pain.
The radio went silent, but Arty still held his charges in his protective grasp.
Seconds later they heard the sound of a car speeding away, laying rubber halfway down the block.
“ Arty, you’re crushing me,” she said, after it was quiet again. She relaxed her body and the ferret slid out from between them, sensing that the danger had passed.
He took a deep breath and pushed himself off of her and into a sitting position, by the side of the bed. “Are you all right?” He gasped for breath. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”
“ I’m okay.” She sat up too. Sheila jumped into her lap and Carolina stroked her fur. “How about you, girl? You’re not hurt are you?”
“ I think I was shot.” Arty clenched his fists against the pain. His face had gone white.
“ What?” Carolina turned her attention from the ferret toward Arty.
“ I think I was shot,” he said. “In the back.”
“ Let me see.”
“ It stings.” He moved his shoulders slowly from side to side.
“ Can you get up?”
“ I think so.” He pushed himself up from the floor. “Are you okay?”
“ Yeah, I’m all right. I’m just worried about you.”
“ Ah, it hurts.” He stood. Then he sat on the bed, before he fell down. His back was on fire. He wanted to cry, but not in front of Carolina, so he grit his teeth instead.
“ Let me look.” She got off the floor and sat on the bed behind him. “Egads, your back’s all bloody,” she said, setting the ferret down.
“ It hurts bad.” He balled his fists against the pain, but he felt good, despite the fire on his back. He had saved her.
“ We should call the police,” she said.
“ No! Don’t do that. They’ll call my parents and I’ll get into a gang of trouble. My dad would go nuts.”
“ But what if you’re really hurt bad? He’d want you to go to the doctor.”
“ No, he wouldn’t. You don’t know him.”
“ Arty, I don’t know what to do.”
“ Let’s see what it looks like before we do anything. It really hurts, but it doesn’t feel like I got a bullet in me or anything.”
“ Okay, I know about getting in trouble. It seems like that’s my middle name, the way my mom is always yelling at me lately. It’s like I can’t do anything right.” She frowned, making the muscles on her neck stand out. “But I would never be afraid of my mother if I got shot.”
He bit his lip and didn’t answer her.
She sucked in her breath when she saw all the red. His sweatshirt was stuck to his back, held there by an oozing river of blood. “I don’t know if I can do it.” She shook slightly.
“ What?” he said, with a quiver in his voice.
“ I don’t think I can pull your sweatshirt up. I might hurt you.”
“ Go ahead,” he said, the tears welling up in his eyes, “it can’t hurt more than it does now,” but then he changed his mind. “Maybe we ought to just leave it the way it is. I’ll fix it when I get home.” He’d spent a good part of the last month worrying about junior high school next year and gym class, where he would have to undress in front of all the other boys. Nobody had seen him naked for years. He didn’t take his shirt off in front of anybody. He was too ashamed of his fat.
“ No,” she said, “I’ll look at it and maybe see how bad it is.” She forced the words out between tense lips, her voice as weak as his. “I’m going to wash my hands first.”
“ Why?”
“ So I don’t give you any germs. They do it on television all the time.” She eased off the bed and went into the bathroom.
He heard the running water splashing in the basin and realized that his mouth was dry. “Can you bring me a drink?” he called out.
“ Sure,” she called back.
He closed his eyes and tried to wish the pain away. It didn’t work.
“ It’s my rinsing glass.” She handed him the water.
“ Thanks.” He opened his eyes, took the plastic glass and drank it all.
“ You were thirsty,” she said. He noticed
The radio went silent, but Arty still held his charges in his protective grasp.
Seconds later they heard the sound of a car speeding away, laying rubber halfway down the block.
“ Arty, you’re crushing me,” she said, after it was quiet again. She relaxed her body and the ferret slid out from between them, sensing that the danger had passed.
He took a deep breath and pushed himself off of her and into a sitting position, by the side of the bed. “Are you all right?” He gasped for breath. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”
“ I’m okay.” She sat up too. Sheila jumped into her lap and Carolina stroked her fur. “How about you, girl? You’re not hurt are you?”
“ I think I was shot.” Arty clenched his fists against the pain. His face had gone white.
“ What?” Carolina turned her attention from the ferret toward Arty.
“ I think I was shot,” he said. “In the back.”
“ Let me see.”
“ It stings.” He moved his shoulders slowly from side to side.
“ Can you get up?”
“ I think so.” He pushed himself up from the floor. “Are you okay?”
“ Yeah, I’m all right. I’m just worried about you.”
“ Ah, it hurts.” He stood. Then he sat on the bed, before he fell down. His back was on fire. He wanted to cry, but not in front of Carolina, so he grit his teeth instead.
“ Let me look.” She got off the floor and sat on the bed behind him. “Egads, your back’s all bloody,” she said, setting the ferret down.
“ It hurts bad.” He balled his fists against the pain, but he felt good, despite the fire on his back. He had saved her.
“ We should call the police,” she said.
“ No! Don’t do that. They’ll call my parents and I’ll get into a gang of trouble. My dad would go nuts.”
“ But what if you’re really hurt bad? He’d want you to go to the doctor.”
“ No, he wouldn’t. You don’t know him.”
“ Arty, I don’t know what to do.”
“ Let’s see what it looks like before we do anything. It really hurts, but it doesn’t feel like I got a bullet in me or anything.”
“ Okay, I know about getting in trouble. It seems like that’s my middle name, the way my mom is always yelling at me lately. It’s like I can’t do anything right.” She frowned, making the muscles on her neck stand out. “But I would never be afraid of my mother if I got shot.”
He bit his lip and didn’t answer her.
She sucked in her breath when she saw all the red. His sweatshirt was stuck to his back, held there by an oozing river of blood. “I don’t know if I can do it.” She shook slightly.
“ What?” he said, with a quiver in his voice.
“ I don’t think I can pull your sweatshirt up. I might hurt you.”
“ Go ahead,” he said, the tears welling up in his eyes, “it can’t hurt more than it does now,” but then he changed his mind. “Maybe we ought to just leave it the way it is. I’ll fix it when I get home.” He’d spent a good part of the last month worrying about junior high school next year and gym class, where he would have to undress in front of all the other boys. Nobody had seen him naked for years. He didn’t take his shirt off in front of anybody. He was too ashamed of his fat.
“ No,” she said, “I’ll look at it and maybe see how bad it is.” She forced the words out between tense lips, her voice as weak as his. “I’m going to wash my hands first.”
“ Why?”
“ So I don’t give you any germs. They do it on television all the time.” She eased off the bed and went into the bathroom.
He heard the running water splashing in the basin and realized that his mouth was dry. “Can you bring me a drink?” he called out.
“ Sure,” she called back.
He closed his eyes and tried to wish the pain away. It didn’t work.
“ It’s my rinsing glass.” She handed him the water.
“ Thanks.” He opened his eyes, took the plastic glass and drank it all.
“ You were thirsty,” she said. He noticed
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