Well Wishes

Chapter 9
Under the Weather

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Chapter Description: Shane's anxious to get back to adulthood when a common childhood ailment sidelines his plans.

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Robbie woke earlier than his friend, full of energy and plans.

He climbed the ladder to the top bunk. "C’mon, Shane. Time to wake up!"

Shane groaned and opened his eyes. "I don’t feel so good," he said. As he took a careful inventory, he knew he wasn’t simply worn out from yesterday’s big day.

He ached, his head felt stuffy, and his throat burned. "I may be sick," he concluded in a weak voice.

"Oh, no," Robbie said with heavy dejection. "We’re supposed to go to the water park today!"

"Maybe if I sleep a little longer," Shane said. He turned and buried his face in the pillow. He felt awful, but he did managed to fall back into a fitful sleep that was soon interrupted.

"Shane?"

He rolled over and saw Steve’s face, which was enough to make his eyes instantly open wide. Robbie’s father wore a sleeveless gray T-shirt that showed off his big arms as well as his wide chest and shoulders.

"Are you on the ladder?" Shane asked. His voice sounded like a whisper. It hurt to talk any louder.

Steve laughed. "No, I don’t need a ladder, kid," Robbie’s father said, although he made his comment sound good natured, not bragging.

"Can I sleep a little longer?" Shane asked. "I think I’ll be OK."

"You don’t look OK, tiger," Steve said and reached out and placed the flat of his hand on Shane’s forehead.

When Shane saw the frown on Steve’s face, he managed to croak out, "What’s wrong?"

"You’ve got a fever," he said. "What hurts?"

Shane thought about it, and decided to go with, "Everything." Except, he liked the feel of Steve’s big, warm hand against his forehead.

Steve smiled indulgently. "Looks like no trip to the water park today," he said, removing his hand from Shane’s forehead. "You just rest. I’ll break the news to the guys, and I’ll be back."

After Steve left, Shane wondered if he felt so bad because he was stuck in a kid’s body. He was used to shrugging off colds. This felt much worse. He didn’t ponder long before Steve returned, this time with a thermometer.

"Open up," Steve said.

Doing as he was bidden, Shane then kept the thermometer between his lips.

"Aww, dad," said Keith, who was looking into the room from the door. "Turn him over and take his temperature like you do Robbie’s."

Shane felt a stab of fear, and almost forgot about the thermometer in his mouth in his haste to make clear, "Not that!"

"That’s not how dad takes my temperature," Robbie objected in shrill protest from his position in the doorway.

"Keith, stop acting like an idiot," Steve commanded in a non-nonsense tone. "Robbie, you and your brother go back downstairs. Now!"

Shane relaxed when he realized Keith had been teasing him. There were lots of ways he could feel humiliated in front of Steve, and fate kept thinking of new ones without Keith’s smart-aleck suggestions.

"Let’s see the verdict," Steve said. He removed the thermometer and seemed to study it for a moment.

"What’s it say?" Shane rasped with his throat feeling even more sore.

"You have a definite fever," Robbie’s father announced. "You stay in bed."

"Can’t Robbie come and see me?" Shane whined. He needed to put his head together with Robbie and find a way to get out of the house and to the park. If he could wish himself back to adulthood, maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so bad.

"I think we better put some distance between you and Robbie," Steve said. "You might be contagious. He can bunk in his brother’s room while you’re running a fever."

"But I…"

"No argument," Steve said, and Shane sank back onto the pillows and bunk-bed mattress. He told himself that, if he had been feeling better, he might have argued with Mr. Williams. Strangely, though, whenever Robbie’s father issued an order or command, he found himself meekly obeying.

"I’m sure you feel lousy," the big man said. "You rest, and later you can have some soup."

With his throat on fire, Shane asked, "What about ice cream?"

"That might can be arranged," Steve said. He smoothed the damp hair on the boy’s head and then left the room.

Despite his aches and the sore throat, sleep beckoned. He slept soundly. When he finally stirred again, he needed to make a trip to the restroom. He threw back the covers, only to instantly feel gooseflesh develop on his bare arms. His teeth chattered as he climbed down the ladder. He walked out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the bathroom.

In the middle of his much-needed pee, the door opened. "Sorry," Steve said in his big, masculine voice. "Just checking on you. I thought I heard footsteps."

With his tiny dick sending a steady stream into the bowl, there was no way to shield himself without creating an embarrassing mess. He kept a small hand in place to aim his little dick toward the toilet bowl. He cringed but finished, all the while with Steve standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

He shivered as he tucked himself back into his tight boy briefs and pajamas.

"Are you cold?" Steve asked.

"Ye…ye…yes," he said as a chill caused his teeth to chatter again.

"Get back in bed," Steve said. "Cover up, and I’ll bring you an extra blanket."

True to his word, Shane had barely gotten into the top bunk when Steve entered the room. Although only his head and shoulders were on view as he got closer to the Shane’s bed, Shane knew the rest of his body was still there, putting his pitiful, puny boy’s body to shame. He thought about Robbie’s father’s strong, muscular legs and his ripped torso.

After tucking the boy beneath the blanket, Steve asked, "Hungry?"

"Not really," he said. "It’s just my throat hurts so much."

"Maybe we should take a look," Steve said. He made Shane open his mouth wide. Then, placing his hands firmly on either side of the boy’s face, he tilted Shane’s head toward the best light. The big man whistled. "That’s a nasty-looking throat," he announced.

"It’s probably just a cold," Shane said.

"We’ll see," Steve said. "You rest, and I will be right back."

He may have slept, but he wasn’t sure. On Steve’s next trip to the room, he came armed with the thermometer and a bottle of cold medicine.

He wasn’t pleased that Shane’s fever remained high. He opened the bottle of liquid cold medicine and poured some into the plastic dispenser cup.

"Drink that up."

Shane took the cup, lifted it to his lips and drank half the dose. "Blech! That’s awful!"

Steve restrained a laugh, which made his muscular, rounded shoulders shake. "Drink it all," he said. "You’ll feel better."

Shane, with reluctance visible on his face, drank the remainder of the awful medicine. "Can’t I see Robbie now?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Steve said. "The family of one of Keith’s friends were also going to the water park today, and they agreed that the boys could go with them. So, that gets them out of the house, and I can give our sick boy round-the-clock attention."

Shane’s spirits dimmed. He had meant to speak with Robbie about a plan to sneak out of the house and visit the park’s wishing well.

"I know you were looking forward to this weekend," Steve said.

Oh my god! "As long as I’m better by Monday!"

Steve laughed again. "Why? What’s Monday?"

Shane clamped his mouth closed. He could not just blurt out that he would be expected at work. "Uh, well, I know you have to go back to work," he said instead.

"Don’t worry," he said. "I am trying to contact your uncle again. Are you sure the number you gave me is the correct one?"

Shane nodded. That was an unwelcome piece of information. If Steve kept calling Shane’s brother, some clue might leak out. "It’s the right number."

"I intend to talk with your father, too," Steve announced. "In the future, if he needs someone to take care of you, he can send you here. I’d feel better knowing that you’ve got someone looking out for you. What if you had been home alone when you got sick?"

"I don’t usually get sick," Shane said.

"Anyway, don’t you worry about it," Steve said. "If you aren’t better by Monday, I can take off work and take good care of you. Your only job’s to get better and kick this."

"Will Robbie be back this evening?"

"No, Robbie and Keith will spend the night with the family of Keith’s friend," Steve said. "But they’ll be back tomorrow morning."

Shane felt forlorn to know he wouldn’t see his friend until tomorrow, but he felt too miserable to want to discuss it longer. Steve put a big hand down on the boy’s chest, and once again told him to sleep.

The hours blurred together, and Shane lacked an accessible clock or watch to monitor the passage of time. Every few hours, Steve delivered a bowl of chicken noodle soup or, even better, a fruit-flavored popsicle or a bowl filled with ice cream.

He preferred those visits to Steve’s methodical delivery of a dosage of that awful medication. The liquid tasted foul, but he usually felt a little better after swallowing it, and he slept better.

On his most recent visit, he removed the thermometer that Shane had held beneath his tongue and read the temperature with a frown. "It’s gone up, not down," he said. "Perhaps you should see a doctor."

"A doctor?" Shane said, in disagreement for more reasons than he could tell Steve. What if a doctor could tell he wasn’t really a kid?

"I don’t think I need a doctor," Shane said, although a bout of dry coughing after he squeezed the words out of his sore throat destroyed his argument.

"It would be simpler if your uncle would call me back," Steve said. "I have left several messages."

"He had to go…ummm…somewhere… South Dakota, I think," Shane said, thinking as quickly as he could. "Maybe his phone doesn’t work there."

"It’s South Dakota, not Timbuktu," Steve said.

An hour later, although he felt as if his head might roll off his shoulders, Shane sat in the passenger side seat of Steve’s SUV as the big man fastened the seatbelt around him.

As they drove, Steve seemed preoccupied. The radio broadcast some news headlines, but Robbie’s father reached out and turned down the volume.

"We need to discuss this," he said. "I don’t like what we’re going to have to do, but I’m more concerned about you than a lot of red tape."

Shane heard every other word, or so it seemed. He nodded, or perhaps he mumbled a few words, so Steve continued.

"I have insurance that covers the boys," he said. "We’ll take you to a clinic. It’s near where I work."

Shane knew the one, but he didn’t reveal that information to Steve.

"But they’re not going to want to treat you if they know I’m not your dad," Steve said. "So, you need to pretend to be Robbie."

"But…I am not Robbie," Shane said. His panic helped him fight off the fog of illness and medication.

"No, but you’re a nine-year-old boy, and that’s all that matters," Steve said. "No one at the clinic will know you’re not my son."

"If your uncle had returned my calls, this wouldn’t be necessary," Steve said, sounding very displeased.

For a Saturday evening, the 24-hour urgent care clinic wasn’t terribly busy. A woman behind a glass-enclosed partition gave Steve some paperwork to complete. Shane tried to stay quiet while Robbie’s father filled out the papers, but his teeth chattered. The room felt cold, or perhaps his chills had worsened.

He felt very glad when a nurse arrived and called out his name. Steve rose out of his seat at the same time. Shane looked up at Steve, who smiled down at him and took his hand. He felt like a little boy needing his father’s hand, but then he figured that was a good thing. He needed to bluff his way through this doctor’s visit so he could get well enough to visit the park and get out of his weak, puny boy’s body.

The nurse, a young man with dark hair, took the papers from Steve. Glancing over them, he smiled and gazed down at Shane. "So, Shane, my name’s Todd," the nurse said. "What’s the problem today?"

"I…I don’t feel so good."

Todd smiled with sympathy. "I’m sorry to hear that."

"He’s been running a high fever," Steve filled in some blanks. "Sore throat, a cough. He’s been keeping down the chicken soup, though."

Todd listened and jotted some notes on a pad. "Come with me, Shane," Todd said.

Any other time, Shane would have found Todd quite attractive. He looked athletic, and he wore his hair short. Now, he just looked so big and tall that Shane felt quite dizzy trying to hold his head up.

Pointing to a scale, Todd instructed him to hop on it. He made some adjustments, then spoke the results aloud as he jotted them down.

"Fifty-three… no, wait…fifty-two inches tall and…" Todd paused before getting the reading from the scale. "Seventy-six pounds."

In his head, he managed to do some quick arithmetic and realized he was only 4’4" tall and weighed a pathetic 76 pounds. Hearing a health professional say the figures out loud somehow made him feel even smaller.

Todd told him to move from the scale to an examination table. Steve surprised him from behind and lifted him onto the table, lifting him by placing his hands under his armpits and swinging him onto the paper-lined exam table.

"Just a few more things," Todd said. After taking his temperature, Todd approached with a cotton swab on a long wooden stick.

When he saw Shane eyeing the swab with apprehension, Todd said, "Don’t worry. It won’t hurt."

He told Shane to open wide and say "Ahh." When he did as asked, the nurse swapped his throat with the cotton tip and then deposited the entire swab in a glass vial.

"The doctor should be here soon," Todd said, and then left.

Steve settled his big body into a chair next to the exam table, but when the doctor entered a few moments later, he got to his feet again.

"I understand someone has a sore throat and a temperature," the woman said as she entered, holding Shane’s chart in her hands.

She introduced herself as Doctor Whitley. "Todd took a throat swab, so we’re checking for strep, of course," she said.

Shane remained silent, but as far as he could recall, he had not had a case of strep throat since… well, since he had been a kid the first time.

As Dr. Whitley continued to read his chart, she smiled and raised her eyes from the notes. "Well, looks like someone is having a birthday soon."

Shane’s expression looked blank.

"Yes, that’s right," Steve jumped into the conversation. "Robbie’s turning 10 next month."

Shane tried not to look surprised that his friend would soon be 10 years old. At the same time, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps their rather vague wishes, making him Robbie’s age, had turned him into a nine-year-old boy, but not one on the brink of his 10th birthday. That could explain why he was so much smaller than Robbie.

The doctor, who was a petite woman, moved closer and took Shane’s hand in her own as she read his pulse. He spent most of the interaction taking note that even this small woman’s hand looked big holding his hand.

After the pulse check, she used her hands to untuck his shirt from his pants. He gasped in surprise when she slid the cold stethoscope under his shirt. "Just want to hear what’s going on inside," she said.

With the instrument in place over his thin chest, she asked him to cough for her. She then repeated the process by moving the stethoscope to his back, positioning the stethoscope a little lower and between his thin shoulder blades.

"Everything sounds good," Dr. Whitley pronounced. "Now, let’s have a look at that throat."

Shane wanted to recoil, but he obeyed when she told him to open his mouth wide. She shined a small light into his throat while keeping his mouth open with a swap depressed on his tongue.

She smiled and sounded quite pleasant when she spoke. "We’ll have to wait for the test, but I think what we have here, Robbie, is a case of strep throat," she said. "A couple of days of bed rest and some antibiotics, and you’ll feel better in no time."

"But…but that’s the whole weekend…"

Steve spoke then. "He’s made big plans with one of his little friends," he explained to the doctor.

"Oh, I’m sorry, but I think you’ll have to postpone those plans to another time," she said. "There’s been a lot of strep going around."

The doctor excused herself, and Steve tried to comfort him. "There will be other weekends."

Shane nodded. But, with this latest experience, there wouldn’t be any more weekends. Once he got back to adulthood, he vowed to make no more trips to the wishing well.

A few minutes later, diagnosis confirmed, the doctor returned with a large needle in her hand.

"What’s that?" Shane said.

"You’ve got a bad case, so I thought an injection of antibiotics would be in order. This will help you feel much better."

"I don’t want a shot!"

Steve approached, and Shane felt cornered by the huge man and the small woman, who still loomed over him.

"I promise, it will just sting for a moment."

In a sullen voice, Shane relented and held out his arm.

"That’s not where you have to take the shot," the doctor revealed.

"What?" Shane asked.

"Just roll over for me," she said.

Shane felt one last spark, a wish to just refuse, but he knew he was beaten.

He had barely rolled onto his stomach on the exam table when she tugged down the seat of his pants and then the briefs. "It might sting…"

"Owww!" Shane cried when he felt the sharp jab.

"You can get him ready to go now, Mr. Williams," she said.

Shane was already sitting up, but the doctor paused. "Now, you be sure to enjoy your birthday next month, Robbie."

"I’m sure he will," Steve said.

Now, his throat hurt, and the spot where she had jabbed him in the butt hurt, too. It was a little too much.

When Steve turned back and asked if he was ready to go, he saw the tears welling in the little boy’s eyes.

"Don’t cry, Sh.. ummm…Robbie," he said.

"I’m not crying," he said, rubbing his eyes free of tears. "I just want to go home."

Steve clasped his shoulder and squeezed. "We’ll be home soon, buddy."

Somehow, the touch of the big man did make him feel better. The despondent feelings evaporated, taking the tears with them.

Steve signed some paperwork while Shane found a chair and waited in the lobby. Although he was disappointed to see his weekend vanish in a puff of smoke, he felt so bad that the bed back at home, well, at Robbie’s home, sounded really good to him.

Soon enough, they arrived home. He wasn’t sure if it was optimism or the painful injection, but Shane felt slightly better.

"Go on upstairs and get changed into your pajamas," Steve told him. "I’ll bring you a nice treat."

He had just enough time to slip off his clothes and pull on the PJs when Steve arrived with a big bowl of ice cream, topped with some whipped cream, chocolate sauce and a bright cherry. The big man smiled when he saw the happy grin on the boy’s face when he saw the sundae.

"I thought you deserved a treat," Steve informed him.

Shane plunged a spoon into the treat and scooped out some ice cream. The cold treat did, indeed, feel soothing for his raw throat. After he swallowed, he remembered his manners.

"Thank you, Mr. Williams," he said.

Once he finished the bowl, Steve took it. "Now, get some rest and let the medicine do its work."

He must have been more tired than he thought. When he woke, morning sunshine was streaming through the bedroom window. He also heard a familiar voice from the hall outside the bedroom.

"Please, dad," Robbie said. "Just for a moment."

The door opened and a very eager Robbie charged into the room.

"That’s far enough," Steve called, following his son into the room.

Robbie stopped and stared up at the top bunk. Shane leaned over the edge.

"Oh, you really missed it," Robbie announced. "The water park was fantastic! I had so much fun!"

"Son, you might ask your friend if he’s feeling better," Steve said.

"Oh, yeah. Dad said you had strep throat. I had that once."

"I am feeling much better now," Shane said. "But I hate that I missed the water park…"

"You should have seen the slide!" Robbie said. "It was SO big!"

Steve put a hand on Robbie’s shoulder and maneuvered him back toward the door. "This room is still off limits until your friend’s better," he said. "I don’t need two sick kids at the same time."

"But… could we just talk a little longer?" Shane asked, anxious to put his head together with Robbie’s and come up with a way to get back to the park.

"Not right now," Steve answered, ushering Robbie out of the room. "Get better soon," Robbie called over his shoulder.

Left alone again, Shane stared at the window. He still felt very bad, but desperation was also getting the better of him. Should he try to climb out the window. He thought he could get out the window, but the ground would be a long way down.

In the end, he decided he could wait a little longer. He worried about his job, of course. Monday morning was now less than 24 hours away.

The weekend had not turned out as he had planned. He had certainly never anticipated becoming a virtual prisoner of Robbie’s over-protective father.

He made another mental note to get some dimes. When he did get an opportunity to sneak off to the park, he wanted to be ready.

 

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