The Most Painful Things

Five

 The next month creeps by. John slowly becomes weaker. Around the new year, the doctor told him he needs a wheelchair to save his remaining strength.

"I'm not using it," John said to me recalcitrantly. 

I know why he doesn't want to use the chair: that would mean admitting he needed more help than he wants to have. 

But, three days later, he comes to school in the wheelchair. Since he needs no cast, people always question him about his reason for using it as I push him from class to class. Many of his friends laugh at their previously strong friend who now can't even walk. Guys can be jerks.

After a week in the chair, I can see him getting worse. His attitude deteriorates; he snaps at everything. I know it was just because he was angry at himself. For some reason, he blames himself for his condition, thinking that it is his fault. Of course, he never actually tells me this, but best friends have a way of knowing what is actually going through the other's head. Because of this, I ignore his angry comments, especially when they are directed at me. I am patient. And trust me, that is a rare occurrence. 

Today was a particularly difficult day for John, during which Ashlyn was very rude to him and he found out his friends had stopped inviting him to their pick-up basketball games down at the park, John went home early. He called his mom, and she came to school to pick him up. 

Tonight, I go home alone. The past few weeks, I have been driving John home, and then quickly running back for water polo practice. But today there was no practice and no John to drive home.

I sit down on the couch, enjoying a rare hour of quietness in the Mallory household. Mom and Zach are at Phillip's baseball game, Caleb, Jayce, Joy, and Maddison are all at their individual friends' houses. Thomas is still at soccer practice, and dad is at work. 

Suddenly, my phone rings, which scares me so badly I fall off the couch. Popping up, very glad no one is home to see that, I grab my phone. 

 Mrs. Marlow comes up on the screen. My heart lurches. I'm almost afraid to pick up the phone. What if something horrible has happened to John? What if he had. . .

Shoving the thought aside, I answer the call. 

"Hi, Aiden, sweetie. It's John's mom," she says breathlessly. "Do you know where John is?" She asks before I can say hello. 

"No. . . I thought he went home with you." I reply, a little nervous. I peek out my front window to see if he is struggling up my driveway.

"He did," she says fretfully, "but when I went up to his room to check on him, he wasn't there. He couldn't've gotten through the window, not in his condition, but I didn't notice him slip by!"

"I'll call him," I say reassuringly. 

"I already tried him-" she begins.

"No offense, Mrs. Marlow," I cut in. "But this may be something that he'd rather not be saved from- let alone by his mom."

There is a hurt silence on the other end. I instantly feel bad. "I'm- I'm sorry, that sounded way better in my head-" I stammer. 

"Don't worry about it," Mrs. Marlow says shortly. "Just find my son."

The line goes dead.

I lower my phone, feeling slightly guilty. I really need to think before I speak. I dial John's number, hoping that if I find him, Mrs. Marlow might not be mad at me. 

After several rings, it goes to his slightly sassy voicemail. "Hey this is John, sorry I missed your call. I'll try to get back to you, but if I don't, don't be too hurt. It's not you. Well, actually, it probably is. Bye!" 

"Hey, John," I say quickly, "it's Aiden. We're all kinda wondering where you are. . . So if you could call me or your mom back, like now, that would be great." I hang up.

Maybe he was watching a soccer game. I check the school website to see if we are playing tonight, but nothing comes up. Anxiously, I scroll through the list of games and meets today to see if there is anything that would interest him.

"Basketball, no; wrestling, no," I mutter, "banner for no water polo practice today. . ." Suddenly, it hits me. Of course! No water polo practice. That means the pool will be empty! John hasn't been able to swim in such a long time, the banner was probably the first thing that stuck out to him. 

I leap up and grab my keys. I drive way faster than is legal to get to the pool. Knowing John, his ego is probably stinging from the events of today. He would want to prove to, well, himself really, that he's still capable of doing little things. But I don't think he would do anything stupid. . . would he?

As soon as the pool is in sight, I speed up, wanting to get there as soon as possible. Suddenly, a siren goes off behind me. Seriously hoping it's not the cops coming to arrest me for speeding, I pull over, but an ambulance rushes past me and swings into the pool parking lot. My heart stops. I leap out of my car and race down the hill. Children and their parents spill out of the pool, casting worried glances behind them. I work my way through them, trying to see who it is. 

 Please, please, don't let it be John, I think desperately. But when I finally get through the crowds, I see a tall, skinny, blonde body being dragged out of the deep end. He is completely limp. 

Everything stops. The wind, the crowd, time. All I can see is the blonde boy who is my best friend being pulled from the pool, unmoving. 

 Please, God, please don't take John, I cry out silently. Please. 

EMTs rush by me in a blur, with John on a stretcher, a breathing mask over his face. My hand flies to my mouth when I see how lifeless he looks.

I catch the arm of a straggling medic. He looks pretty young, so I hope he will be willing to let me follow them. "Please, sir, this is my best friend. Can I follow you? In my car?" I beg. 

He looks around. "Does he have any family members here with him?" 

I shake my head. 

"Go ahead," he nods. "Just stick close or they might not let you in."

"Thank you!" I exclaim. He smiles and turns to walk away. Remembering a detail that may be important, I catch his arm again. "John has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy!" 

The medic turns to me, mouth open. "And he's still alive?!"

Horrified, my eyes widen. 

"I mean, thank you for letting us know!" He tries to cover his mistake, and runs towards the waiting ambulance. 

I sprint to my car and blow through a red light to keep up with the ambulance. Thankfully, no one was trying to cross. I might've run them over. 

As I follow the ambulance, I think about the medic's confusion when I told him about John's DMD. "He's still alive?!" He had exclaimed. A horrible question forms in my mind. Yes, John is still alive. But for how much longer?