Destiny - a novel - 19. Chapter 19: All My Heroes

Chapter 19: All My Heroes

"You ok, Dawn?"

Mrs. Shaw's hand reaches across Lincoln's lap to touch my arm. He's sitting between us, in his tie and borrowed 'flash' sports jacket from Jackson, which actually is a bit tight on the older, beefier Oliver boy.

"I'm fine," I tell her. Truth is, sitting in this room, next to a nervous but collected Lincoln makes me slip into some slightly cynical place. I hope it all turns out for the best, for Jack's sake especially, but…

I glance around, trying to shake off this feeling. Cases are being called up, and we are just one of any number of family units petitioning our requests before the Santa Clara Superior Courtroom 505. Judging by their faces, the post-lunch languor of 'just another day' is setting in hard – think concrete. The court reporter, the clerk, bailiffs and even the judge – who appears like a 1950s-something version of Rumpelstiltskin – all have the same battle-weary blankness in their stare. And I think, 'how dare they!' How dare they exhibit the fatigue and boredom from the daily grind of in-box/out-box legalities; how dare they be sick and tired of seeing the fine print turned into flesh and blood before their eyes for a whopping five hours a day.

I glance over to Lincoln. He's glaring down at his hands folded in his lap. 'Poor guy,' I think. 'It must be so rough on him to simply be back to the same courthouse. Even though 'family law' is handled – thank God – in a different part of the building than where Linc's hearing was held, this whole process must have an extra burden for him. I'm just relieved that this is all happening in a separate space, for I don’t think the poor Oliver boy could take being back in those extradition chambers so soon.

My attention drifts back to the proceedings. The judge is asking the petitioner – a teenage boy – a series of questions, and the young man's soft replies are making the judge lean over the bench with a hard-of-hearing scowl on his face. The ironic thing is, the judge, the clerk, none of them seem to be affected by the life-altering decisions they dole out as emotionlessly as the ladle in a soup kitchen. Ironically, because everyone who comes to stand before them is facing the prospects of having to live through a day they will never forget for the rest of their lives.

Lincoln suddenly chuckles. He splits glances between Mrs. Shaw and me and says in a low tone, "I wonder how Christie and Hamish are getting along with Jack..?"

We all laugh a little bit; the tension in the younger Shaw brother's room was thick as we took our leave a couple of hours ago to come to this courtroom.

"Well," I say. "At least Jackson is there to play mediator."

"Or," Linc suggests. "There just to snap pix of the melee."

As we start to laugh, Mrs. Shaw's overly serious glance puts us to shame. "They'll be fine. My kids may not have re-negotiated the rules of behavior with one another, but I trust Hamish and Christie have turned the corner."

She's right. Of course she's right.

The judge bangs his gavel.

Our attention snaps forward and the clerk stands, reading from the docket: "Case number 37785; will the Shaw and Oliver families approach the bench."

We rise and let Mrs. Shaw lead the way as she has the documents, although Linc had been entrusted with something important too, and it's safe within his pocket.

At the handrail separating the waiting families from the judge's area, a bailiff greets Jack's mom and looks over her court appointment. He lets us in and we line up before the bench.

The judge sighs, after a preliminary scan of our faces, and flips open a manila folder the clerk just handed him.

He slips on those old people 'half-baked' reading glasses where there's just a sawed off lower lens, and reads the paper before him apathetically.

"An application for the marriage license of two minors…" His eyes peer over the flat edge of his glasses at me and Linc. "And you two want to get married?"

I can't help it; I sort of blurt out a snort of laughter. Lincoln chortles too, and then turns red. "No, sir," I start to prattle. "We're not – "

Lincoln adds his two cents. "Not with her – we're just friends…"

The judge sets down his paperwork with a frown, and Linc and me realize we've just put Mrs. Shaw in the awkward position of 'being the grown up' here.

"Your Honor," she says calmly. "This young man is Lincoln Oliver, and he has permission from both of his parents to marry. The other petitioner is sick and currently a patient at Stanford Medical Center."

He asks officially, "And you are, madam?"

"I am the sixteen-year-old's mother. I've come as proxy, and to testify that my permission to wed is freely granted."

Through sighing annoyance, the judge recites from memory: "Section 32.456.98 of the California Family Law Code states that underage petitioners for a California marriage license must be present themselves in court, in person, to explain why an exception to the minimum age requirement of eighteen should be granted – "

Mrs. Shaw boldly cuts him off. She pulls out a paper. "I have a signed and notarized affidavit that the young man wishes for the license to be granted, and a doctor's statement that he cannot be transported to court today."

The judge is clearly vexed. "We're taking about the absent bride, madam, not the young man standing at your side."

Mrs. Shaw gestures humbly with the paper. "Will Your Honor please look at the affidavit?"

The man in charge takes off his glasses, folds hands and leans forward like the mighty weight of law is depressing his shoulders. "The law states, madam – "

"It's Jack Shaw, Your Honor – the cancer patient who has been in the news so much recently. He wishes to marry this fine young man next to me, and all of the parents give their full consent and blessings."

It seems the entire courtroom has woken up now, the mention of Jack's name driving the post-lunch doldrums away. This includes an obvious change overtaking the countenance of the man with the gavel. He picks up his glasses hurriedly and lifts the folder up in front of him to re-read. He mutters questioningly, "This is a request from a same-sex couple..? A sixteen-year-old boy who wants to marry another underage boy – a seventeen-year-old..?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

He lays the folder down and stares frankly at Jack's mom. "I've never had a young male couple petition this court before – mainly I deal with pregnancy situations…"

A low-toned, but multi-location gasp makes me rotate my head back to the area where petitioners are waiting. Half the girls are now casting shy glances to the floor with beet-red color. Half the girls' fathers also now look stiff and defensive as well, while they shoot dagger looks to the teen boys sitting by the sides of girls.

"Well…" the judge continues, with a nervous throat clearing. "Anyway, that's neither here nor there. And you say your son is in the news?"

The courtroom is suddenly awash in the only partially suppressed gulp of surprise that the judge is so out of the current events loop. His own bailiff slowly shakes his head in disbelief at such an out-of-touch display.

"Yes, Your Honor. The teenage boy who ran away from home rather than face cancer treatment – ?"

Recognition finally sparks behind the judge's eyeglasses. Encouraged by lip-pursed nods and pleading glances for him from his clerk and court reporter, he stammers, "You mean, The Leukemia Kid?"

Mrs. Shaw cringes a bit, so Lincoln gently takes the affidavit from her hand and gestures it towards the judge. "Yes, Your Honor."

After moment's pause to show his displeasure at how 'irregular' this all is, the man in the robe says, "Bailiff, if you please."

I can feel the three of us on our side of the exchange exhale quietly in relief. It's as if we had been on tippy-toe suspense and suddenly deflated back to earth once the bailiff made a move. He strolls to us, however, without any apparent urgency to retrieve Jack's statement of entreaty, and his oncologist's explanation for his absence.

The judge finally receives it, and then takes his time to read it in silence with not infrequent adjusting of those half-ass spectacles telescoping back and forth along the ridge of his judgely proboscis.

I whisper if Linc has 'it?' I watch as Lincoln fishes in his front jeans' pocket and pulls up something small. He places it directly into Mrs. Shaw's hand – like all his hope is contained in that one small article. Jackson did get his chance to contribute, and to use his camera to help as well.

At last, the judge finishes reading and immediately leans forward again, this time on elbows spread nearly flat on the bench under him. "This is highly irregular, madam."

"Jack would be here in person, Your Honor, if there was any possible way that he could – but…" She raises the memory stick in her hand for him to see. "He has recorded a personal plea to the court, if you will consent to hear it."

The judge forms his already-thin lips in a flat seam. His reaction to this new 'irregularity' is unreadable, until he progresses to a series of stopgap measures. He sighs, he sternly whips off his glasses, he folds his arms over the black-robed expanse of his chest, and rains cold looks down on us – we three lowly petitioners before his mighty high bench of yea or nay.

But then he sits fully upright again and gestures to one corner of the room. "Bailiff, if you please."

The man goes to and rolls a television on a cart to a position at the side of the bench where both we and the judge can watch it. The clerk retrieves the USB drive and starts the monitor. She plugs in the drive, opens the only file on it, and tells the judge "It's ready."

"Play it, please."

She starts the video clip before moving back to her desk.

The screen flickers, and Jack appears. He's sitting up in his hospital bed, and his USA cap is proudly arranged to be prefect: straight and centered. But the boy looks to be in a very bad way. In addition, it's totally unusual to see the blinds of his room fully open, and casting the harsh light of reality all over his fragile world. Lincoln stiffens next to me, and I figure it's hard to see his love one bound by both arms with IV's and to see his environment backed with a flickering heart monitor.

"My name is Jack Shaw, and I am sixteen years old. Due to extreme medical circumstances, I am unable to appear in person, in court, to request my marriage license, but I hope the court will see that I am of sound mind and infirm body, and I humbly ask that the court let Lincoln and me get married, before it's too late. Thank you very much."

The straightforward message style couched against the medical reality of his dire straits affects me emotionally. I feel like crying, and then I realize the same raw state has gripped the entire courtroom. Even the burly bailiff need to raise his glasses so that he can 'casually' brush a tear away.

The only sound in the chambers is the hissing static coming from the TV; that, plus the soft footsteps of the clerk going over to switch it off and pull out Jackson's memory stick.

She hands it back to Mrs. S., but the emotional state in the room does not evidently extend all the way to the judge's heart. He waits for the clerk to take her position at the desk again while I scan his enigmatic face.

The judge leans forward. There is almost a tone of pity in his voice as he says, "Madam, this is highly unusual." He sighs, showing some feelings for the first time. "However, I must say that I see these types of requests everyday, and I fear this request to marry is only for short term goals."

Jack's mom steels herself. "Short term goals are enough, Your Honor, when a person is fighting to save their own life. I once had my reservations, doubts similar to the ones you express here today, but then I got to know Lincoln Oliver, and I was privileged to witness how deeply in love and committed to one another they are. So, please do not think of them as 'two boys,' only as two people facing a tremendous obstacle, but willing to do it together so that where there is love, they are strong enough to move mountains.

"As to why now and not in a few years time, Your Honor, as it stands today, if Jack were to get close to his final moments after hospital visiting hours – the young man he loves would be denied access to his room, because he's not 'family.' They wish to remedy that situation, but cannot receive the recognition or benefits of the legal standing as family unless this court takes pity on their love.

"As for the future, who among us dares to predict our own, let alone that of others? Jack may never wake up from his procedure this evening, but if he does, his only request is that he be allowed to do so and see the man he loves by his side. To deny that right seems unfair.

"But, as for their future…" Mrs. Shaw smiles and takes Linc's hand. "I know that if my son and Lincoln are allowed to marry today, the only thing that can possibly separate them again is death. They will be together for the rest of their lives, of that I have slowly come to have no doubts."

˚˚˚˚˚

I enter Jack's room alone. The fading afternoon light coming through the partially closed blinds halos Christie's body as she sleeps peacefully on the sofa.

I round the corner, and can see Jack too is sound asleep. Jackson sees me and quietly rises from the lounge chair. It's such an awesome feeling to see him again, and he comes to the center of the room with open arms.

Walking into his embrace, I nearly swoon when his hands come to surround me in warmth.

"I missed you," he tells me, and makes me relieved to see he's dropped all the 'cool' bullshit in favor of bare honesty. Jackson continues, "Where are Jack's mom and Linc – BUT, wait! How did it go?!"

Jackson's vehemence rouses Jack. "Dawn..?"

I go to him.

"Help me," he says, fumbling for the bed tilt remote.

A loud female voice calls from the doorway. "Coming through!"

Jackson steps aside as Hamish is wheeled in on a bed. He's already hooked up to an IV, and looks somewhat mellow and groggy.

I remember Dr. Kimball saying something about the boys being 'lucky;' how normally Jack would need to be in sterile isolation for days while his own bone marrows cells were all killed off. But it seems the new and experimental approach doesn't need that step. All the Shaw boys need is a real-time, double surgical team to do the transfusion procedure directly.

The orderly positions Hamish's bed to be right next to Jack's and the brothers exchange a quick glance and head nod.

"You ready, Hamish?"

"Ha, brother Jack – the nurse just shaved my legs and ass, and gave me a big dose of Valium. So, I'm feeling pretty much ready for anything. Ha-ha."

Jack turns to me. "Dawn, where's Lincoln Oliver and my mom?"

I say somewhat sadly, "They'll be here in a minute, Jack."

I watch as he swallows down a lump in his throat. "So, it's – "

"Jack," I say, lunging for his hand. "You're going through with the surgery, right?"

He closes his mouth, which I guess had opened in shocked disappointment, and slowly nods his head. Just then I see his eyes slip off of mine and onto something behind me. I rotate to find that Lincoln has entered the room.

"Hey, Hamish." Linc halfway smiles. "Looking good."

"Shut up, Lincoln," Hamish laughs.

I step aside and return to Jackson's side, where Christie now stands too.

Linc slides into position next to Jack, takes his hand, and smoochily kisses his fiancé. "I love you, Jack."

"Are you sad, Lincoln Oliver? Do you have bad news for me?"

A motion at the door makes us all look. Mrs. S. and Dr. Kimball enter the room. Jack's mom makes a slight head nod at Linc.

He restores his attention to his fiancé; I know he's desperately trying to conceal his smile. "There's someone I'd like you to meet, Jack."

"Who?"

At Mrs. Shaw's signal, a man enters the room.

Lincoln says, "This is Reverend Holbrook; he's here to marry us, baby. Right here and now."

"Oh, Lincoln!" He lurches up, IV's and monitor cables flying, to hug his man. "I knew you guys would do it. You're all my heroes."

Linc gently makes Jack lie back down. "No, kid – you're the only hero in this room."

Lincoln stands upright, and still holding Jack's hand, says, "We're ready when you are, sir."

"Then, please," he addresses the rest of us. "If you will gather around."

Jackson makes a sneaker-streaked dash for his camera while Mrs. Shaw goes to stand by the head of Hamish's bed. Dr. Kimball and Christie stand next to her. The minister pulls out his pocket bible and takes up a position at the foot of Jack's bed. Jackson runs back, and we stand to the reverend's right side.

"Do you have rings to exchange?"

The minister's question snaps the boys into action. Jack pulls off his mother's band and presses it into Lincoln's hand. Just as a sick look washes over his face to explain to the officiator that they have only a single ring, Hamish speaks up.

"Here, bro." He groggily extracts his high school class souvenir from his right hand ring finger. "Borrow this, ok?"

He holds it across the gap between their beds and Jack takes it. "Thanks, Hamish."

The boy palms the ring and nods to Reverend Holbrook.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join in holy matrimony Jack Shaw and Lincoln Oliver. Their bonds have been tested through trial of both body and spirit, and You, oh Lord, have deemed them worthy to be united in final bonds of love and family. Please continue to be their support through all the days of their conjoined life together.

"Before these witness, and before the all-merciful sight of God, you will enter into a unity of flesh which no one will have the power to diminish or besmirch.

"Please hold left hands. As a ring is without start or end, as a ring is eternal and unbroken, they offer this sign and symbol to one another; as the rings are of precious metals, they will not rust or rot, just as your love will not decay over time. Jack, please hold the ring to Lincoln's finger. Do you, Jack Shaw, take Lincoln Oliver to be your lawfully wedded husband; to have, to hold, to honor, and treasure for all the days you shall live?"

"I Do."

"Then repeat after me: with this ring, I do thee wed."

"With this ring, I do thee wed."

Jack slips it on.

"Lincoln Oliver, do you take Jack Shaw to be your lawfully wedded husband; to have, to hold, to honor, and treasure for all the days you shall live?"

"I Do."

"Then repeat after me: with this ring, I do thee wed."

"With this ring, I do thee wed."

Lincoln slips it on.

"You may not have been born to the bonds of blood, but today you are united as one by the blessings of love and spirit. What God has joined, let no man put asunder.

"By the powers vested in me by the State of California, and Holy Writ, I now pronounce you spouses for life.

"Please welcome your marriage with a kiss."

They do, with tears rolling down their cheeks, and the gentle, loving clicks of Jackson's camera capturing the moment for all times. The rest of us break into applause.

Jack smiles, and tells his mom, "Ok, today California, but summer, Ohio. You can start planning your big celebration right now."

"Ok, Jack," she says, half-saddened. "I'll hold you to your promise."

Dr. Kimball interrupts with an anxious glance at his watch. "All right, congratulations from Marta and me, but it's time boys. We need to roll Hamish and Jack down to the operating room, and I need to scrub up."

As we are congratulating the happy couple with kisses, handshakes and hugs, the orderly arrives to take the Shaw brothers away.

Suddenly, the once crowded room feels devoid of life.

Mrs. S. puts on a brave face. She then links her arms through those of Christie and Jackson. "Come on," she sighs. "The three of us will go get Starbucks and snacks for everybody. We'll all meet up in surgical waiting room number 5, ok?"

Lincoln nods. "Thank you – Mom."

Jackson and Christie work in unison to gently tug on her and lead her out of the room before Lincoln's words make her cry.

Alone and in profound silence, Linc turns to me.

I attempt to tease him with a crinkly grin. "So, it seems Jack has finally made a decent man out of you, huh?"

Lincoln is floored. He says in all sincerity, "Yes. That is true, Dawn; one-hundred-percent true. He's made me a much better person."

I step close to him. "And I've known Jack since we were kids, so you better believe me when I tell you that I know you've made him a better person too."

I reach out and touch his hand.

"Thank you, Dawn."

"But, if he doesn't pull through, are you ready to lose him?"

Lincoln just slowly crumples into my arms. He does not answer, only cries on my shoulder.

"I know, Lincoln, neither am I."