Chapter 2

It turned out ‘springing’ me from the hospital was a lot more complicated than I had hoped. We waited for the x-rays to come back, which showed I only had bruised ribs, not broken ones. The actual bad news was that I did have a hairline fracture in one of the bones in my foot. Luckily, the fracture was on the top of my foot instead of the bottom. The doctor explained that, since the bone would not get a lot of pressure when I walked, they could just put a boot thing on me instead of a full cast. The location of the break also meant that I should only need a few months to heal at the most, and there should not be any lasting problems, as long as I only took off the boot to shower and was careful.

The doctor wanted me to use crutches as much as I could, but I could also get away with just walking when needed. He told Mom that while all the bruising looked bad, they should all be healed up by the end of the week, except the bruising around the ribs, which might take a few days longer than everything else to stop hurting.

Of course, none of this was enough to get me out of more school.

Mom drove us home and dropped me off, before rushing out to her night job on a cleaning crew that serviced a bunch of the local businesses. A part of me wanted to ask her to stay, but I pushed that down. I was not seven anymore and could stay home without my mommy. Plus, she already missed a shift today, and we really could not afford for her to take anymore time off.

I was just settling into a funk when the doorbell to the trailer rang. I had forgotten that I was supposed to be having dinner with the family whose nephew I helped out, and his cousin was supposed to come to pick me up.

I awkwardly pushed myself up and hobbled towards the door, grabbing the crutches I had leaned against the wall. I was really bad on them, but I did not want to push myself and have to wear the stupid boot thing any longer than I needed.

Sure enough, Hanna was standing on the wooden steps that lead out the front door of our trailer.

“Hey,” was the cleverest thing I could think of to say.

“That looks bad?” she asked, pointing at my foot.

“Actually, not too bad. The doctor said the break was small and that I should be fine in a few months. Since none of my ribs are broken, I’m counting myself lucky.”

“You ready to go?”

“Actually, I need to change. Sorry, by the time we finished at the hospital and got home, I’d forgotten about your mom inviting me.”

“I can tell her you need to have dinner another night if you don’t feel up to it now.”

While that actually did sound like a good idea, since my sides and face still hurt, Mom would ask me about the dinner in the morning, and I did not want to have to admit I ditched. She always made a big deal about upholding social obligations, and she would not be happy if I blew this one off.

Also, whatever they were eating had to be better than the little blue box of mac and cheese I would end up eating if I did not go over.

“No, I can still go. I just forgot, and these clothes have mud on them from this morning. Do you mind waiting for a couple of minutes? I promise I’ll be fast.”

“Sure,” She said, although her tone was in the ‘undecided’ category.

I pushed the thin aluminum door open wider, inviting her inside. She stepped hesitantly past me, looking around the kitchen that served as our entryway. The kitchen was not actually dingy, but everything was an off shade of brown that gave even a freshly scrubbed apartment a dirty look.

I hobbled past her, trying to move without the crutches, which I found hard to use inside the trailer, and led her into the living room, which was essentially a small couch, two chairs, and a narrow pathway in between that led to the back of the trailer.

“Have a seat, I’ll be right out.”

She sat down wordlessly, still looking around. I limped down the hall as fast as I could, and into my room. Dropping my dirty pants and shirt on the floor next to the bed, I tried to make a mental note to pick the clothes up later. I knew I would probably forget again, leaving them for Mom to grab as she picked up my laundry.

I changed into a clean t-shirt, the bulk of my wardrobe, and a pair of track pants since they seemed easier than getting blue jeans over the boot.

“Your dad isn’t home?” Hanna asked, standing up when I limped back into the living room.

“He and my mom split up.”

While that was not completely true, I figured the statement was close enough to not count as a lie while saving me from having to explain the whole truth.

“Ohh. Mine, too.”

“Sorry.”

I never knew how to respond to something like that.

“It’s cool. He left while when my mom got pregnant, so I’ve never really known him.”

I grabbed my crutches that had been leaning against the door frame and made a try of going down the steps. I managed to not actually fall on my face, but that is about the only positive thing I could say about my attempt. In the three steps to her car, I realized I was not sure what to do with these then.

I was just considering trying to limp back to the trailer when she said, “Just slide them in the back seat.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, as though I had already thought of that, instead of having a mini-panic.

I was not much of a car person, spending most of my life driving around in a beat-up Winnebago; but hers seemed nice. Her sedan was not particularly showy, but it was nice, with a sparkly blue paint job. I laid my crutches with the bottoms on the floor, trying to not get her seats dirty, and then lowered myself into the passenger seat.

The inside of the car was meticulous. The dashboard was not covered in dust, and there was not a speck of dirt anywhere. Mom always prided herself on keeping things clean, and her car was not anywhere as nice as this. I caught a whiff of a faint flower smell, although I was not sure where it was coming from.

“How do you like Carr?” I asked, trying to fill the silence that closed in as soon as the doors closed.

“Carr’s just like any other prison.”

I gave her a sideways glance, trying to figure out if that was supposed to be a joke.

“Sorry. I showed up late to school, and my math teacher wouldn’t let me retake the quiz and hit me with a zero. She’s such a bitch.”

“The teachers are bad?”

“Not really. Some are, but most are at least okay. I guess the school isn’t that bad.”

The drive did not take long, although a lot longer than my walk across the creek that morning had taken. We had to take a left out of Oakdale, drive down a half mile and take another left, down a bit and take another left, then we were winding through their neighborhood. The drive between my trailer and their house was a big square that took about five minutes despite there being just over a hundred yards between my trailer and her house.

Pulling into her driveway, I found getting out of the car was harder than getting in the car. I had to swing my boot out and managed to whack it against the door frame, sending a shock of pain up my leg.

“Ahh!” I said in surprise.

“Do you need help?” she asked, stopping as she was halfway out of her door.

“No,” I said, moving my foot out slower and getting my left foot planted before pushing myself out. “I’m just not used to moving this thing around.”

“I get ya. I broke my leg at the beginning of my junior year. It was a massive pain in the ass. I had a cast and had to keep my leg straight all the time.”

“I’m glad I didn’t end up with that. This is the first time I’ve ever broken anything, and this boot is bad enough.”

I retrieved my crutches and swung my way along behind her. She pushed the unlocked door open and walked in, leaving it open behind her. I followed her inside, stopping to push the door closed with my air cast.

“Mom, I’m back,” she hollered as she walked through the entryway.

She had not said anything, but I followed behind her. Her mom appeared at the end of the hallway, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

“Charlie, how is your foot?”

“Only a hairline fracture. The doctor said the break should be better in a month or so, and I didn’t need a regular cast. Where’s Sam?”

“My sister picked him up this morning,” Ms. Philips said. “She wanted me to tell you thanks for helping him out. He really wanted to stay for dinner tonight, but she has work in the morning, and they have a long drive back to Raleigh. Now, I know those crutches can start to hurt until you’re used to them. Hanna, will you show him to the table while I get the food?”

Hanna had reached her mom and stopped, looking back at me and then turning to the right. I eventually got to the end of the hallway, which opened up into a wide area with a kitchen on one side and an area with a dining table on the other, the kitchen counter forming sort of an L to separate the two.

Leaning my crutches on the wall by the door frame, I limped to the table and stopped.

“Mom usually sits here,” she said, pointing to the end of the table closest to the kitchen, “and I usually sit there, against the wall. You can sit here.”

‘Here’ turned out to be the chair in front of me, in which I pulled out and lowered myself into, keeping my leg stretched forward and the boot out of the way.

I thought she might go help her mom, but she sat down on her side of the table and pulled out her phone. Not wanting to interrupt her, since she did not seem to want any more idle chit-chat, I looked around the room. The table was a dark brown wood that seemed to go well with the two-toned walls, a darker color on the bottom half, and a light brown on the top half. I did not know much about design, but the house seemed nice, with everything well maintained.

Square plates with a black swirling pattern in one corner were already on the table, a napkin with a fork was sitting next to them, and a glass of water in front.

Ms. Philips came out carrying a large white bowl with a pile of spaghetti sticking up from the top. The scent of tomato, meat, and herbs filled my nose causing my mouth to water instantly. My mom tried hard, but she would never be a great cook. We lived on things that originated in a box and could be made with only a few steps, or simple foods like sandwiches. Spaghetti may not be the most complex meal someone could make at home, but it was several steps above what I usually ate.

“That smells great!”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said, using a large spoon to scoop a big portion on my plate.

While she served herself and Hanna, I twirled several strings of the sauce-covered pasta around my fork. I was just opening my mouth to take my first bite when she said, “We need to give thanks.”

“Huh?” I asked, closing my mouth, and lowering the spaghetti covered fork back to my plate.

“She means we are going to say the prayer.”

“Ohh,” I said, setting the fork down.

While we were not atheists, my family had never been particularly observant. If I thought really hard, I could come up with maybe one or two times I ever set foot in a church. I knew for certain we had never said a prayer over a meal.

Hanna and her mom held hands, and both held a hand out to me. I reached across the table and took Hanna’s and then her mom’s, unsure of what to do next until both closed their eyes and slightly bowed their heads.

I followed suit as Ms. Philips began.

“Heavenly Father, we thank you for the bounty we are about to receive and all the blessings you have given this family. We thank you for Hanna’s health and well-being. We thank you for Dad’s successful recovery. Thank you for the prosperity you continue to give us. We especially thank you for our new friend Charlie, who you sent to watch over Sam this morning and keep him safe. In all things, we give thanks, oh Lord. Amen.”

Hanna echoed the ‘amen,’ and I joined her, although a fraction too late.

“Tell us about yourself, Charlie,” Ms. Philips said after folding her napkin and putting it in her lap.

My fork was, once again, hovering inches from my open mouth.

“Uhh,” I said, setting down the fork and stalling for time. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell. We moved to town this summer after my mom got a job at the factory.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Nowhere specific. Before my dad ... uhh ... left, we kind of moved around a lot.”

“Is he in the military?” Hanna asked.

“No, he’s a musician. We would kind of live out of our Winnebago and drive from gig to gig. Sometimes we’d stay at a hotel or whatever.”