A World Changing Gun - 1. A World Changing Gun

My freshman year at college was a lot different than I’d expected. Living away from home was a whole new world that I was excitedly exploring. But then the world was supposed to end yesterday on the last day of the Mayan calendar. My mom had gone a little nuts and insisted that I come home for the weekend ‘to be with the family’. I had to skip my biology lecture but I was passing the class with an A so I wasn’t worried about missing anything. I could always get a copy of my friend Taylor’s notes if the professor covered something important.

“Hey Vance, I’m just started the grill, but I need to run to the store and pick up some more soda and beer. Do you mind coming out to keep an eye on it?”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” I had been trying to hide up in my room but failing to avoid my parent’s ‘We survived the End’ pre-celebration giddiness. I swear, old people were not supposed to act that way in front of their kids. I really couldn’t believe Mom had been so worried that she’d filled the garage with stockpiles of everything from toilet paper to pump lanterns. Not to mention the spam and canned fruit! At least all the neighborhood kids would decimate some the two year stockpile of hot dogs Mom had bought.

“Don’t take too long, the potatoes should be moved up to the top rack in ten minutes and then the steaks can go on.”

I rolled my eyes. Dad thought he was the only one who knew anything about grilling. “Got it Dad.”

I dug in my closet for my heavy coat. It was too damn cold out to be outside without it. I grimaced in the mirror as I went out of my room. I’d bulked my first semester at college. The free access to the gym with early and late hours was pretty handy. It was a bit of a meat market though, for guys and girls.

I wasn’t pretty average myself. The only thing that stood out about me was my height. I was almost six foot four now. My coat was a bit small and I looked like I was wearing Michael’s coat.

“Hey squirt.” I ruffled my little brother’s hair as I walked by the couch. He was talking on the phone and flipped me off.

“Mom must have gone with Dad if you’re using your big boy gestures.” I laughed when he shoved himself up from the couch, shooting me a glare.

He spun the phone up so the mouth piece wasn’t near his mouth. “I’m talking to my girlfriend, you ass.”

“Ooh, the little squirt got a girlfriend?” At 16 it was insanely easy to piss him off. “Did you offer to share your juice box?”

“Fuck off,” he said. “Why don’t you just go back to school already?” He stomped out of the room. “And stop calling me squirt!”

I couldn’t help laughing. Feeling like I’d done enough to torment my little brother, I headed out to the grill. It really was too cold for a bbq but Dad never missed a chance to grill.

“Jeez, Mom!” The covered porch was stuffed full of propane tanks. “Oh yes, the world is going to end, we must be prepared to survive if we don’t all explode or just fall down dead where we stand,” I muttered. She was trying to set the world on fire herself is what she was doing.

Grunting, I grabbed the handle of the grill and carefully tugged it away from the porch. There was a wide path out to Mom’s rose garden. The stones weren’t even but it was still safer than grilling under the porch. It was colder though, with a fierce wind rattling the tree branches. I zipped up my coat, shivering.

Using the tongs, I moved the baked potatoes to the top rack. The steaks were on the counter in the kitchen. When I went in to get them, I cocked my head at the sound of water running upstairs. Michael must have decided to take a shower; his girlfriend must have agreed to come over.

“Fuck. Brrr.” The metal handle of the grill felt nice and warm against my cold hand. I started laying the steaks on the hot grill with the tongs, enjoying the sizzle and the spicy scent of the peppercorn marinade.

“Hey, shit head!”

I waved my tongs at Michael. “Mom’s going to hear you and then you’ll end up getting your keys taken away. You gonna pick up your girlfriend on your bi—”

Splat.

“Hey!” The little shit had hit me in the back of my leg with a water balloon. “Knock that off!”

“Yeah right.”

I turned around right as a water balloon came sailing down. It nailed me hard in the face and I stumbled back, dropping the plate still half full of steaks. It shattered on the stone walkway. Then I hit the grill.

It tipped over and I was unable to avoid falling with it. The hood came open and it seemed like time slowed down. My heart pounded hard and I heard a shout just as I fell straight onto the searing hot metal and flames.

My screams drowned out the sound of my skin sizzling, just like the steaks had.

***

Beeps interrupted the flames licking at my body with annoying regularity. They fought constantly for my attention. I hated the noise because it always heralded an increase in the pain. Sometimes the drugs helped push away the pain but it never really went away. It was all I could focus on, all I could feel.

I remembered what had happened; I knew I was in the hospital. I remembered the sirens and the examinations, and even worse, the cleaning.

They’d said they had to remove the dead skin. It felt like wire brushes dragging over me. All I cared about was making the pain stop.

Why didn’t they make it stop? The pain screamed in my cheeks when I begged them to make the pain go away. My face felt tight and I couldn’t see or breathe out of my nose.

A hand touched my knee.

“Vance?”

“Please,” I whimpered.

“He’s awake.”

The sound of sobbing distracted me for a second, then someone touched me. I flinched, then cried out. “Vance? I’m so sorry Vance!”

If I could, I would have cried too. I hurt more than I could ever imagine anyone hurting. But Michael … “S’kay, squirt.”

A double beep and a curtain fell between me and the pain, dampening the agony a little more. “Vance? My name is Dr. Gilet.”

“Hurt.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m giving you as much pain medicine as I can, but I need you with me for a little while. I don’t want you to talk any more right now.” My hand that wasn’t throbbing with every heartbeat was gently gripped. “Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

“Do you know where you are? Do you remember your accident?”

I squeezed once. I would never forget those seconds as I fell and the agony unlike anything I had ever experienced, no matter what kind of drugs they gave me.

Dr. Gilet squeezed my hand back gently. “That’s good. Squeeze once for a car accident, and twice for an accident at home.”

Two squeezes later I was starting to feel sleepy again. “Very good. That’s right, you hit your head pretty hard when you fell on the grill so I needed to be certain. I need you awake to make a decision. You’re nineteen now and you have to tell me what you want.”

I wanted to go to sleep and not have to wake up again until my body no longer felt like it was still sitting on the flaming metal grill.

“There’s an experimental procedure study that we are conducting on burn victims. Usually we’d take large skin grafts from healthy areas of your thighs to cover the burns on your face, neck, and arm. Those can take months to heal and, well, it’s not ideal infection-wise.

“But we have a new method. We’ll isolate specific skin cells, including stem cells, from a small graft and mix them with a liquid solution. The revolutionary part of this method is what happens next. With a special pneumatic gun we will be able to spray those cells directly on to your burns. After that we have a special bandage that will work like a special vascular system just to the burned areas. Tubes will feed a careful balance of antibiotics, electrolytes and enzymes to the areas to promote healing. It will—”

I squeezed his hand three times.

“Are you trying to ask me a question?”

I squeezed once. The flames were licking at my face again and I wanted to go back to sleep.

“Most patients want to know how this will help them. Is that what you want to know?”

Yes!

“Trying this new procedure will drastically reduce your risk of infection. You have severe second degree burns to a large portion of delicate skin. Your appearance will also be improved this way. The biggest benefit would be the healing time. We’ve never tried it with someone as extensively burned as you, but if you consent it could cut your healing time from months to weeks.”

I squeezed Dr. Gilet’s hand as hard as I could manage, holding on for as long as I could. Anything to make the pain stop. I had nothing to lose and a lot to gain.

“Okay, Vance, okay.” Dr. Gilet gently pulled his hand away from mine. A smaller hand took its place, and fingers stroked the back of my hand.

“Hey baby. We just need to be sure, do you want this? Squeeze my hand for yes and your dad and I will take care of everything.”

My mom gasped a little as my hand clenched around hers. It took the last bit of my strength. Pain stole me away.

***

“Good morning, Vance!”

I spoke slowly and carefully, trying not to move my mouth too much. “Good morning, Carol.”

I watched with my good eye as my daytime nurse opened the curtains blocking out the weak winter sunlight. “I’ve some breakfast out in the hall for you, but first we need to get you up out of bed.”

The thought of moving was scary but Carol was determined. I broke into a sweat sitting on the edge of the bed and my head spun when she carefully helped me maneuver two steps into the chair beside my bed. A pillow under my burned arm helped support it.

Something about the intense pain stole my ability to cry, though I wished I could. It still hurt so much.

“I have a treat for you today, Vance. Eggs!” What I wouldn’t give for some cold pizza. Now that was a treat for a college guy at breakfast. But I wasn’t allowed anything that required much chewing—or any at all—so eggs were apparently one of the few approved foods I could have. It was better than the nasty cream of wheat I’d gotten the day before.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. My hand shook as I scooped up a tiny bite. I mostly smashed the eggs with my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but I half the plate before I decided it was more trouble than it was worth.

Of course that was when my doctor came in, followed by my mother. Great. I picked up the spoon I had just set down.

“Eating breakfast, I see,” Dr. Gilet said.

“Yes.” I took another small bite so they wouldn’t lecture me to finish my food so I could get better. My mom set her bag down in the other chair in the room before leaning down and gently kissing my head on the good side.

“Good morning, Mom. Why are you here to early today?”

“I just thought it would be good to get here early today.” She turned away from me as she spoke, turning the TV from the nineties sitcom rerun that had been playing to the news.

I would have frowned if it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

The doctor fiddled with the machines to the special bandages on my face, neck, arm and hand. The steading clicking noise stopped and I glanced over sharply.

Ouch. That hurt like a motherfucker.

“Careful. We don’t want to stretch that new skin too far.”

“The skin is growing back?” I put my spoon down. “Already?” It had been a week since I had given permission with one hand squeeze to try the new stem cell gun.

“It is. We might even be able to keep the bandages off. I need to check your burns first though.”

I put my spoon down and pushed my plate back a few inches. “I’m done.”

Dr. Gilet chuckled. “You can finish eating.”

“That’s all right. The eggs aren’t very good.”

“Vance!” my mom scolded.

Dr. Gilet waved her frown away. “He’s right, they aren’t very good without a thick coating of ketchup.”

Mom looked disgusted. A chuckle escaped me; Michael liked his eggs that way and she always complained that he was ruining her good cooking. I happened to agree with her, but hospital eggs were not good cooking.

“I’ll have to try that next time.”

Dr. Gilet nodded. “Okay. Well if you’re done, then there is no reason to delay.” I sat perfectly still when he began to remove the dressings. I closed my eyes, not sure if I was really ready to see what I’d done to my body.

Dr. Gilet made pleased noises.

“Oh honey, that looks so much better!” My mom sounded excited and she was rubbing my good arm.

I braced myself, remembering all the caution Dr. Gilet had forced me to acknowledge. The stem cells would work their magic, but I had to be patient.

But then … “Oh, this is almost healed.”

Whatever I thought I was ready for, it wasn’t the angry red patches all over my arm. I could see actual lines in the burn from the grill.

For the first time since the accident tears filled my eyes and began to fall. How in the world would I ever heal from this?

“This is what you call healed? Are you shitting me?” Mom gasped.

"Vance!"

Like I cared about cussing in front of her right then. Dr. Gilet calmly nodded, as if he were used to this type of reaction from his patients. Maybe he was.

“I want to see my face. “

Mom was crying with me. “Baby, please. You don’t know how bad it was, how bad some of the other burn victims still look. This is amazing.”

“Give me a mirror, Mom, I know you have one.” She always had a compact.

Dr. Gilet nodded at her and she reached into her purse. The tiny round mirror hid nothing from me as I turned my head so that I could see the shiny skin that covered my cheek, ear, and neck. It pulled tight and I could only move a little to the left. The edges were sunken, pale white skin contrasting with the vivid red like a damn candy cane of stripes that went from the middle of my forehead all the way down to my jaw.

I closed my eyes; I didn’t want to see anymore.

“I know it looks bad, Vance, but this is an unprecedented amount of healing on a second degree facial burn. A lot of victims of this type of injury are left with thick scarring. Once we’ve got this stretched a bit and give the burns time to fade they should barely be noticeable.”

No matter what Dr. Gilet and my family said, I knew what I looked like. Their stem cell gun hadn’t worked the miracles I’d expected. My life would never be the same; my hopes of finding someone were dead. A gay guy in a small college town that looked nothing special had few options. A gay guy in a small college town with horrific scars options? Nil.

When I got home I covered the mirrors in my room and bathroom. Michael didn’t even complain about the mirror we shared. I knew that he felt guilty; his prank had led to my burns but I didn’t blame him. He would never have tried to hurt me; it as just an accident.

Convincing both of us that I would be okay took more work than I’d ever dreamed of with that one squeeze. I joined a burn victim support group. There was this one guy who went that had lost half his fingers to infection from a graft that didn’t take. A woman lost her husband to a fire and had gotten second degree burns on her feet trying to get out during the middle of the night. I was still alive, and while I couldn’t make a fist, I still had all my fingers.

The first time we went, I let Michael talk. He explained about the grill and the water balloons. The counselor asked him if he wanted to hurt me with the balloons since I’d been picking on him.

“Of course not.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “I would never have thrown them if I knew this would happen. I love Vance.” His face gradually smoothed as his scowl faded as he realized what he’d said.

It was like a huge weight fell off his shoulders and he sat up straighter. “It was an accident,” he said firmly. "A horrible fucking accident, but that's all."

I ran my fingers through his hair with my good hand. “Exactly, squirt.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but he grinned anyway. He seemed so much lighter, like the guilt he’d been carrying around had finally let him go.

My apathy toward my appearance was harder to shed, no matter how pleased Dr. Gilet was. Then a new guy joined the burn group. Half his hair was gone, and he had patch over an eye. His skin had the characteristics of a graft. Emmet hadn’t been a candidate for the new gun procedure.

“My burns were too bad,” he told me. He’d asked me to go for coffee after the meeting one day. He’d been going for about a month at that point. I still avoided going out in public and wore a hoodie with the hood up to cover my face when I did venture out.

Emmet’s brave determination to face the world, regardless of his scars, inspired me. I agreed to coffee.

“I had third degree burns and it damaged my eye beyond saving. I probably wouldn’t have been able to grow the hair back anyway.” He ran a hand over the bare side that was pale white with a winter pallor. “I figure, why keep half? It would look weird.”

He studied my burns and I sat still, letting him look as I looked into his blue eyes. There was no morbid curiosity, thinly veiled horror—or worst of all—pity.

“You know, your scars give you character. It takes a strong person to survive this kind of injury. You shouldn’t hide so much.”

Was he flirting with me? I was shocked. Ordinary before, I was anything but ordinary now. I’d felt hideous.

My mouth decided that I didn’t have enough embarrassment considering a lady three tables down was staring at us with her hand over her mouth.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Emmet winked. “Yep. Is it working?”

“I figured finding someone who would be willing to look past scars would be impossible to find,” I said.

He cocked his head to one side. “My scars are worse than yours since I wasn’t a candidate for the treatment you got. Are they all you see when you look at me?”

I shook my head. To be truthful, I barely even noticed them after the first time we met. Emmet was a physical therapy major a year ahead of me in college. We had a lot of the same interests and, since I’d decided to study medicine of some form even before my accident, we had a lot of the same goals. It was never boring talking to him after the meetings and even at the coffee shop—

“Wait, is this a date?” My stomach twisted when I just blurted that out. What if it wasn't? What if he laughed at me?

Emmet smiled at me instead. “I thought it was.”

“Oh.” My answering smile slowly grew, though it tugged on the healing scar closest to my lips. “Well all right then.”

Just like that my entire world changed once again, but it was once again a good place to live.