Yearbook (30 page)

As Corky’s concussion healed the doctors began to hope there would be no permanent memory damage. Soon they could begin fittings for an artificial limb and the additional reconstructive and superficial operations required on his face.

On the third Saturday in May, Guy again took the bus to Rushport.

Corky was sitting up in bed. Though bandages still covered most of his face, his eyes were wide and alert.

In a chair next to the bed Dora thumbed through Life magazine.

“How’s the star today?” Guy asked, walking in.

“Better,’ Dora answered, standing up. “Will you stay with him a few minutes, Guy? I’m gonna run to the cafeteria, get some lunch. Want anything?”

“Nothing for me, Mrs. Henderson. Take all the time you need.”

Doral left the room.

Guy smiled at Corky. “Well… what’s new since I was last here? Let’s see. My mother didn’t win any prizes or money at the Bake-Off. She got a consolation Hotpoint electric range, though. How does that grab you? She had a terrific time. Imagine being locked up with hundreds of foodaholics like herself? She returned fatter and wiser, says she’s baking her way to the top next year.” Silence. “How are you?”

Corky opened his eyes and signaled with his finger for Guy to come closer. Through locked teeth he grunted into Guy’s ear the words Rough Ferrow.

Guy didn’t understand. “Say it again.”

Pursing his lips, Corky tried. “Rough Ferrow.”

“What about it?”

“ROUGH FERROWr Corky made a fist.

“I can’t understand what you’re—”

Corky’s eyes strained with frustration. “Help … me,” he uttered in what came out as whimper.

“Help you?”

“Help me!” Corky tried lifting his head.

“Hey, relax. Course I’ll help you. Don’t get excited.”

Corky lay back and closed his eyes. “Phomas?”

“What?”

“Phomas?”

“Promise? … Yes. Yes, I promise.”

“Come. Two weeksh.”

“You want me back here in two weeks?”

Corky nodded.

“That’s all? Sure. I’ll be happy to. Easy. I was coming anyway.”

“Nowiresh,” said Corky, pointing to his teeth.

“Great. When you can talk without all that interference you can tell me better what you want.”

Corky nodded.

Dora came back into the room with a white paper bag and a container of coffee. “How about half a chicken salad sandwich, Guy?”

“Mmm.” Corky’s eyes lit up.

“No thanks,” said Guy.

Dora sat on the chair next to the bed. Guy struggled for something to say. Corky fell asleep, and after a few minutes Guy told Dora it was time he got going.

As the bus sped through Long Island, Guy wondered what it was he had promised to do for Corky.

The Hendersons have really been through it, he thought. First the fight to see if Corky would live, then if he would see, then if he would walk, then if he would remember. But now, thank God, it looked as if everything might be all right.

Still… if everything was so hunky-dory, what the hell was Rough Ferrow?

JUNE
 

FORTY-ONE
 

IT WASN’T LOVE
, but it sure was fun. Ro-Anne and Chuck Troendle had teamed up.

The bond of distress they shared while Corky was in critical condition made them realize how much they’d always really been meant for each other.

First they met at the Sugar Bowl, after school. Then on Fridays after his fraternity meeting. Every Saturday night they went to the movies. He was crazy about her, always saying how terrific she looked, always buying her stuffed animals.

And he had a car.

She was greatly relieved when he asked her to the senior prom at the Waldorf-Astoria. For a while she’d been scared there’d be no one to go with now that Corky wasn’t around. She sure didn’t want to miss out on Connie Francis at the Copa and then the beach to wait for the sunrise.

It had been a Friday night when Chuck dangled his ID bracelet before her eyes. Actually she wasn’t ready to accept it. They weren’t
that
serious. Still, she didn’t want to appear ungrateful. And so now they were going steady. Well, why not? It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.

The
Venture
came out. Photo to photo, it was a yearbook filled with Corky.

On the personality page he was voted Most Popular, Best Athlete, Best Looking and Most Likely to Succeed… .

“Hey! Look at you!” Guy was pleased to find him sitting in a wheelchair. The wiring had at last been removed from his mouth.

Corky exercised his jaw for Guy. “They’ve had me on farina for a week.”

“Terrific … beats living off a tube, I bet.” Guy widened the partially open window. “Aren’t you hot in here?”

Trees in the distance were covered with blossoms. A warm breeze scattered flowers to the ground.

Guy crossed the room and stood over Corky. “Brought you a surprise.” He took the
Venture
from his briefcase and offered it to Corky. “Picked it up this morning.”

Corky refused it and looked the other way.

“It’s your copy. “

“Get it out of here.”

“You’re on almost every page.”

“Who cares?”

“Oh, come on, Corky—”

“I said take it away.”

“All right. Relax. Don’t get your balls in an uproar.” He had no idea what to do. “Tell you what. I’ll leave it here on the night table and if you change your mind—”

“I said! …”

“Okay, okay, I heard you. Forget it.”

Guy returned the
Venture
to his briefcase and stood there, counting the silence. “Hey… I didn’t tell you. Got a summer job.”

“Doing what?”

“Afternoons down at the camera shop. Selling equipment.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” Guy moved his visitor’s chair and sat next to Corky.

Corky studied the sprinkler system on the ceiling. “How’s Ro-Anne?”

Guy looked down. “Fine. Fine.”

“Never came to see me. Not once.”

“Sure she did. Lots of times. You were off in never-never land. She was here.”

“What do I care? Dumb bitch. And what about the rest of them?

The guys on the team? Petrillo?”

“It’s not as if they didn’t eare, Corky. They all ask about you, all the time. Rushport’s a long way, people get mixed up in their own problems… . It doesn’t mean they don’t care, though. …”

Corky looked out the window. “I guess.”

“Hey!” Guy sat up. “You should see Amy Silverstein! She’s really different now. …”

“Big deal. She was always really different.”

“Yeah.” Guy dropped the subject. “I guess so.”

“Now
she
can ask me out on a bet.”

“ Don’t talk like that… it’s not healthy feeling sorry for yourself.”

“What makes you think I want to be healthy?”

“You’ll be fine soon enough.”

“Never,” Corky said.

“You recovered better than anyone expected. They say it’s a miracle. You’re just unhappy…

“ ‘Course I’m unhappy, you idiot. You think this is some kind ofjoy ride?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I’m a cripple. “

“Come on, Corky, you’re no cripple. I know, I know … your leg, but—”

“You wanna live behind this face a while? You wanna go through the rest of your life the phantom of the opera?”

“Stop. It’s temporary. They’re going to fix all that.”

“Never! They can’t. Too far gone. You said you’d help me, Guy. Remember? Last time you were here. You promised to help.”

“I will. You know that. Anything.”

“You better. I’m counting on you, kid. You’re the only one I can trust. Been planning this a long time and believe me, I know just what I’m doing. We have to work fast. There’s not much time.”

“Fine. Name it.”

“Seconals.”

“Huh?”

“Little pink pills. Coach gave ‘em to me last season to help me rest up before a game.”

“Seconals?”

“Yeah. There’s a bunch of them in the medicine chest in my bathroom at home. I want you to bring them to me.”

“But what for?”

“Got it all worked out. I want you to stop by the house. Pick up something. Drop something off. Doesn’t matter. Yearbook. That’s it. Deliver my
Venture
. They’ll love it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Onee you’re in the house, say you have to use the bathroom. They’re on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. All the way to the right. Little plastic bottle.”

“But why? If you can’t sleep the doctor can give you something.”

Corky said nothing.

Guy said nothing … then putting it together, stood up. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to listen to this!”

“You said you’d help me!”
Corky started to get out of the wheelchair.

Guy rushed over and gently pushed him down. “Stay still, will you? You can’t get up yet.”

“lean!”

“I’ll get the nurse in here if you don’t stop. You want them to tie you down again?”

“I want nothing. All I want is to die. You’ve got to help me, Guy. You’re the only one.”

“You have your whole life in front of you!”

“Not like this! I won’t live like this. Not with this face. I hate this face!” And, finally the tears broke through. “No foot, Guy. They chopped off my fucking foot!”

There was nothing Guy could say.

“You better not go back on your word, kid. You said you’d do anything for me.
Anything.
You promised me after I fixed things straight with your brother. Did you forget?”

“ ‘Course I didn’t forget. I’ll never forget.”

“Then do like I tell you.”

Guy waited a long time before he spoke. “I can’t, Corky. Anything else. Anything at all. But you can’t just kill yourself.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know. Lots of reasons. It’s a sin.”

“So is living like this!”

“Nonsense.”

“Look, Guy. You promised. You keeping your word or not? I have to know. “

“Of course I’m good for my word. I’d do just about anything for you. You’re my friend. But you’re talking chicken-shit. “

Guy’s words sparked the fuse.

Corky’s eyes went wild as he exploded. “
Chicken-shitP
You out of your fucking mind, kid? Who the hell you calling names? You of all people, you fucking little fruitcake!”

“Hey, come on. Don’t. “

“Get outta here! You just get outta here right now before I have you thrown out!”

“Take it easy. You’re gonna bust something.”

“Damn right!” Corky hollered as he reached out and knocked the water pitcher off the night table.

The plastic bounced and ice flowed across the linoleum.

“Leave! Scram! Get out of here!”

A nurse hurried in. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” said Guy.

“I want him out of here! Away from me!”

“He was fine a minute ago,” Guy told the nurse.

“’You better go,” the nurse said.

Guy started toward the wheelchair. “I’m sorry, Corky.”

“Out! Get out of here!” The tears were flowing again. “I don’t want your goddamn pity! I’ll tell you what kind of loser
you
are! Even your own brother knows it. It was Butch who blackballed you, your own brother, did you know
that
, fruitcake?”

Guy looked at the floor. “I didn’t. Not until now.”

“Good! I hope it ruins your day.”

It made no difference now. “Corky, I… “

“Whoever said you were my friend, huh? You ever hear me say it? I never said it, kid. Never. You think a little creep like you could ever be a friend of Corky Henderson’s? You really think that’s possible? I just pitied you, is all. Corky Henderson doesn’t have any faggot half-pints for friends…”

Guy could only feel sorry for Corky. He stood in the doorway and said calmly, “As it happens, I’m three inches short of six feet. I’m sorry if I upset you, Corky. Have a nice afternoon.”

He turned and walked out of the hospital, into the June heat.

FORTY-TWO
 

“GUESS WHAT?” AN ebullient Evelyn interrupted her daughters studying for her finals.

Looking up, Amy recognized the look on her mothers face. “If it’s about a boy, I’m not interested.”

“Listen to this.” Evelyn leaned against the desk. “Marilyn Snyder just called. Saw you at the supermarket yesterday. Thinks you look simply divine, couldn’t get over it. Wants you to go out with her son Eric, when he comes home from Philadelphia this weekend. He’s got a cousin’s wedding to take you to.”

“Forget it.”

“What do you mean, forget it? He’s in college, Amy. Penn State. Economics. Maybe he’ll ask you down for a weekend next fall.”

“I’m not going.”

“I already told Marilyn yes.”

Amy threw down her pencil.

“Now just hold on a minute, miss. With what it cost to get you fixed up…”

“Oh,
God!”

Evelyn opened Amy’s closet. “Let’s see now … what can we wear?”

Guy returned to Rushport Memorial the following Saturday. The nurse at the front desk went to see if Corky was awake.

She returned with Dora.

“I’m sorry, Guy. Corky hasn’t been feeling well. He doesn’t want to see anyone. I think he’s a little depressed.”

“I understand.”

“The doctors said it was to be expected. Corky wanted to know if you’d changed your mind about your promise to him.”

Guy stared at Dora.

“I didn’t understand it either, but that’s what he said.”

“No, Mrs. Henderson. Tell him I haven’t changed my mind.”

Two weeks later, on the afternoon of the last day of school, while others inaugurated summer freedoms Guy returned to the hospital, greeting card in hand.

He decided not to announce himself and went straight to Corky’s room. Clean and vacant.

Guy stopped a nurse in the hallway. “What happened to Corky Henderson?”

“Who?”

“The patient in two-twenty-nine.”

The nurse peered into the empty room. “Discharged.”

Guy was stunned. “When?”

“This morning.”

“But I thought… did they take him home?”

“Front desk has all that information.” Shaking a thermometer, the nurse continued down the hall.

“Buffalo,” said the nurse behind the typewriter at the front desk. “Transferred to the Prosthetics Institute there.”