Westpoint Tales
by Kiwi
Jon & Bobby's Tale - 10
After several hours, Doctors Fisher and Lyons finished working on the kid, for now. They came out of the operating theatre and cleaned up. Out in the corridor, they were confronted by, what was coming to be, the usual crowd of well-wishers.
The anxious people there included the Craddock family and some of their staff, the women from the Beachhouse and some of their boarders, and others. Paul Jamieson was there with Dr. Lyons' wife and his father-in-law and his 2 tearful, teenage sons. ('??') The mayor was there along with reporters from the newspaper and radio.
"Hello again," Dr. Lyons smiled wearily. "Another gathering of the fan club? We really have to stop meeting like this."
"Dad!" Bobby leapt up. "At last! It's been hours. How is Jon? Is he going to be all right?"
"Whoah! Settle down, Son. Jon's going to be fine, I think."
"You think? You don't know then?" Billy asked anxiously.
"He'll be fine, Boys. I'm sure of it. He's young and strong - Man! Is he strong! The kid will get better, but it's going to take time - a lot of time. He's not going to recover overnight this time, he's got a long, hard road ahead of him."
Dr. Fisher agreed. "We've done all we can for now. We have to let him rest, but there's still a lot more work to be done on him. The boy has taken one hell of a bashing, but it's mostly to his legs and lower body. Both hips are broken, but his head's fine - not a mark on him. He will live, but it may never be the same life as he used to know."
"Never the same?" Bobby asked. "His hips and legs. Is he going to walk again?"
"I don't know, Lad. We're not sure, but he probably will, in time. But I very much doubt whether he'll swim long distances again. His days of swimming with the seals are over, I'm afraid."
"Dad?" Billy went to the higher authority. "Is that right? He won't swim again?"
"I'm afraid so, Son. Not long distances anyway and not powerfully."
"So he can't swim with the seals," said Bobby. "Damm, that's going to hurt."
"He'll be alive, Boys. Even if it is in a wheelchair, he will be alive. Everyone go home now. Nothing's happening here. He'll be sleeping for two or three days, at least. We'll operate again on Wednesday, probably. He's being hooked up to the ICU machines now and we'll keep him sleeping. Go home."
The boys went home with their mother. She reminded them that they were still grounded. Bobby said that "he didn't give a f. ." He didn't care.
"I knew that he was hurt. I just knew it, but you didn't listen to me. Nobody did, but I knew it."
They went off to their room and Mrs. Lyons made herself a coffee. She sat at the kitchen table to think about things. She felt sorry for the kid, for Jon. That was a rotten thing to happen to anyone, even to him. At least he was still alive.
But, she still didn't like him much. Why not? Well, he was weird, wasn't he? That didn't stop other people liking him. Billy and Bobby certainly did. She suspected that they might even be in love with that boy. Both of them!
Bobby was gay. She was pretty sure of that. She'd known enough gay people; he was gay. But, Billy, was he? He didn't seem like he was, but then he was just as upset over this Jon as Bobby was. He didn't fit the stereotype of a gay-boy; but then, neither did Bobby really.
"Stereotypes are a load of crap," someone had once said to her. A wise someone, or boy, really. He would know because he was gay. Bobby, Billy? She didn't know, but she thought so, maybe. Was Jon gay?
She couldn't see that either. The kid was strange, but he was asexual if he was anything - completely self-contained and sexless. Oh well, she'd talk to Bill about it; he was their father and he was a doctor. He'd know.
When their father got home, the boys got to him first. He'd just come into the kitchen and sat down when they burst into the room. They came over and laid their 'Gemtime' boxes down in front of him.
"Dad," said Billy. "We've been talking. We want you to take the pearls and sell them. Use the money for Jon. Buy whatever he needs, whatever will help him."
"Billy, Bobby, don't you want the pearls?"
"Yes, we want the pearls," said Bobby. "But we want Jon more. We want him to get better."
"That's very generous of you, Boys," he said, standing up and holding the boxes out to them. "But there's no need for that. You keep the pearls, he wanted you to have them. Whatever Jon needs, he will get, I'll make sure of that. Don't worry."
"Dad. Thanks, Dad." Bobby took the box from his father, and then he flung his arms around him and sobbed on his shoulder. "Jon is so hurt! He's broken. You have to fix him, Dad! You just have to."
"Bobby. Oh my Bobby! I'll do whatever I can, Son. Whatever he needs, I promise."
Billy joined the embrace and Dr. Lyons stood holding his crying sons until they calmed down.
Bobby pulled away. "Thanks Dad. We mean it about the pearls. Any time you need them, just take them."
They went back to their room, taking the pearls with them. Dr. Lyons looked over at his wife. "Wow!" he said.
"Wow is right. Bill, do you think that the boys are in love with this Jon?"
"Is the Pope a catholic? Yes, of course they are."
"And you're okay with that?"
"Well, yes. He's a nice enough kid, and there's not a lot we can do about it anyway. I hope to heaven that nothing happens to him now - they'd never forgive me."
"Are you telling me that you've got no problems with the fact that your sons might be gay?"
"Claire, you, of all people, should know that there's nothing that we can do about it. If they are, they are. If you try to fight it, all you'll do is lose your sons."
"But what sort of a life are they going to have?"
"A good one, I hope. What sort of life has Peter got? He's happy enough, isn't he?"
"Peter is happy, but this boy is no Jay. He's just weird."
"According to Billy, people think that they are weird too. But they're not, are they?"
"No, they're not, but he is. I don't like it, Bill. I really don't like it. How can you be so . . . so dammed understanding?"
"Claire, I love our boys. All I want is for them to be happy. Don't you?"
"Don't I? Of course I fucking do! But not like this."
As usual, they agreed to disagree and let the matter drop.
They operated on him again on the Wednesday, and then let him wake up on the Thursday morning. The duty-nurse reported that Jon was awake and Dr. Lyons went in to see him.
"Good morning, Lad. Back with us, I see. How are you feeling this morning?"
"Good morning, Doctor. I'm fine, but I can't move my legs."
"No. you won't for a while, I'm afraid. We had to put you in a full-body cast. How is it apart from that?"
"I'm . . I'm okay. When can I go home?"
"Home? Not for a few weeks. It'll be a long time before you're climbing up those stairs again."
"Oh. Thank you."
Dr. Lyons looked him over, checked all his vital signs, and then he stood back, thinking. "How are you really, Boy? Tell me the truth now."
A tear rolled down his cheek. "It hurts, Doctor. It really hurts," he whispered.
"Damm. I knew it. I knew you were distressed. We'll up your medication and give you a stronger dose. I'm a doctor, Jon. When I ask how you're feeling, I'm not being polite, I want to know. Tell me the truth next time."
He fiddled with the machine, changing the dosage.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He drifted back to sleep.
The boys came to see him that afternoon. He didn't want to talk about what had happened to him. All he would say was, "I'm a loser, that's all. I lost."
He told the same thing to the reporter from the Westpoint News. She didn't believe him either.
Late Friday morning, Drs. Fisher and Lyons, doing their rounds together, stopped at his bedside. "Good morning, Sunshine. How's our star patient today?"
He looked at them glumly. "Hello Doctors,' he sighed.
"What have you got here?" Dr. Fisher swung the bracket-arm around to look at the small screen that the boy was studying. "It can't be the Comedy Channel. Where's that great smile, Boy? Hey. This is your medical records. How did you access this? This is supposed to be private."
Jon shrugged. "I know a bit about computers. I did all my schooling on computers."
"Long-distance learning eh? You must have been top of your class."
"Yes. Top of a class of one. You didn't tell me that I won't swim anymore."
"No. Ah, well, we don't know that for sure. Nothing is certain yet. It just wasn't the right time to discuss it yet."
"But that's what you think - what you expect will happen."
"Well, yes, that is the most likely outcome. I'm sorry, Jon."
The tears started again, a silent flood rolled down his face. "That's it then. Bloody humans! You should never have interfered."
"Interfered?" Dr. Lyons asked. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that you shouldn't have interfered. Nobody asked you to. I was living my life in my own way."
"Out there on the rocks? Boy, if you hadn't been picked up and brought in here, you'd be dead by now. I doubt if you would have lasted another day out there."
"Maybe that was the way it was supposed to go. Either I'd be dead or I would have recovered to swim another day. Survival of the fittest, it's called."
"You would not have survived, Jon. You would have died."
"Then I should have died. Why couldn't you let nature take its course?"
"Because that's not the way it's done," said Dr. Fisher. "If we just let nature take its course, then there would be no doctors, no hospitals, no medicines and there would be very few people left as well."
"But the ones that were left would be survivors and they would be free to live as nature intended, not as patched-up cripples."
"You won't be a cripple, you're young and strong. You will recover, just, maybe, not 100%"
"Just not enough to be me. If I can't live my life the way that I need to, then I don't want to live at all."
"Whoah, Jon!" Dr. Lyons said. "You don't mean that."
"I. do mean that." He turned his face to the wall and wouldn't talk to them any more.
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