Chapter 8

I wasn't able to write in my journal for ten days. I was only unconscious for a few hours, but I was kept sedated for ten days. Mrs. Giovanni listened to my description of leaving my body and travelling through the stars and told me that I had a near death experience. I couldn't talk for three days, and I was ordered to spare my voice until my throat healed.

Worse, I had to start over on my naked month because I wound up in the hospital. Fair or not, it's how The Program is structured.

My attacker? I didn't ask. I don't care. She wasn't worth caring about.

Harmony visited me every day while I was in the hospital. I had to wear a device to support my neck—a cervical collar, it was called—for several weeks after departing the hospital, and once again I was sleeping in the dispensary.

I wasn't alone. I could hear coughing. The neck brace kept me from moving my head. I was also strapped to my bed. And I was still woozy from sedatives. There were other boys in the dispensary, but I didn't know how many or who they were. Unfortunately I didn't care, either. Could have been depression. Might have been drugs. I was oblivious to my surroundings most of the time.

Harmony visited me every day—the high point of my dispensary stay.

"Hey, boyfriend," Harmony said as she held my hand and stroked my face.

"Hey, girlfriend," I parroted. "Thanks for visiting me."

Harmony talked. Often she'd ask a question and I didn't have an answer. Yes, I was still pretty much a blank page. I guess that was my primary attraction as the boyfriend of an exclusively homosexual woman—I would be what she wrote on my blank page.

The Giovannis visited me several times a day. Nurse Yardley had designated "medical orderlies," other cadets charged to help manage the dispensary. Commandant Mackie made it a point to drop in once a day, as did the drill instructor assigned to my class, Sergeant Saunders. I even had several visits from my squad. I can't complain that I was tossed in a locker and left alone.

The hard neck brace was replaced by a soft neck brace during the first week of September. The rest of my squad was uniformed. My uniform was my birthday suit—and that annoying neck brace. I didn't participate fully in squad activities—I tired easily and instead of PT (Physical Training) I went to Physical Therapy. I did participate in drill and ceremonies—but not having shoes was a disadvantage. Because of my neck, I wasn't allowed to do rifle drills either. Mostly I watched because I was still on the light duty list.

"I'm worried about you, Cadet Thistle," Commandant Mackie announced. Not good. There were over 300 boys at the Corporal John Freeman Mackie Military School for Boys in grades 7 through 12. If little old me out of more than 300 boys was causing the commandant to worry then I had reason to worry. "I talked to the doctors. There was no spinal injury, only soft tissue. In a few weeks you'll be rid of that neck brace IF you complete your physical therapy. But that's not the real problem. Your morale is dragging. You are just existing, Cadet Thistle. That's not good enough. Your assignment is to find joy."

"Yes, sir," I said. I had learned to respond quietly in some circumstances and when appropriate to belt out SIR! YES! SIR! "Commandant, who is Joy?"