To Build a Home

20 | The Only One

I walked into the Johnstown Urgent Care looking like Carrie at the prom after they dumped a bucket of pig's blood over her head. My t-shirt was completely covered in rusty brown dried blood, a sacrificial tie-dye, and my arms and neck had red-stained handprints from Darren applying pressure and searching for the source.

The receptionist gasped when we walked through the sliding doors. I considered making zombie noises, but Noah was already crying from the sight of it and I didn't want to make things worse. When I said that it wasn't an emergency, that most of the bleeding had stopped and I just wanted to be examined for good measure, the receptionist handed me a clipboard and pointed me towards the waiting area.

The waiting area was almost full. There were two babies crying, each set of parents bouncing the infants and cursing the staff for making them wait. I was relieved that Noah wasn't our reason for the visit. There were coughing patients and bleeding patients and patients with children running around, the parents too tired or in pain to discipline them. We waited in the corner and watched as each person was called. I filled out and returned the forms with basic information like my medical history and address. I thought about it for a minute––where do I live? I had only been in Windber for two weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. There were so many questions I still had to find answers to and the form was an unwanted reminder.

When it was my turn to be seen, a nurse called my name and looked around impatiently as I made my way to her. Darren followed and I said he didn't have to come, but he insisted. The nurse looked at the three of us as if the sight of two men with a toddler was more alarming than my blood-drenched body.

"Family only beyond the yellow line," she said.

We looked down at the bright yellow tape spanning the width of the double doors on the linoleum floor and then back at the nurse. She was wearing purple scrubs and an autism awareness pin on her chest.

"It's ok," I said to Darren. "I'll see you in a bit."

"We're together," he said to the nurse.

She looked down at my form on her clipboard. "This says single," she said, chewing her green gum on the side of her mouth.

"We're family," was all he said.

"Are you married?" she asked. She put the clipboard down at her side and tapped it against her thigh.

"We're family," he repeated. I could see his face boiling like the red stains all over his hands. Noah hid his face in Darren's neck as if trying to disappear.

"You either have to be married or related."

"So if we were boyfriends," I asked, "he wouldn't be allowed to come back with me? Because we've been here for hours and I saw several couples without rings cross this line today."

"I don't make the rules," was all she said, the sound of her gum ticking like a bomb threatening to explode.

Before Darren could say anything, I put my hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine," I said. "It'll probably be quicker if you keep Noah out here."

He ignored me and pointed to Baker Brothers written on the extra shirt he had found in the back of his truck when the bleeding had stopped. "We're brothers," he said.

The nurse looked back at the form on her clipboard and rolled her eyes. "This way," she said, guiding us through the double doors. We walked behind her down a long hallway. She opened the door to a small exam room and informed us a doctor would be in shortly. I sat on the plastic exam table, scrunching the sanitary paper as I settled into a spot, and Darren was in the chair opposite.

"Can you believe her?" Darren asked when she was barely gone.

"Whatever, Darren. I just want to get out of here. I hate hospitals."

"She only did that because she thought––" He stopped. "Fucking homophobe."

"Just let it go."

"If it had been you and Charlie..."

"Why do you care so much?" I snapped. The mention of Charlie's name felt like the wood panels slicing into me all over again.

Darren didn't say anything. He opened the jar of cotton balls that Noah had been reaching for since Darren sat down. Noah was climbing and sliding down Darren's torso. He finally dipped his hand into the jar and grabbed at the cotton balls like the claw of a carnival machine filled with stuffed animals. We both watched instead of speaking.

"It's a full house in here," the doctor said when he entered a few minutes later. He was a short middle-aged man with a bald head, full beard, and trendy clear glasses. His white coat draped down to his ankles. He took a look at the file after introducing himself and then asked what had happened. I told him about the panels and the blood and Darren, though I don't think he needed that part of the story. He examined my neck. "It's just an abrasion, you won't need stitches. I'll clean it up and get you out of here in no time."

The rubbing alcohol stung, but other than that, it was as quick and painless as the doctor promised. He covered the neck wound and recommended changing the dressing every other day for a week. He looked at Darren to hold me accountable, who had his serious face on, ready to pounce on the next person who tried to stop him from crossing a colored line of tape.

By the time the doctor left and a different nurse appeared to escort us out, Noah was whining. It was getting close to bedtime and we still hadn't eaten, distracted by the commotion of the day. In the truck, we discussed stopping at a drive-through.

"I told you Windber wasn't like that," Darren said out of nowhere.

"What?" I asked from the passenger seat.

It was getting dark and the automatic headlights flashed on. The black pavement was illuminated and I looked away from the yellow traffic paint to see Darren gripping the wheel.

"You asked me why I cared back in the exam room. Well, I told you Windber wasn't like that anymore. At the antique store, in front of the trolley photo. I really thought that was true."

I thought, how can you explain to someone who had never walked into a room and been the only one, the singular difference, the black sheep, that no matter how big or small the house gets, no matter how tolerant or crowded, there will always be that room, that place where you're reminded of your difference and all the times you felt it, the first and last and millions in between rushing at you like a hurricane in a bottle? For me, it wasn't the exam room. Because that could have happened in any city or town. It wasn't even Windber, because that nurse was just a small drop in its ocean. It was the time capsule that I dug up everywhere I looked in Windber with each reunion. The trolley graveyard, the funeral home, the for-sale sign. These monuments I had erected in my lonely youth, polishing with the shame and regret I had felt most nights being different. I thought I had torn them down years ago. I was trying to tear them down again now.

Instead of saying anything, I looked back at Noah in the rearview mirror, falling asleep in the car seat. His first monument was built before he was old enough to even understand it. This town would always be the place where he lost his parents. Maybe he shouldn't have to stay.

Author's Note: Surprise! I couldn't stop myself from sneaking another chapter today before vacation. And I can't believe we made it to 20 chapters! Enjoy! Don't forget to vote and comment. Be back soon xoxo Scitney :)

Do you think Ryan should leave Windber and take Noah with him?