Good morning, Friday Fiction Fans,
I know this is a bit late, but I'm on vacation at my grandparents, so you really can't expect me to be on time, right? ;)
I hope you all have had a good start to your new year. Did any of you stay up to watch the new year come in? I didn't. I stayed up to watch 2000 come in and was so tired the next day that I decided it just wasn't worth it. Besides the new year looks a whole lot like the old year.
I've done some planning for this year of things I need to do and work on. I have a planner that I'm having fun writing things in. Some plans are for blog posts. ;) Well, blog posts for Read Another Page. Stay tuned.
I'm going to keep this short as I'm hungry and want to go eat breakfast. I hope you enjoy this next part of this story.
What T Didn’t Know
Part 2
“Well, Just Tommy, I’m Dr. Hall. Where do you live? Do you have any folks we can notify of your injuries?”
Tommy was feeling more confused than before. He was hurt but not in a hospital. He didn’t remember getting hurt. “Where am I?” he asked, not paying attention to the questions the doctor had asked.
“You are here in my home. I would have taken you to the hospital, but it’s over crowded right now after the accident on the railroad, and not a bed was available.”
For several minutes Tommy lay quite still. He had been injured. How? He didn’t know. How had the doctor gotten involved? “But,” he asked at last, wanting answers even though he was tired and his head was beginning to ache, “how did I get here?”
Before answering, the doctor held a spoon to Tommy’s lips. “Swallow this for me, Tommy, and then I’ll get you a little water and tell you everything I know.”
Obediently Tommy swallowed the bitter tasting spoonful and then the cool water.
“That’s better. Now,” Dr. Hall said, resuming his seat by the bed, “I don’t know how you came to be injured. I was passing by the corner of 6th and Elm in my car when a boy ran out of an alley waving his arms and telling me someone had been killed and needed a doctor.”
“Killed folks don’t need doctors,” muttered Tommy, staring at the mirror on the opposite wall without really seeing it.
“You’re right, but I stopped and so did a policeman. It turned out you weren’t killed but badly hurt. The policeman didn’t know you, and the boy who had called for help said he didn’t know you either. There wasn’t much we could do except take you home and patch you up and thaw you out. You were near frozen.”
“The hospital was full?”
“Yes. Where do you live, Tommy?”
But Tommy didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to understand what he had just heard, and his mind refused to to think. His eyes closed, and he murmured, “Should get home,” before falling asleep once again.
For a few minutes the doctor sat and watched the sleeping face of his patient. “Poor little Just Tommy. I wonder where you came from and what you were doing so battered in that alley. I’ll let Joe know all I’ve found out. Perhaps I’ll send something to the Times. Someone knows more than we do.” Rising suddenly, the doctor knelt down beside the bed and prayed for the young boy who had come into his home in such an unusual way.
For another day Tommy woke only for short periods and didn’t answer any questions of where he lived or seem to remember much about himself. In truth, he was still confused and puzzled about how he came to be injured in the first place and didn’t pay attention when questions were asked. But finally he woke up feeling more awake, and more aware of the pain in his body and the softness of his bed.
Opening his eyes, he saw the curtains were open and early morning sunlight was peeping into the room. A cardinal hopped onto the snowy window ledge and sang a few notes, and Tommy suddenly remembered something.
“Diego!” He struggled to sit up, but a woman’s voice ordered him to lie still.
“You are not to get up until the doctor says so, Tommy.”
“I have to.”
“And why is that?” The woman in white stood by the bedside and looked down at him.
Tommy shrank from her gaze and wished he hadn’t called out. “I’ve got ta get home,” he murmured.
“Where is your home?” persisted the woman.
But Tommy wouldn’t answer. A lump had risen in his throat as he thought about his home and Diego. Had his friend died? Had he run away? He pressed his lips tightly and closed his eyes to keep from crying.
“Now see here, Tommy,” the woman said, not unkindly, “we can’t help you if you won’t talk to us.”
“What is it, Nellie?”
Tommy clenched his right hand in an effort to keep back the tears, for the doctor’s kind voice sounded sympathetic.
“He said he wants to go home but won’t tell me where his home is, Daniel,” the woman said. “He was trying to get up when I entered the room.”
“Tommy,” Dr. Hall said, gently smoothing back the brown hair from the hot face. “Does something hurt?”
Tommy shook his head slightly. It wasn’t true; his head and his arm hurt, but his heart hurt worse. How could he have treated his friend like that? Poor Diego! He must get home to him. He must!
“Tell me about it, Tommy.” The doctor slowly began opening Tommy’s clenched fingers. “We want to help you. Nurse Wilson, will you bring a small cup of milk for Tommy? Thank you. Now Tommy, take a slow breath and relax. That’s better. Can you tell me where you live?”
“I don’t live any real place,” he murmured. “It’s just a shack ain’t a real house. Don’t even have numbers nor nothin’ on it.”
“Do you live there all alone?”
Once again tears filled Tommy’s eyes, and he looked at the doctor. Maybe he would help him. “No, sir. Diego lives with me. Or he did. But I ain’t been home. He might be dead or maybe run away!”
“How old is Diego?” Dr. Hall questioned, concern in his voice.
“Dunno. He were just a puppy when I found him.”
“Ah. Do you think he’s full grown now?”
“Dunno.” Tommy blinked back the hot tears. “I have ta get home.”
“All right, Tommy, I understand. Can you tell me what street you live on? Perhaps I can find your house and see about your dog.”
At that Tommy stared at the face above him. “Wellington Avenue. It ain’t much of a place, but it’s mine. An’ Diego’s.”
Tommy was feeling more confused than before. He was hurt but not in a hospital. He didn’t remember getting hurt. “Where am I?” he asked, not paying attention to the questions the doctor had asked.
“You are here in my home. I would have taken you to the hospital, but it’s over crowded right now after the accident on the railroad, and not a bed was available.”
For several minutes Tommy lay quite still. He had been injured. How? He didn’t know. How had the doctor gotten involved? “But,” he asked at last, wanting answers even though he was tired and his head was beginning to ache, “how did I get here?”
Before answering, the doctor held a spoon to Tommy’s lips. “Swallow this for me, Tommy, and then I’ll get you a little water and tell you everything I know.”
Obediently Tommy swallowed the bitter tasting spoonful and then the cool water.
“That’s better. Now,” Dr. Hall said, resuming his seat by the bed, “I don’t know how you came to be injured. I was passing by the corner of 6th and Elm in my car when a boy ran out of an alley waving his arms and telling me someone had been killed and needed a doctor.”
“Killed folks don’t need doctors,” muttered Tommy, staring at the mirror on the opposite wall without really seeing it.
“You’re right, but I stopped and so did a policeman. It turned out you weren’t killed but badly hurt. The policeman didn’t know you, and the boy who had called for help said he didn’t know you either. There wasn’t much we could do except take you home and patch you up and thaw you out. You were near frozen.”
“The hospital was full?”
“Yes. Where do you live, Tommy?”
But Tommy didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to understand what he had just heard, and his mind refused to to think. His eyes closed, and he murmured, “Should get home,” before falling asleep once again.
For a few minutes the doctor sat and watched the sleeping face of his patient. “Poor little Just Tommy. I wonder where you came from and what you were doing so battered in that alley. I’ll let Joe know all I’ve found out. Perhaps I’ll send something to the Times. Someone knows more than we do.” Rising suddenly, the doctor knelt down beside the bed and prayed for the young boy who had come into his home in such an unusual way.
*
For another day Tommy woke only for short periods and didn’t answer any questions of where he lived or seem to remember much about himself. In truth, he was still confused and puzzled about how he came to be injured in the first place and didn’t pay attention when questions were asked. But finally he woke up feeling more awake, and more aware of the pain in his body and the softness of his bed.
Opening his eyes, he saw the curtains were open and early morning sunlight was peeping into the room. A cardinal hopped onto the snowy window ledge and sang a few notes, and Tommy suddenly remembered something.
“Diego!” He struggled to sit up, but a woman’s voice ordered him to lie still.
“You are not to get up until the doctor says so, Tommy.”
“I have to.”
“And why is that?” The woman in white stood by the bedside and looked down at him.
Tommy shrank from her gaze and wished he hadn’t called out. “I’ve got ta get home,” he murmured.
“Where is your home?” persisted the woman.
But Tommy wouldn’t answer. A lump had risen in his throat as he thought about his home and Diego. Had his friend died? Had he run away? He pressed his lips tightly and closed his eyes to keep from crying.
“Now see here, Tommy,” the woman said, not unkindly, “we can’t help you if you won’t talk to us.”
“What is it, Nellie?”
Tommy clenched his right hand in an effort to keep back the tears, for the doctor’s kind voice sounded sympathetic.
“He said he wants to go home but won’t tell me where his home is, Daniel,” the woman said. “He was trying to get up when I entered the room.”
“Tommy,” Dr. Hall said, gently smoothing back the brown hair from the hot face. “Does something hurt?”
Tommy shook his head slightly. It wasn’t true; his head and his arm hurt, but his heart hurt worse. How could he have treated his friend like that? Poor Diego! He must get home to him. He must!
“Tell me about it, Tommy.” The doctor slowly began opening Tommy’s clenched fingers. “We want to help you. Nurse Wilson, will you bring a small cup of milk for Tommy? Thank you. Now Tommy, take a slow breath and relax. That’s better. Can you tell me where you live?”
“I don’t live any real place,” he murmured. “It’s just a shack ain’t a real house. Don’t even have numbers nor nothin’ on it.”
“Do you live there all alone?”
Once again tears filled Tommy’s eyes, and he looked at the doctor. Maybe he would help him. “No, sir. Diego lives with me. Or he did. But I ain’t been home. He might be dead or maybe run away!”
“How old is Diego?” Dr. Hall questioned, concern in his voice.
“Dunno. He were just a puppy when I found him.”
“Ah. Do you think he’s full grown now?”
“Dunno.” Tommy blinked back the hot tears. “I have ta get home.”
“All right, Tommy, I understand. Can you tell me what street you live on? Perhaps I can find your house and see about your dog.”
At that Tommy stared at the face above him. “Wellington Avenue. It ain’t much of a place, but it’s mine. An’ Diego’s.”
How was your New Year?
Have you made plans for this year?
What do you think of this story?
4 comments:
I like the doctor!! :) Curious as to what happened...
Good. I liked him too. And you'll just have to keep coming back to find out the rest of the story. ;)
This is rlly cool! I rlly like the doctor! :)
Thanks, Bekki. I'm glad you like it. :) I hope you'll be back for the next part on Friday.
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