Date: Mon, 23 Jun 2003 01:40:39 -0400 From: Jeff Wilson Subject: W.A.R. Part Four, Chapter 2 So I don't write really long chapters... At least short ones go quickly for newcomers! W.A.R. Part Four - Rehabilitation Chapter Two: Dirty Soul by Jeff Wilson "Your dad's an asshole!" Dustin said. "No! I'm the asshole!" I replied. "At least my dad's never hit me!" Dustin said. "I don't even have a dad!" Brett said. "But if I did, I know he wouldn't hit me!" "Shut up!" I yelled. "You want to hit me don't you? Well go ahead! It wouldn't be the first time! You're pathetic Billy!" Dustin yelled. "Yeah! Hit him!" Brett yelled. "Make him bleed! Bust his head open!" "Come on, dickhead! Hit me! HIT ME!!!" I went to hit him but he moved. My fist went crashing into a mirror. I heard laughter. Lots of laughter. Brett, Dustin... Both laughing at me. Then a voice... "Time to go home, boy" "What?" I was awakened by the voice that for a minute sounded remarkably like my dad. But as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, I realized that it was not my father talking, it was a doctor. The doctor removed my IV and did a few last tests. He also gave me instructions for how to take care of my hand while it healed. He told me to get dressed, then he left. I roused myself up out of the bed and stood up, still trying to shake the away. It had been so real... I stripped off the hospital gown and stood there wearing nothing but my socks. I found my clothes from the night before. They had been washed, but I could see blood stains on my pants and shirt. I had just pulled my shirt on when the door opened and Brett peeked inside. "Hey, you ready to go?" He asked. "Yeah, let's get out of here." I said. "I walked into the hallway where Dr. Reilly and my mom were talking with the doctor who had previously been talking to me. "They've been talking about you." Brett whispered. "They think you punched the mirror in a fit of guilt about everything. What a load of crap! I know you wouldn't break your hand on purpose. If I get my hands on Dustin... It's all his fault that everybody thinks you did that." He stopped whispering when mom started walking toward us. "Billy, you have to take one of these every four hours if you don't want your hand to hurt." Mom said as she handed me a bottle of pills. "It's time for you to go with Jen and Brett." Then she hugged me. She looked like she was about to cry. Or that she had already been crying for a long time and couldn't cry any more. "Do you want to go see your father before you go?" I should have expected that question, but it caught me off guard anyway. As soon as she asked it I got a feeling in my stomach that was ten times worse than the feeling I had in my hand. It came back to me that the last time I had seen my dad that he had slapped me across the face. The last thing he had said was that he didn't even want to look at me. I remembered so clearly that I could still feel the hatred and humiliation that I felt when he hit me. When all that came back to me, I was angry at him all over again, even though I didn't want to be. "No. I don't want to go see him." I answered coldly. Dr. Reilly's head turned in my direction. My mom took a step back, as if she was horrified that I would not want to go see him. Brett stopped slurping water from the fountain. For a moment I felt very alone... and very bad. "Billy... Why?" Mom said. "Mom, what difference will it make? He can't hear me or see me, right? I don't want to see him like that. I'll come see him when he wakes up." I answered. I couldn't help but picture him covered with tubes and hooked up to all kinds of scary monitors and scanners. Please don't make me go to see him... "But it will make you feel better if you..." Mom started, but Dr. Reilly interrupted. "Paula. If Billy doesn't want to see his father right now, then we need to respect that. He's been through a lot." Mom looked hurt that Dr. Reilly took my side in the argument. "Jen, I really think it would... Billy, if you could just... No... I guess you are right. You need to do what you think is right." "There's nothing he could do anyway, Mrs. Roberts." Brett chimed in, wiping his chin where some water got away. "The sooner we get out of this place the better off we'll be anyway." Mom didn't mention going to see dad again after that. The hospital insisted on putting me in a wheelchair to take me outside, which I thought was really stupid. It was my hand that was broken, not my leg! When we got outside, Brett got into the wheelchair and rolled himself back into the building. It was a relief to be out of that place again. Dr. Reilly drove the car up while mom hugged me and kissed me on the forehead, which was a little embarrassing in front of everybody. Brett started to get into the front seat but his mom scolded him and told him to sit in the back. Mom gave me a paper with some instructions and phone numbers on it. She hugged me one more time and said that she loved me. Then I got into the car and Dr. Reilly drove us away. I could see mom slowly head back into the hospital through the mirror. Nobody said anything for a while in the car. Brett stretched out and fell asleep. Dr. Reilly was trying to stay focused on city driving. And my mind was still back in that hospital. I should have gone to see dad. He almost died. He could have... and here I was still mad at him for slapping me. It was my fault anyway. I'm the one who acted like a jerk for two weeks. I'm the one who got dad mad at me. I'm the one who's responsible for the whole mess. The sun was shining brightly and it turned out to be a beautiful Sunday afternoon. But inside, I felt nothing but dark and cold. "It's okay, Billy." Dr. Reilly said quietly. She startled me. The city had disappeared behind us, and the farmland and hills of Washington County had taken its place. I stopped looking out the window and turned to look at her. "What's okay?" I said. "You're allowed to be upset. There's nothing wrong with being angry about what happened. Your mom tells me you've had a tough couple of weeks. I'm sure it must feel like the whole world is against you." "Yeah." I said. "Just remember, you have a lot of good things going for you. No matter what happened, I know your dad loves you more than anything. I'll bet you didn't know that your dad and I have become good friends. He's the only person that knows about Brett's father except for the three of us in this car. He's been very helpful to me. I've enjoyed our talks." "Did you ever talk about me?" I asked. "Sometimes. I know that he was very sad that you were not getting along. In fact, he called me that night, after he hit you. He was terribly upset about it. He said it was the worst thing he'd ever done." "Well, it was the worst thing he's ever done." I said. "He should feel bad about it. Why do people think I should just forgive him and move on just because he's sick? I don't forgive him! I won't! I don't care what I called him. It didn't give him the right to hit me." Dr. Reilly pulled over the car. Brett stirred in the back seat. She turned to look at me. I was worried about what she would say. I had just said something awful, and I knew it. I kept it a secret but she got me to say it anyway. I hate when people do that to me! "Billy, you don't have to forgive anybody for anything if you don't want to. You don't forgive other people just for them, you do it for yourself." "Huh?" I said, confused. "Do you know what forgiveness does? It cleans you from the inside out. It's like a shower for your soul. Every little grudge that you hold is like dirt. The more grudges you keep, the dirtier you feel. But when you forgive, you wash away that dirt. You don't have to forgive someone just because they feel bad about what they did. You don't do it because they get sick. You do it because you need to, when it's time. Billy, you feel betrayed. Some one you love very much hurt you in a way you never thought possible. And not only that, but then he got sick and you can't even be mad at him without people thinking that you're doing something terrible. If you told me that everything was great and you didn't feel angry about it I'd know you were lying to me." "Sometimes I feel so... well... I feel like a... I don't know. I want to do good things, I really do! But then I do things that are wrong. I know it's wrong when I do it, but I do it anyway. I want to be nice, but I say things just to hurt people. I try to be good. I try. I pray. I try! I try and try and try! Then I just keep doing the same bad things and I hate it!" I wiped my eyes but it was no use. The tears kept coming. I looked back out the window. "Billy. I understand. Everybody goes through that. But not everybody can admit it. You are really showing a lot of strength just by admitting that you feel that way. And the fact that you want to do better says a lot about you. I'm proud of you." "You are?" I asked as I wiped away more tears. "I am." She said, smiling. "Now let's go home." We arrived at Brett's house. Brett's mom ordered pizza for lunch. Brett and I played Monopoly on the computer. It took some time to get used to using only my right hand. I still wanted to use my left hand to press the buttons, but by doing that, I mashed about eight of them. Eating was going to be tricky too. I would have to do everything with my right hand for a while. After we ate, we had to go back to my house to get some of my things. Brett and I decided to walk through the woods and carry everything back. We got to the house and I unlocked the door with my key. The house seemed odd with everybody gone. Almost too quiet. Brett made his way to the kitchen while I went to my room. Brett's job was to make sure everything was unplugged that wasn't essential. No use wasting electricity. I went to work on getting my stuff ready. As I was packing things, I took a look at myself in the mirror. There I stood, looking back at myself. Then I wasn't alone anymore. There was Dustin. He had a sledge hammer that looked bigger than he was. He was smiling at me right before he raised the hammer high above his head, ready to smash me. "Hey! Quit looking at yourself and let's get home!" Brett's voice jarred me back to reality. "Brett..." "Yeah?" "Why do you think I would try to punch Dustin?" I asked. "Well, some people just deserve to get punched I guess. Maybe that's why his sister beats him up. I can't believe I used to feel sorry for that jerk." We walked back to Brett's house without saying too much. I felt a lot better than I had when I woke up, but still... There was something unsettling about not being able to remember what happened to my hand. The more I thought about it, the more and more likely it seemed that it really was Dustin's fault. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ You all should thank Chris S. for this being done. I hadn't touched this story for since the last chapter came out. Then Chris wrote a nice email to me and I decided to finish up the chapter. Don't worry about me not finishing the story. I really do love this story and the characters I've created. It's just that I'm in a lazy mood lately. Blame all the rain we've been having, I guess. I haven't been able to go walking and clear my head. Anyway, the table is set. Billy may be on the road to recovery, but I never said the road wasn't filled with potholes. I think I told you before that the events of part three would drive the story for a while. And that has already begun. The events set in motion already will lead Billy to the next stage of his life. He changing from the boy he was in part one, to the man he will become. If you don't know that I like email by now then you haven't been paying attention! I don't care if you never wrote before or if you wrote fifty times! I'm always happy to hear from you! vicioussquirrel@hotmail.com See you next time! Oh, and "Thanks Chris!"