Gerard?” his mother said.
“Mama?” he looked in her eyes for a second before they started to move around again.
The older woman took his face in her hands, “Gerard, look at me,” she begged. He didn’t look, his eyes were too busy wandering around the room. “Baby, I love you. Be brave for me, okay?”
“I love you too,” he answered in a monotone, no feeling or affection whatsoever. This was surprising, his mother just told him that she loved him like he was about to die. Any other person would’ve answered the same way. I would’ve, but Gerard didn’t.
Gerard. His name was something I’ve never heard before. I might’ve misheard his name once, I don’t recall. “Here it goes. . .” a doctor mumbles, injection in hand. Gerard caught sight of the sharp object and started panicking again.
“Mikey?” he called out. I heard someone curse from behind, somebody that I’ve guessed was Mikey.
He walked to him, rolled his eyes and said, “What?” The way he said it was so angry. He glared through his wire glasses, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind. The doctor got a few steps closer and for once, his eyes never moved away from him. He latched onto the arm closest to him; mine and he whimpered.
“Mikey, a needle,” he whispered, twitching. His tight hold around my limb could’ve been numbing, Mikey might’ve noticed.
Mikey sighed and looked down. He said, “Yes, Gerard, it’s a needle. You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t be scared of this kind of shit anymore!”
He was scolded, and I had a feeling that was not the first that happened that day. “Alright, Gerard I need you to calm down, I’m going to make all of the pain go away.” The doctor said in his gentle voice. I scoffed, I know gentle was far from his interests.
Gerard held on tighter, I suddenly felt the urge to hold him too. Mikey groaned, embarrassment swimming in his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Frank.” It was the first time I said my name that day. I was never good with introductions; he must’ve sensed that since he tucked a smug smirk on his face.
“Listen, only you and the other people in this room are going to know about my brother’s fear of needles and his childish acts,” he started. I took on the impression that he was ashamed of his brother. He looked over his shoulder, watching his brother try to back away from the needle.
“Why?” This question was stupid. I needed something to say, some kind of explanation. He didn’t give it to me, though.
Instead, “Frank, let’s be friends.”
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