Superman's Cape (9 page)

“Gonna rain in a few, Jonnie. Let’s get moving and get your brother,” she insisted, kneeling and rubbing Jonnie’s back.

Running around the back, Sara and Jonnie parted hands and took turns looking around the ancillary nooks of the trailer’s yard. They also looked around the front and then the other side of the trailer. Jonnie even looked between the boards hiding the crawlspace beneath the trailer. He peeked through the lips of dark that formed from the separating wood. The sounds of field mice stirred as his eye broke the light drifting in. Concern grew. Sara called out Kyle’s name again and again as they moved along their yard. They walked the edge of the woods and stepped on the roughness of the brush. They tried to see into the woods, but the diminishing light and thick Pine trees gave them only a little visibility. Nothing more.

“Oh my God,” Sara cried bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. Tears watered the scene in front of her as she pressed her eyes closed and gulped at the air. The deep of Sara’s stomach growled and stirred with emotions that fed from a palette made up of worry and regret.

“Oh my God. What if he went in there?” she pleaded with Jonnie but more so the woods in front of her. Jonnie reacted to Sara’s crying and pushed his body close to her legs. It scared him.

“Jonnie, we have to call someone. Maybe the police or the fire department – we don’t know these woods … we don’t know
any
woods,” her words ended in a broken whisper. Sara pulled Jonnie in closer while calling out Kyle’s name, with the first patter of falling rain around them as her only response.

Unfamiliar hospital sounds pulled Jacob up from the deepness that was his sleep. The seizures he suffered on the floor of the ‘Rust Bucket’ left him unconscious. He was waking up. Andy’s snoring lifted Jacob from the area just after your dreams and before you open your eyes to the day. Jacob nudged his eyelids – just enough to get a sampling of the Emergency Room lights. He was quick to squint away the annoyance of the brightness. He turned his head and saw a bag of fluids hanging from a pole next to his bed. A long clear tube ran down and then up again to where he lay. It was pasted to his skin with thick white tape. The head of it disappearing just beneath and leaving a lump that he thought would move if he stared long enough. For a moment, unpleasant reminders of the troll mites burrowing beneath his skin played in his mind. But he was fast to shake the thoughts away.

Andy was asleep in a chair in the corner. His back looked uncomfortably arched. His head lay against the wall in a way that left his mouth hanging open.
The snoring
, Jacob thought. Beneath Andy’s chair, he saw the remains of some orange Gatorade and a large can of Red Bull fallen on its side. The two of them were in the tented area of an Emergency Room. No doors. No counters. Only equipment and beds and tables on wheels that you could lock into place.

On the rolling tray next to him, a box of rubber gloves sat alone. They reminded him of the misfit toys of Christmas, just waiting to be used. He picked up the misfit box of gloves and took a few. A smirk made its way to his lips – past the headache and the alcohol induced cotton in his mouth. He pinched the middle finger of a glove, pulling it back and stretching it until the latex felt warm, he let go. A snap sound echoed around them. The glove hit Andy square in the face with its fingers landing just inside his snoring lips.

Andy pulled his eyes open and darted them around. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, his cheeks pale and tired. He chewed on the latex fingers lying in his mouth. His exhausted mind was still uncertain of what had happened. Jacob laughed as Andy tried to spit the glove out of his mouth.

“What the hell,” he proclaimed – only it came out in a loud
Wadda Gell
. Sitting up in the chair, a part of the latex glove still hung from the corner of his mouth.

“You got a little something there,” Jacob offered pointing to the corner of his lips. The sound of the curtain being drawn interrupted the fun as a short man in green medical scrubs stepped in.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Jerome Whitaker. I am the attending physician that saw you when you came in a few hours ago.”

Andy and Jacob stopped their antics, their eyes cast down like two eighth grade boys caught doing something during class.

“Sorry Doc, just having some fun,” Jacob said while Andy dragged the remaining fingers of the glove from his mouth. Jacob chuckled again as he watched Andy’s face in reaction to the taste of the latex.

“It’s good you’re up. And it’s even better to see your feeling as good as you sound.”

Jacob nodded in agreement and pointed to the bag hanging above his shoulder. “Good juice,” he answered.

“Let me ask … do you remember anything? Do you remember what happened?” he said taking a step closer, and pulling the chart from the frame of the hospital gurney.

“Seizure. Right?” Jacob questioned and looked over to Andy. Embarrassment crept in when he realized the scope of what had happened and who it happened in front of.

“Doc,” Jacob began to say, and then paused. He sighed and continued. “This isn’t my first one. I’ve had them before. A lot of them before,” he finished, his words trailing off as Andy’s eyes grew wide.

The Doctor looked over to Andy then back to Jacob, “Mr. Hanson, maybe we should talk in private?”

Jacob considered this, but gave a dismissing wave. He could count on one hand who he’d want in the room with him. Andy was number two.

“It’s all good. Andy is family,” Jacob said and nodded, “I’m good.”

“Okay, then. When we were able to get the seizures under control, we performed an MRI of your head and neck. You came in with a large contusion on the back of your head,” Doctor Whitaker continued.

“We found a tumor in your brain Mr. Hanson. We can’t tell you how long you’ve had it, but we can tell you it is likely benign, which is a good thing. The problem is, --.” Jacob raised his hand. The doctor stopped, seeming surprised by the interruption. Jacob turned once to Andy whose face wore a stunned expression, and then back to the Doctor and said.

“… The problem is, the tumor is located in a position that is inoperable. It is a 22 millimeter Hemangioblastoma located in an area of the Cerebellum that offers no options for any surgical extraction,” Jacob completed then took a deep breath as the last words fell in a whisper. “I know all this because it is the same diagnosis I heard more than ten years ago,” Jacob finished and looked to Andy before shrugging his shoulders as though apologizing.

Doctor Whitaker stirred for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes. He then flipped through Jacob’s chart as though his reply would have been written somewhere. “Mr. Hanson?” the Doctor addressed. Jacob missed the words. He squinted then shook his head and struggled to try and focus.

“I know this is exhausting. Mr. Hanson, but I think you should stay the day for additional observation.”

Jacob considered the offer for a moment then said, “I appreciate everything but having been down this road, I’m going to pass on the invite.” He turned to find his clothes, and then turned back to the Doctor, “I do plan a follow up with my own physician, if that’s okay,” he finished then pressed the button on the bed’s control panel. The motorized sound of the backrest took over the conversation as Jacob looked again for his clothes.

“Jake, maybe you should stay,” Andy suggested, his voice thin and distant. Andy shot a blurry glance to the doctor for some backup with his suggestion.

“Thanks Andy, but please just help me go home,” he said to his friend and began to shuffle his feet from beneath the sheets.

The Doctor nodded a disappointment. “And I can have your word that you
are
going to follow up with your Doctor?” he asked Jacob.

Jacob lifted a thumbs up to the Doctor, “Yes sir, first thing this afternoon. I’ll give the office a call and schedule a follow up.”

Doctor Whitaker sighed, and then nodded a reluctant yes before passing the entrance to the curtains. Before leaving, he looked over the clipboard and turned back to face Jacob and Andy. He then told Jacob two things that Jacob did not expect to hear.

“By the way, the diagnosis you offered was close. But, it isn’t 22 millimeters, it is closer to 47 millimeters … it’s about the size of a golf ball, maybe a little bigger. And although it is in a difficult spot, I do think today you could have your pick of surgeons who could excise the growth. Quite a few would be willing to work with you and take it out.”

Doctor Whitaker left Andy and Jacob in the company of a nurse who came in wearing a toothy smile and bright eyes. She offered Jacob a fresh
good morning
and then pulled his hand up into her arms. He watched her peel a corner of the white adhesive, slow and easy.

“This is going to sting,” she said, looking up once with a cautious warning and then yanked the tape off. With a cotton ball and Band-Aid in hand, she slipped the needle out from beneath his skin and bandaged Jacob’s arm. “No troll mites there,” he mumbled. The nurse was young and cute and her cheeks flushed and her smile broadened as Jacob told her thank you. She held his arm a moment more and it was then he realized he could not read her. His smile thinned and then abruptly disappeared.

“Is it just you, Andy, or did Jill come along, too?” Jacob asked with hopes that she stayed back at the ‘Rust Bucket’ or went home.

“I think Jill went home after I fell asleep. She was with us in the ambulance. She said she’d stay, but you were out. I mean you were really out.” Andy shrugged the conversation off about Jill and looked at Jacob. Jacob could see the earlier concern still waiting in his friend’s eyes as he tried to find words.

“Listen, I don’t know what to say, Jake, I mean this is heavy stuff. I’ve known you a long time and I don’t remember seeing seizures or hearing you ever talk about a brain tumor,” Andy contended, his hangover put aside in light of the news he’d just heard.

“Andy, can I trust you to keep this between us?” Jacob directed with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” he stammered and then continued, “yeah, of course – HR rules, right? But Jacob, listen when I tell you, I think you need to follow up with your doctor. It was bad, I mean really bad --” Andy stopped as his breath got caught up in his throat. He shook it out with a mock cough, “-- I think most of us thought we were looking at the last of you, if you know what I mean,” Andy finished with a seriousness in his voice that gave Jacob a moment of pause.

“Thanx, Andy. I’ll call my guy tomorrow. Just don’t replace me on the ‘Rise at Five’ anytime soon,” he pleaded jokingly.

“You kidding?” Andy said offering a smile, “Ain’t nobody got the weather like you’ve got the weather, my friend,” he chortled, and helped Jacob with his things.

Chess Pieces
, Kyle thought as his feet entered an open space where fallen timbers stood propped up in the ground. A dozen or more Knotty Pine trees had died and faded to an ash white. Some of them fared better than others, but together they reminded him of a bizarre chess game. The game had lost the attention of the chess players and now the pieces stood lifeless. Some leaning and some fallen over, but altogether bizarre.

The large trees closer to him split their trunks, spawning two or three woody veins. The veins rose twenty and thirty feet above him with large holes open at the top. He considered the holes and wondered if they were homes to birds or maybe squirrels. Jokingly, he thought, Keebler elves. But they creeped him some – so he shook away the thought.

Kyle was glad to be out of the woods. Even if it meant just a few minutes rest. The fading daylight told him how late it was. The changing sounds around him, confirmed the same. His stomach complained. He needed to eat. He looked up at the holes again and wished the Keebler elves were real and living in the trees and that a cookie or two might be thrown down to him. His smile faded. They still creeped him.

Bending to one knee, Kyle took a breath and laid a hand on the short grass. An itch stopped him as he reached down to scratch his legs. A small battalion of gnats were collecting on his bare shins. They played a curious game running in and around the drops of blood that bubbled from long grass cuts. As small as the gnats were, he could swear he felt their little feet running up and down his legs as though marking their latest prey. Kyle’s bottom thumped onto the ground as he took a seat. He needed to rest. He needed to order and execute an evacuation of the town of Gnatsville.

“Shoo!” he scolded and wiped the blood from his skin. On first look none of the cuts were serious.
No Band-Aids here,
he thought and laughed as he brushed away some dry flakes of blood. He poked a finger in his mouth then wiped the scratches. The spittle helped some, but only lasted a minute. The itch surfaced again and puffed up the scratches.

After a minute more, Kyle leaned back on his hands and watched the chess pieces, waiting for a move. His hands went wet and cold. His palms and fingers sank into the soft earth. When he tried to sit up, he felt the same cold invade his pants. When the water reached his crotch, he knew in an instant where he was sitting, or, more accurately, what he was sitting on. He realized why the dead trees sat like large pieces of a board game that nobody was around to play. Placed upright in the earth they offered no life other than to act on behalf of some puppeteer master who, in this case was, the rains and winds and sun and cold.

Kyle jumped to his feet and watched as parts of his shoes disappear into the ground –
this is a marsh … bog mud,
he thought and smelled the sea water in the air. When his mom moved them, they moved due East. The trailer they moved to was just a handful of miles from the Atlantic Ocean.
The tides are turning
. Or maybe in this case they had already turned, and only now were coming in or rising to flood the grounds around him.

Looking at the dead timber, Kyle thought maybe the greens he took a seat in at some point years earlier looked and stood the same as the pine trees a stone’s throw away. But through some magic of geology, a mile or even a thousand miles away, a shift occurred that altered the grounds so that brackish waters invaded this small pocket of land. First filling the pocket, then emptying it, then filling again, twice a day, every day, including holidays, even when everyone was off from work or dying on the floor of a Dairy Queen. Only a vague remembrance of the pines behind him was still visible. All that was left were the giant chess pieces across peat moss squares of saturated soil.