Brett’s head and then ran his hands through Brett’s thick brown hair, getting it thoroughly wet. He set the cup on the side of the tub, picked up the shampoo and squirted it into his hands, lathered them up and began washing Brett’s hair.
Brett hadn’t changed position but had stopped crying.
“This is embarrassing,” he muttered into his knees.
“Really? Embarrassing?” Tim asked with a laugh. “Mike and I take a shit, and you have to wipe our butt. That’s embarrassing. This is nothing.”
Brett glanced at his friend and said, “I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, but you gotta admit that’s more embarrassing than helping you with a bath.”
Tim rinsed Brett’s hair and when all the soap was out, took a bar of soap and started on Brett’s back. He washed Brett’s chest and his legs then told Brett to kneel and handed him the soap.
“I think you can wash down there, right?”
Brett didn’t say anything, but took the soap from Tim’s hand and washed himself. He tried to wash his backside, but had a difficult time turning, wincing at the pain.
When Brett finished and after he sat back down Tim said, “You’re clean, you smell reasonably nice, and I’ve done all I can. You’re still ugly, but hey, can’t have everything.”
Brett smiled for the first time since he began his bath.
His long brown hair still damp, but scrubbed and shined, Brett perched nervously on the end of his bed wearing khaki cargo shorts and a blue and yellow striped polo shirt that Skip had purchased for him. He had his right hand out so Tim could clip his fingernails. Tim held Brett’s hand gently and snipped away, starting with Brett’s pinky.
“You concentrate better with your tongue hanging out?” Brett asked quietly.
Tim smiled up at him.
Mike was in the same bathtub behind them with the door shut soaking and humming some tune neither Tim nor Brett recognized.
“Think he’ll stop stuttering?”
Tim shrugged.
“Hope so.”
Brett stared intently at his friend as Tim finished with his right hand and reached for his left.
“I did the best I could on it,” Brett said. “I can’t do my toes ‘cause my sling gets in the way.” Then he added as an afterthought, “Sort of embarrassing you having to help me like this.”
Tim stopped, looked up at his friend and laughed, “We’ve been through this already,” and he laughed some more.
Brett smiled, shrugged his good shoulder and said, “I guess.”
Tim started on Brett’s toes.
“You’re my best friend, Tim,” Brett said shyly.
“I know. And you’re mine,” Tim said without looking up from what he’s doing.
“Promise we’ll stay that way?”
Tim stopped clipping Brett’s toenails, looked up at his friend and said, “I promise. Nothing and no one will change that.”
Brett nodded.
When Tim finished, he got up off the floor and flopped down on the bed, and Brett lay back with him, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder.
“Jeremy told me to tell you that your parents are here.”
Brett sighed. “I know. Monique told me.”
“Nervous?”
Brett nodded.
“It’s gonna be okay, Brett.”
Brett shrugged his good shoulder.
“What if they don’t remember me? What if they don’t like me anymore?”
“They knew you for, what . . . twelve, fourteen years? I’ve only known you for two years, and I
Brett hadn’t changed position but had stopped crying.
“This is embarrassing,” he muttered into his knees.
“Really? Embarrassing?” Tim asked with a laugh. “Mike and I take a shit, and you have to wipe our butt. That’s embarrassing. This is nothing.”
Brett glanced at his friend and said, “I don’t mind.”
“Yeah, but you gotta admit that’s more embarrassing than helping you with a bath.”
Tim rinsed Brett’s hair and when all the soap was out, took a bar of soap and started on Brett’s back. He washed Brett’s chest and his legs then told Brett to kneel and handed him the soap.
“I think you can wash down there, right?”
Brett didn’t say anything, but took the soap from Tim’s hand and washed himself. He tried to wash his backside, but had a difficult time turning, wincing at the pain.
When Brett finished and after he sat back down Tim said, “You’re clean, you smell reasonably nice, and I’ve done all I can. You’re still ugly, but hey, can’t have everything.”
Brett smiled for the first time since he began his bath.
His long brown hair still damp, but scrubbed and shined, Brett perched nervously on the end of his bed wearing khaki cargo shorts and a blue and yellow striped polo shirt that Skip had purchased for him. He had his right hand out so Tim could clip his fingernails. Tim held Brett’s hand gently and snipped away, starting with Brett’s pinky.
“You concentrate better with your tongue hanging out?” Brett asked quietly.
Tim smiled up at him.
Mike was in the same bathtub behind them with the door shut soaking and humming some tune neither Tim nor Brett recognized.
“Think he’ll stop stuttering?”
Tim shrugged.
“Hope so.”
Brett stared intently at his friend as Tim finished with his right hand and reached for his left.
“I did the best I could on it,” Brett said. “I can’t do my toes ‘cause my sling gets in the way.” Then he added as an afterthought, “Sort of embarrassing you having to help me like this.”
Tim stopped, looked up at his friend and laughed, “We’ve been through this already,” and he laughed some more.
Brett smiled, shrugged his good shoulder and said, “I guess.”
Tim started on Brett’s toes.
“You’re my best friend, Tim,” Brett said shyly.
“I know. And you’re mine,” Tim said without looking up from what he’s doing.
“Promise we’ll stay that way?”
Tim stopped clipping Brett’s toenails, looked up at his friend and said, “I promise. Nothing and no one will change that.”
Brett nodded.
When Tim finished, he got up off the floor and flopped down on the bed, and Brett lay back with him, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder.
“Jeremy told me to tell you that your parents are here.”
Brett sighed. “I know. Monique told me.”
“Nervous?”
Brett nodded.
“It’s gonna be okay, Brett.”
Brett shrugged his good shoulder.
“What if they don’t remember me? What if they don’t like me anymore?”
“They knew you for, what . . . twelve, fourteen years? I’ve only known you for two years, and I
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