swim club before noon and hanging around all day every day messing around with the same people all the time turned him off. He liked the idea of getting away by himself.
Brent had been at his Uncle George's place for only a couple of hours and his younger cousin hadn't left him alone once. He was really getting into the picture now, sketching out in ochers and grays the siding of the barn. But John kept butting in and asking questions, and even had tried once or twice to start a game of tag by punching him on the shoulder and shouting, 'You're it!'
Brent didn't want to be mean to John or anything, but he always found it hard to paint while someone was hanging over his shoulder, particularly someone like John, who couldn't sit still for more than thirty seconds.
'Why don't you run along and find out what time lunch is,' Brent suggested.
'Mom will give us a call when it's ready,' John said.
'Great,' Brent replied and tried to concentrate on mixing just the right shade of gold for the sun streak down the roof of the barn. The cedar shingles turned all hazy and soft in the sunlight and he wanted to get it exactly right.
'How'd you like to play a game down in the pasture, hun? We could look for snakes or something, Brent.'
'No, thanks, John. I want to get this picture done.'
God, why won't the stupid kid just leave me alone? Brent thought.
Suddenly John grabbed the brush out of Brent's hand. He ran off around the side of the barn.
'You got to catch me,' John shouted back.
Brent jumped to his feet. The watercolor pad fell to the ground.
Damn that kid! Brent thought.
Brent chased around the side of the barn and saw John disappear through the large hay doors on the second floor. Brent scrambled up the ladder after him.
The inside of the barn was hot. The smell of hay and horse manure filled the thick air. The light was dim and particles of dust drifted through the sunrays filtering through the roof. A stray chicken fluttered out of the back loft door into the barnyard below. John was standing on a pile of hay waving the paintbrush over his head.
'You got to catch me,' he shouted again.
Brent lunged for John's foot but the younger boy jumped back off the haystack and ran farther into the dimness of the loft. Brent scrambled up the side of the hay mound. He leaped off the stack and landed for a split second on seemingly solid floor which abruptly gave way beneath him. He saw the floor of the loft desappear above him. The fall seemed to take forever. Above him he could just see the dangling form of the open trapdoor, one hinge hanging loose and broken.
Then he was lying flat out on the cement floor of the milking room. His whole body filled with pain.
He was vaguely aware of John yelling somewhere above his head and the distant sound of running steps. He was acutely aware that he was not breathing. Brent thought, Go on, buddy, just breathe in. But nothing happened. No matter how hard he willed his chest to expand and take in air, it refused to move. I'm probably blue by now, he thought He might have laughed if he could have. He felt himself beginning to lose consciousness. Suddenly Uncle George was leaning down above him.
'It's all right,' Uncle George said. 'Lie still. You'll be breathing in a minute. Just hang on.'
The voice was comforting to Brent and so was the first small racking gasp of air that crept into his lungs. The air burned and Brent heard the wheezing sound of his first breathing. Soon the air returned more easily and Brent was able to lie on the cement and inhale without noise and pain in his chest.
'Okay,' Uncle George said, 'can you move at all now that you have your breath back? Took quite a spill, you know.'
Brent pulled his legs up, bending them at the knees. He tried to sit up. The pain made him yell.
'You just lie there quietly and I'll call an ambulance. No sense having you up and marching around when you got so much pain. Hang on a little while. I'll be back.'
Uncle George left at a trot and Brent lay back on the cement floor. The pain was bad now. Maybe I broke a bone or something, Brent thought. He wiggled his toes and was reassured that they still moved.
Brent noticed John standing nearby. The little kid's probably scared to death, Brent thought.
'It's all right, John. I'll be fine. It wasn't your fault anyway.' It was an effort to talk.
'I shouldn't have made you chase me,' he said.
'You couldn't have known that the trapdoor was broken,' Brent said. 'Could have happened anytime. Don't worry about it.'
'I wish you hadn't come to paint your stupid picture,' John shouted and ran from the milking room.
'I couldn't agree with you more, kid,' Brent muttered.
He thought he remembered the ambulance coming but he wasn't sure. He felt cold all over and the pain continued to rush up and down his body. The ambulance attendants moved him carefully to a stretcher and he sensed the trees rushing past on the way to the hospital.
His parents were at the hospital when he arrived.
'Hi, Mom,' Brent tried to say but it came out garbled and fuzzy. He couldn't seem to keep his tongue in line. 'Hi, Dad. I'll be okay, huh?'
'Sure you will,' his father said.
They moved him onto a rolling bed, and all of a sudden Dr.Matthias was beside him.
'We're going to send you down for a quick X ray, Brent. Don't try to move. Here's something for the pain.'
Brent felt the sharp jab of the needle and waited for the rush of numbness. His back still throbbed constantly but it seemed as if the pain belonged to someone else.
He remembered the ceiling going by over his head and the nurse in the X-ray room gently turning his body to various positions. The X-ray machine lowered in, whirring, and rose again. It lowered and rose several times.
Soon he was moving through the halls again. The ceiling was just a blur now.
'Can you listen, Brent?' Dr.Matthias was saying. 'Try to listen, and then you can just sleep it all away.'
Brent heard his mother crying beside him as he moved on the rolling bed through the hallways.
'Brent, listen,' the doctor was saying again. 'You've a fracture of one of your vertebrae. It's a broken back, but you're very lucky. There should be no problems at all. You'll be fine.'
'Broken back?' Brent managed to say.
'Yes, but it's not like it sounds. Don't worry. Just lie back and enjoy the next month,' he said.
'Forget it, Doctor. I'm not staying for any month. I don't have the time.'
'You've got it now,' Dr.Matthias said. 'You've got a compression fracture of lumbar one. With a month of lying flat and a few months in a brace, you'll be as good as new. No complications from what I can see now. Just remember, because you'll be asleep in a minute: When you wake up tomorrow, don't sit up. If you have a lot of pain, don't hesitate to ask the nurse for something. I'll leave orders and see you tomorrow. It won't be bad, Brent. It's a clean fracture and there's no damage to the spinal cord. You're a very lucky boy.'
Brent drifted into sleep before he even reached his room.
Brent felt the slant of light across his eyelids. He was awake and the sun was making spots behind his eyes.
He could feel the pain again. It was steady and aching up and down his spine. He felt a sensation of falling and grabbed the criblike sides of the bed. He still felt drugged from the night's sleep, but he thought he would ring for the nurse for more pain relievers anyway. If I've got to be here, I might as well get zonked and enjoy it, he thought.
'Good morning, Supertube,' a voice said.
Brent opened his eyes and looked to the right. The other bed in the room was about six feet away. A kid his own age was sitting up, propped against the pillow. He had dark hair and a sharp, angular face. He was smoking a cigarette.
Brent noticed an intravenous tube running from his own arm to a large bottle dangling from a stand. He
