Sounds Of Silence

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

“Mark! Mark! What's wrong?” Patrick shook my shoulder as I struggled to open my eyes. I waved a hand to fend him off—his voice was so loud! My stomach roiled, and I just knew everyone would watch me get sick.

“Get away!” I sort of rolled onto my side and the muscles in my shoulders and arms went rigid as my stomach heaved. My throat burned and my head pounded. Sunlight barbequed my eyeballs, so I slapped my lids over them and concentrated on catching my breath.

When I opened them again Dad and Mom were kneeling by my side. Mom massaged my back. “You think you’re done, Mark?”

I nodded. “I’m okay.”

Mom touched my forehead. “He’s really hot.”

They helped me to my feet. Mom held one arm, Dad the other. We walked toward the car. I kept my head down and eyes shut. I couldn’t do much but stumble along. My toes dragged across the dirt and grass of the field, and then over loose parking lot gravel.

Dad snapped the button on the car key and clicked the locks on the car doors. “I’ll start the engine and get the air conditioning going.”

“No, Dad, no. I’m cold.” My lips quivered and teeth chattered. The flesh along my arms was covered with goose bumps.

“Cold?” Mom repeated in surprise.

“Does that mean we’ve got to ride with the air off?” Brenda whined. “It’s like a hundred degrees out. Two hundred inside the car.”

“Get in the car, Brenda,” Dad said. “Roll your window down if you’d like.”

Dad’s voice was tinged with annoyance. If I didn’t feel so sick, I’d have given her my best sure-to-infuriate grin.

“Good. That will at least get rid of the puke smell coming from Mark.” Brenda folded her arms.

“Ride up front next to your father. I’ll ride in back with Mark.”

I didn’t care who rode where. I was just thankful to be in the car and not down on my hands and knees, vomiting while half the town watched.

Dad eased the car out of the lot. Everyone was quiet for a while. Thank heaven for the silence.

Mom slipped an arm around my shoulders. “How are you?”

I didn’t usually like it when Mom worried about how I was feeling, but now her arm around me felt good. Real good. My head hurt. My entire body ached. Keeping my eyes open seemed impossible; even with my eyes closed, the light seemed too bright. “The light hurts my eyes.”

“There’s no light on,” Dad said. “Is sunlight coming in through the windows?”

“Some.” Mom’s reply sounded weak. “Mark, honey, what else doesn’t feel well?”

“All of me. I got a pretty bad headache during the game, but I thought it was because I was excited. But now, now I feel like I have the flu. Everything hurts. And I’m so cold.” I couldn’t stop shivering.

“I’m calling the doctor.” Mom rooted around in her purse, probably searching for her cell phone.

“Oh great,” Brenda groaned. “That’s what I need, a flu at the beginning of summer.”

“Brenda,” Dad warned. “Stop it.”

My mother gently touched my face. “Mark? Mark?”

“Huh?”

“You fell asleep on me. Stay awake, all right? Stay with me.” Mom’s voice shifted from concern to demanding as she spoke into the phone. “Hello? Yes. This is Mrs. Tanner, Mark Tanner’s mother. I need to speak to Dr.— Absolutely not! Don’t put me on hold. I need to speak to Dr. Davis now. This is an emergency.”

I couldn’t believe how horrible I felt. Ten minutes ago, I’d been part of a winning baseball team, ready to go for ice cream and celebrate with my friends. Now all I could think about was getting home, getting under a blanket, having Mom and Dad wait on me.

“We were at my son’s baseball game and he threw up. He says his head hurts. I haven’t taken his temperature.” Mom touched my forehead again. “Each time I feel his head though, he’s hotter. Right now it feels like he’s burning up.” After a few moments of silence, Mom added, “Yes, right, the light bothers his eyes and he seems lethargic.”

Lethargic. I’d heard the word before. What did it mean?

“Dr. Davis wants us to meet him at the hospital,” Mom reported to Dad as she snapped her phone shut.

The word “hospital” should have been enough to have me bolting upright in my seat, but lead weighted my eyelids and it didn’t seem worth the battle to force them open. Nothing seemed worth the battle.

“Hospital? Mom, what’s wrong with Mark?” Brenda wailed as dark silence settled around me.

My eyelids fluttered open. Dad had me by the arms and was pulling me out of the car.

“Dad?” My throat felt dry and my back felt bruised, as if Brenda had been kicking me for an hour. I wasn’t even sure I could stand. “Dad, I don’t feel well.”

“I know, Mark. Don’t worry.” He breathed heavily as he lifted me into his arms. My legs dangled over one side of him, my head hung painfully over the other. Then Dad was running with me, and my head wobbled and bounced.

“I have to throw up.”

He stopped, set me down on my knees, and placed his hand on my back. “Hang in there, buddy.”

The doors swooshed open. Mom and Brenda ran toward me. A tall black man dressed in white followed behind them, pushing a wheel chair.

“Let’s get him into the chair,” the man said. He and my father lifted me up and eased me into the wheel chair.

My family ran alongside as the man wheeled me back through automated doors and into the emergency room.

“Mom?” The acid taste in my mouth, mixed with my saliva, dribbled down my chin. I used the back of my wrist to wipe it away. “Mom?”

“I’m right here.” She took my hand and it felt good to have her hold it, like she could protect me.

“We’re going to take him back,” said the man who’d wheeled me in. “Only one of you can go with him.”

Mom knelt down next to me. “Do you want me or Dad to go with you?”

“Mom,” I said. “What’s wrong with me?” I thought I might cry, but tried to hold back the tears. I felt so bad, so cold, I thought I might be dying.

“You go with him,” Dad said.

“Mark,” Brenda said weakly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. I managed half a smile before the man pushed the wheel chair through a set of doors.

Everything spun out of whack. Colors blended. Two men lifted me onto a bed and between cold sheets. A woman in baby blue pajamas jabbed a needle into the top of my hand. I screamed.

Someone held my hand. Mom stood by my side.

“I can’t keep my eyes open.” My stomach roiled. I might get sick again. My dry mouth demanded water.

“Stay awake, honey. I don’t know if you should go to sleep.”

I wasn’t sure I had a choice.