“I spoil him. It’s not something I can help, because he had such a bad start in life and I want him to live a happy, cat-tastic life.” He glanced at the brown bag and smacked his lips.
I tore it open and set a Styrofoam cup of soup in front of him along with some plastic utensils. I buttered a warm roll as he stumbled for the remote that controlled the bed. It whirled as it lifted him into a sitting position so he could eat.
“Cream of chicken. My favorite,” he muttered, eying the cup of soup. “With lemon?”
I fished out lemon wedges from a container and squeezed them into the soup. “Always.”
“You’re the best,” he said with a weak smile.
Only the best for my Danny.I grunted in response and watched as he reached a shaky hand for the spoon. His motor functions were off, which the doctor had explained was common with traumatic brain injuries. I couldn’t saybrain damageout loud, because every time I heard that particular set of words, rage gathered, and I wanted to do some asshole hunting and givethembrain damage. I pushed the thought away, focusing on Danny and what he needed. His hand trembled as he lifted the spoon to his mouth, the soup jiggling in its cradle. He ended up spilling it on himself and I scrambled for a napkin.
“Damn it,” he hissed and dropped the empty spoon back in the cup. “I can’t bathe myself and now I can’t feed myself.”
“I’ll help you,” I said and wiped the spill away from his hospital gown.
“No, I want to be able to do it myself!” The frustration in his voice was heartbreaking and I could hear the tears lodged in his throat.
I held the spoon of soup up to his lips and he glared at me.
I reached into my pocket and fished out a box of Hot Tamales. “If you eat all your din-din like a good boy, you can have dessert.”
Danny looked at the box hopefully for a long moment. Eventually, he sighed and turned away.
“Eat the soup or I’ll dothe airplane. I mean it.”
He gaped at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“You know me well enough to know I make good on my promises.”
“Sounds more like athreat,” he grumbled but conceded and let me feed the spoon into his mouth.
I broke off a piece of bread and put it in his hand. Despite the shakes, he managed to get it into his mouth, while leaving a smear of butter along his cheek.
“I creamed myself,” he said meekly.
“It will get better,” I said and wiped the butter away with a napkin. “It will take time, but it will get better, and you have your mom, and Ronnie, andmeto help you.”
“I tell my kids that all the time. Most of the time they give me that I-don't-believe-you look.” He nodded, but I knew he didn’t believe it, either.
“Do you remember the summer after eighth grade?” I asked and lifted another spoonful of soup to his lips. “Instead of roaming the neighborhood and causing problems, we spent the entire summer learning about algebra. Because if I didn’t pass the summer class, I’d be held back a grade and wouldn’t be able to start high school with you.”
“I remember,” he said, a little smile pulling at his lips. “You hated it.”
“Nah. I hated math. Loved hanging out with you. But you wouldn’t let me quit and I passed the class with a C minus, enough to move on to high school. And then you had to teach me even more about algebra. I only graduated high school because of you. It was hard for me not understanding stuff like that, but after hammering it into my head, I started to get it.”
His eyes were shining now, and I was addicted to making him feel better. “You loved chemistry, though.”
“Only because I got to make bad smells and fake cum. What boy didn’t want to do that in high school?”
“Oh, God,” he rasped. “The entire school had to be evacuated and aired out because you thought it was a good idea to play with hydrogen sulfide.”
“I was a bad boy, wasn't I?” I set another piece of bread in his palm. “I think the point I am trying to make is math is hard, but with lots of practice and a great teacher, it can be understood. You might have to relearn how to do certain things, but I’m going to be here to help you. I won’t let you quit.”
His eyes sparkled by the way of recalling pleasant memories. “Tell me about you. What have you been up to?”
“Same old. Keeping my girls safe and putting assholes in check.”
“You’re a goddamn service to this world.” He was quiet for a moment, his jaw moving as if he were grinding his teeth. “When do you have to go back?”
