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- 07/07/2011
- 818 Words
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- 34 Comments
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Why Didn't He Say Something - 1. I Don't Understand Why He Didn't Say Something.
The phone rang three times and a woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“It’s Alex.”
The voice changed from pleasantly formal to annoyed. “Alex, I’ve told you. The subject is closed.”
“But I…”
“I’m sorry, Alex, but I’m not prepared to discuss the matter anymore.”
“Please I…”
“Alex, this whole thing has gone on for long enough and things are getting out of hand. I know it wasn’t your fault but tempers are running high and it has to stop somewhere. The matter is closed and I don’t want any further discussion on the subject.”
“But I’m not…”
“I know you’re not doing anything wrong, but if I discuss it with you the matter will be opened again and there has to be an end. It might be unfair but that’s the way it is.”
“But that’s not why…”
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“No, wait I…”
He blinked and sighed as he put the phone down, his hand trembling. No one ever LISTENED.
Eschewing the wheelchair he struggled to his feet and staggered to the door, bracing himself against the wall. Thank God; Jamie was in the hall.
“Jamie,” he called.
“Sorry, Alex, I don’t have time right now.”
“But…”
“I haven’t got time, Alex,” he repeated in irritation.
“No, but, please…” He may as well have been shouting at the wall. “Jamie.” It was no good. No matter how desperate the call had been it was too late: Jamie had gone.
It wasn’t far to the kitchen and he managed it with a struggle. Mary looked up and clicked her teeth in annoyance.
“I’m making dinner. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“But that’s not…”
“Alex, you know better than that; no one’s allowed in the kitchen when I’m cooking. And why aren’t you in your chair? You look exhausted. And look at you: you’re only half dressed. Have you brushed your hair this morning?”
“No, I…”
“Go and take a shower and finish dressing. By the time you’re done I expect dinner will be ready. Do you need some help?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling with relief.
“I’ll send Poppy in, in couple of minutes.”
“But…”
“She won’t be long, Alex.”
“No, no please I…”
“Go back to your room, Alex,” she said firmly and, with a sigh Alex backed out of the kitchen, his head hanging.
Ben was coming down the stairs. Alex perked up. Ben would fix things. Ben was great. Ben was his friend. Ben would make it alright.
“Ben. I need…”
“Sorry, Alex I’m in the middle of something.”
“But I need… I really need…”
Ben paused. “What are you doing out of your chair? You’re going to hurt yourself. Go back to your room.”
“No, Ben; please… please…”
“Go back to your room, Alex. Let me finish what I’m doing and I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Alex was crying. No one was listening. No one wanted to know. He may as well have been invisible. No one listened; no one ever listened.
Poppy didn’t go to help him dress and Ben didn’t go back when he had finished what he was doing. No one went. Alex waited but no one came; so he stopped.
They were annoyed when Alex didn’t show for dinner.
“He’s in a funny mood today,” Mary commented.
“He’s been a pain in the arse if you ask me,” Susan snorted, “he just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Bugger,” Ben said, “I was supposed to go and give him a hand. I forgot. He’s probably sulking.”
“It’s not like him. He’s usually so good.”
No one answered when Ben knocked the door and he sighed. Usually Alex was quiet and gentle and accommodating but there were times when he could be strong willed and stubborn. Ben knew he was in for a difficult time.
Alex was curled up on his side on the bed and didn’t look up when Ben entered. Ben thought, not for the first time, how fragile he was. The accident that had brought him to the nursing home had left him with considerable disabilities and had wasted his muscles to the extent that someone who had always been small and slight was stick thin and doll like.
He was staring at the large stain under his cheek, made by his tears. He wasn’t seeing it, of course; he never would. He would never see anything ever again.
They gathered at the funeral and talked in hushed tones about the quiet boy with the soulful brown eyes who, unlike many of the patients at the nursing home, had never been any trouble. In fact he was so quiet and so obedient that much of the time he had been almost invisible.
“What I don’t understand,” Ben said, as they lowered the coffin into the soft, dark, earth, “is that he must have known something was wrong: why didn’t he say something?”
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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