little elijah is pressing moons into the palm of his hand, picking at the knee of his brand-new jeans with manicured fingernails. ( When you were little, you used to hurt yourself. It just makes Papá feel better to keep them short, hm? ) The jeans are brand-new because Daddy just bought them for him a couple of hours ago, after an accident while playing outside left him with a gaping hole in the left knee.
This was my last good pair of pants! — then why don’t we go get some new ones, huh? Are you sure? You’ve been coughing a lot today. I could use the exercise ——— and the fresh air.
❝ It’s my fault, ❞ he says, only because none of the nurses seem to be paying any attention to him. ❝ I messed up my pants, so we had to go get new ones, and then there weren’t any “old man” carts so Dad had to walk a---and — ❞
He whimpers, small, furrows his brow at a nurse who looks at him with sympathy.
Save it, he thinks. I don’t need it. I’m brave.
I’m on my way to the hospital now. Would you like to stay on the phone with me until then?
Tentatively, he reaches out, circles a hold around two of his father’s fingers. There’s an IV in the top of his hand, and he’s familiar enough with his father’s dialysis treatments that he knows not to jostle it too much. ( He isn’t sure if the ambulance nurses are going to tell him that he’s not allowed to touch his father like the other ones do — but, if they do, then he’s going to tell them where they can stick it. )
❝ Yeah. ❞ Another moment of silence — and then, to distract the both of them: ❝ How was your show? ❞ @bioticiisms / from here!
