OL Original Story: The Sad and Short Earthbound Life of Tom Marshall [Part I]
Hello there my friends. I hope your weekend is starting off great. Today you’re in for a treat. I am posting the first part of an original story. I wrote this because my life can be dreadfully boring sometimes. So to fill the void I pass the time by inventing stories and playing them in my head like movies. If I’m lucky, I can translate them into words. So sit back, relax, and enjoy.
PART I: Bad Breaks and Good Breaks
Tom wondered when it was going to stop. He applied the lessons he had learned from previous, similar experiences. Curl up in a ball. Protect your organs. Broken bones heal, busted organs are trickier. They will get tired. They will stop. Don’t cry. Don’t ever cry.
He was used to the beatings now. They were part of his routine. However he was shocked at the brazen attitude his assailants showed. Attacking him in the teacher’s parking lot right after school? Tom had to applaud their guts.
The three boys around Tom were tiring in their assault. The kicks they were raining down fell with a slower rhythm. One of them quit all together. Then shortly another one of the boys stopped. The last one, Kyle, was the worst. Tom could reason with the others. Kyle was a sadist. He enjoyed the beatings too much to be reasoned with. When he was around, the other kids would follow his lead. When he was around, Tom knew he was going to be attacked.
“Hey! Knock that off!” A man yelled from across the parking lot.
Kyle ran up and kicked Tom one more time with all his might. Tom could feel his left arm break under the force of the blow. Kyle and the others ran off in different directions as the man approached Tom. Tom uncoiled from his defensive position. He was on his back, gingerly holding his left arm. He had to turn his head to the side to ensure the blood leaking from his nose wouldn’t flow into his eyes.
The man knelt down to get a better look at Tom.
“Those boys did a number on you huh?” He said.
“I think my arm is broken.” Tom said.
“Can you walk? I’m not parked far. You need to go to the hospital.” The man said.
“I can walk.” Tom said.
Tom got up and was led to a silver Toyota. The man unlocked the doors and got in. Tom was a little apprehensive at first. At thirteen he was still not used to riding in the front seat of cars, especially with strangers. Discarding his worries, Tom got in the car and buckled up. The man handed Tom a small towel.
“For the nose.” He said.
This was the first time Tom got a look at his rescuer. He was a younger man, in his late 20’s. He was thin, almost gaunt. He had fair skin, rust colored hair, and kind blue eyes. Tom had never met the man, but he knew him. He was a math teacher, and the school’s baseball coach.
“Thanks Mr. Hagan.” Tom Said. I don’t know how much more I could have taken.”
“Yea, no problem kid.” Mr. Hagan said. “It’s Tom right?”
“Yes.” Tom said.
Tom was surprised that the man knew his name. He was so used to being invisible to teachers. His family moved around so much that he never got used to people calling him by name. Tom liked to tell people that his father was in the military. It was better than the truth that his father would not pay their rent and move to avoid eviction.
“So Tom, why were those kids attacking you?” Mr. Hagan asked.
“I don’t know.” Tom lied.
In his few dealings with authority figures, Tom knew that the truth, when it was ugly, was never to be spoken. You couldn’t call another student a sociopath. You just ended up with more trouble. The adults would hammer you with their lectures on the power of words, and the kids would hammer you with their fists. You would get it at both ends. Tom surmised that it was easier to endure one beating than two beatings.
“Did I see Kyle Fulton deliver that last shot?” Mr. Hagan asked.
“I … uhh.“ Tom began.
“I know. You don’t want to be a rat, lest you catch a beating for whatever it is that started it, and for telling on them. But between you and me, that Fulton kid is a whack job and is probably going to kill someone before anyone realizes it.”
Tom was beginning to like Mr. Hagan.
The rest of the ride to the hospital was spent in silence. They pulled into a small clinic that was set back off a main street. Mr. Hagan dropped Tom off at the front and parked his car. They walked into the lobby. Mr. Hagan instructed Tom to sit down on one of the chairs in the lobby while he went over to the receptionist.
A few moments later another man came out from the back of the reception area. He was in his late twenties with dark skin and a shaved head. He had an air of authority about him. His stoic features told the story of a man who did not suffer fools in his presence. He looked over at Mr. Hagan and his face cracked like glass. An ear to ear grin replaced his scowl.
“Bruce!” He exclaimed in a deep baritone as he rushed over to Mr. Hagan.
“Greg.” Mr. Hagan said with equal affection as he shook the man’s hand.
Mr. Hagan led the man over towards Tom.
“Tom, this is Dr. Bowman. He’s going to look after you for a moment while I give your folks a call okay?”
“Okay.” Tom said, still clutching the cloth to his nose.
Tom wrote his father’s number on a piece of paper and handed it to Mr. Hagan. He then followed Dr. Bowman to an exam room. There was a desk in the corner next to a sink. Above the desk was a cork board that had pictures all over it. Tom sat down on the bed in the middle of the room. He glanced over at the pictures and he could see they contained all sorts of people out and about. There were people in other countries. There were people participating in sports. There were even a few wedding photos.
“Looks like you’ve been through wringer kid.” Dr. Bowman said. “I’m just going to ask a few questions first, medical history stuff. Don’t worry if you don’t know the answers, we’ll get your parents to fill in the blanks.”
Dr. Bowman walked over to the deck and picked up a clipboard. He sat down in a chair next to the bed and pulled out a pen.
“Name?”
“Tom Marshall.” Tom answered.
“Date of birth?”
“April 9th, 1999.”
“Any allergies?”
“Shellfish.”
“I’ll cancel the clambake.” Dr. Bowman said sarcastically. “Any family history of diseases or conditions like Cancer or heart problems?”
“Yes.” Tom said hesitantly. “My mom died of cancer a few years ago.”
Dr. Bowman looked up from his clipboard.
“Sorry to hear that. You know what, these can wait. Let’s have a look at you.”
Dr. Bowman walked over towards Tom. There was a knock at the door and it opened immediately. Mr. Hagan entered and sat in the chair that Dr. Bowman was sitting in.
“Tom, I got a hold of your dad, he’s on his way here. I’m going to stick around too if you don’t mind.”
“No. I mean yes, that’s fine.” Tom said. “Thanks.”
“Okay Tom, I’m going to touch your arm, let me know if anything hurts.”
Dr. Bowman prodded Tom’s left forearm half way between his pinky and his elbow. Tom surprised himself as he let out a bloodcurdling scream. Dr. Bowman casually pulled his hand back.
“I’ll take it that hurt.” Dr. Bowman said. “I’ll want an x-ray to be sure, but I’m fairly certain that’s a broken ulna you got there. Let’s have a look at your face.”
Tom had managed to wipe most of the blood away from his nose. Dr. Bowman shined a flashlight in Tom’s eyes to check his pupils. He poked various spots around Tom’s nose and eye sockets.
“Doesn’t look like anything other than a bloody nose and a busted lip. Okay Tom, follow me, we’re going to x-ray that arm and then throw a cast on that thing. All you have to do is pick a color.?”
“Which one is the cheapest?” Tom asked.
“Hot pink.” Dr. Bowman responded. “I’m kidding Tom, don’t worry about money.”
“Green.” Tom said. “I like green.”
Tom spent the next hour or so in the lobby of Dr. Bowman’s clinic waiting for his father. He passed the time by chatting with the receptionist and examining his cast. He was delighted to have it. The cast meant he was too weak a target for even the most heinous of school bullies. He was supposed to wear the cast for six weeks. That would mean that when it was time for it to come off he would have roughly one week of left until summer vacation.
By the time Tom’s father showed up, it was nearly three hours since he was notified. Tom’s father was not a small man. A few inches shy of six feet, his bulk made him seem taller than he was. He walked into the clinic with a slow, unrushed gait.
“What’ve you done now boy?” He said as he walked towards Tom.
Before Tom could answer, Mr. Hagan stood up and put his hand out to introduce himself.
“Hi Mr. Marshall, I’m Bruce Hagan, I’m a teacher at your son’s school.”
Mr. Marshall eyed Mr. Hagan warily. He looked down at the hand, then over to Tom’s cast, and then back at Mr. Hagan. Dr. Bowman came out from around the receptionist area to intercede. He made no such motion to shake the man’s hand.
“Mr. Marshall, it appears your son had a run in with some bullies. His arm is broken and he’s got a few scrapes and cuts, but he’ll be fine.”
“How much is this going to cost me?” Mr. Marshal said.
Dr. Bowman was visibly perturbed at the callous reaction of the man. He took a moment to collect himself before answering in an agitated tone.
“Nothing. Just send him here a few times a week to help out until his debt is paid.”
“Ha. I like that.” Mr. Marshall exclaimed. “You see that boy, you’re gonna find out that you have to work for things in this world. Let’s go.”
Mr. Marshall motioned for Tom to join him as he walked towards the door.
“Tom, a word.” Dr. Bowman said.
Tom walked over to Dr. Bowman.
“I’m guessing your home life isn’t all that great. You don’t have to work for me if you don’t want to, but I figure it will give you a safe place to go if you need it.”
Tom watched his father walk out the door of the clinic. He turned back to Dr. Bowman and Mr. Hagan.
“Thank you.” Tom said. “Is it ok if I start tomorrow?” Tom asked.
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