The Catcher's Dreams (FEATURED)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - a goldfish

"I-I have a headache," Drake declared.

It was true, of course. He did have a headache. But what he didn't say was that it wasn't a spinning headache or its feverish sister but a headache caused by something inside.

"A goldfish," he told the air. "That's what it is."

A huge wet goldfish, made of water but gulping for air, bumping at his insides. He felt welled up with its wet.

"I'm sorry?" Nurse Harris said.

"I have a headache," Drake repeated.

The goldfish flicked his tail and a few tears wound through the labyrinth of his eye. He didn't know where they were coming from. Or why. It was the goldfish. It shuffled, giving him a little shiver. It was so heavy. He hiccuped, and suddenly, he, like the goldfish, couldn't breathe. So heavy it cramped his insides. A metal goldfish, but dotted and dashed with wet?

"No, don't cry," the Nurse said. "Come here. Do you have recess right now?"

"Yes," Drake said. He hiccuped again.

"Let me see if you have a fever. If not, you can lie down for a while. Cry, if you like. Feel free to just get it all out."

Drake wished he could. The goldfish shifted, gulping twice. He could imagine its gills flapping like hungry tissues in a breeze. "I'm just. Just. Just tired," he said. There was a window in the Nurse's office, looking down on the field. Tommy kicked the small smudge of a football and the small smudge went flying, chased by packs of boys. "I want to go. I-want-to-go-home. Home."

"Don't we all?" the Nurse said, trying for a smile. "Tell you what. Lie down in one of the beds, will you?"

Drake looked skeptically at the beds. "Fair enough," he said, and, dodging the judgmental glance of a half-asleep first year, climbed into the third bed.

The goldfish settled, and so did he. His eyelids fluttered, once, twice, then they settled too.

He was back in the glass box.