I'm Not Broken

Caring

Cole heard a knock at the door. A slightly familiar figure stood in the doorway of his hospital room.

"Hey buddy." He was trying. He is one of mine right? Cole thought back to the week before. Wait, is it a week or a few days? He gave up on the concept of days and weeks for the time being and got back to the task at hand. He looked the man over and determind that the doctor had introduced Cole to this person before. The only people he knew, or knew of that knew him, were his parents.

Yup, a parent. He's mine. Is he suppose to do that? Try?

Cole didn't know a lot about what parents were, he just knew that he had them. He supposed it was time he got to know what they were. After all, it wasn't like his brain was busy thinking about much else. He might as well learn about the unavoidable.

So far, he knew he belonged to two people; parents. They always seemed to be there, watching from a distance talking to the people who took care of him. They seemed to, oh what was that word. Interest, concern, attached... Care. They seemed to care. As everything was happening around him, they would care about what was happening. Wait, did they care about what was happening or did they care about him? They were his so... "This is Susan and this is Chris. They're your parents, Cole." They're yours. Mine. They're mine so they must care about what is happening to me because of me.

These figures, mom and dad, cared about Cole. So was Cole suppose to care about them? Probably. What did caring involve? They would interact with Cole so if he was to care about them he was probably suppose to interact with them. Joy. He could send a signal. Message recieved. You've cared, I've cared. We're good.

"Hey." Perfect. Caring complete.

"How ya feelin?"

Aw man. "Ummm." I didn't prepare for this. Did I send the wrong signal? Cole assumed that acknowledging his father's caring and confirming he cared, or at least what he though caring was, that he'd stop talking. We both cared. Aren't we done? He had assumed caring was something to did as an activity. You would care that then you'd do something else. Apparently this wasn't the case. Caring must've been continuous. Thats why it kept going. Does that mean we have to keep talking?

Cole shrugged. "I don't know."

Chris let out a sigh. He looked let down. Something about Cole's responce wasn't good enough. Caring is hard. Cole was looking for the right word again. This Chris guy was disappointed by Cole's caring. Did I care wrong?

Let down, disappointed... Discouraged. His father was discouraged. He must not have gotten the responce that he wanted. What does he want?

"Well, uh. Is your head still buggin' you?" Chris asked.

I was pushed out of a tree. Of coarse it does. "Ya."

Chris looked down at his feet and nodded slightly. "Uhh..." he started to mumble.

Uhh? He's thinking. This caring person didn't know what to say either. This was awkward for him too.

"These are bugging me." Cole scratched the somethings wrapped around his head. "They itch."

Chris looked up. The corners of his mouth were turned up. Cole wasn't sure why, but something about it was right. Different, good, nice...happy. Chris was happy. Cole had caused him to smile. He must've cared properly.

"Those are bandages, buddy."

"Oh. I don't like bandages."

"Yeah, can't say I blame you, but you need them right now. The doctors will take them off in a few weeks."

It was working. Cole was caring. He was sending the right signals. But wait, what made the signal correct? Was it what he was talking about? Or maybe the way he was talking about what it was.

Talking about bandages all the time didn't seem like a good way to keep a conversation going, so what must not have mattered. How was he talking about the bandages? Unhappy, displeased... Complain. He was complaining about them. He had plenty to complain about. Maybe that was what he did right.

Cole fiddled with the tube in his hand. "I don't like this thing either."

Chris look at Cole's hand and frowned. "Don't play with it," he corrected. "You need that too."

Aw man. That isn't right. It must not have been complaining. Cole started getting frustrated. He couldn't figure out what was right about the signal he sent. Caring was hard. He was tired. He didn't want to care any more today.

Time to hide. Cole leaned back into his hospital bed and tugged on the covers. Maybe if I stop talking he'll just leave. His weak arms barely moved the blankets. He tugged at them again, this time letting out an audible struggle.

Chris let out a sigh of... Oh what word was it. Wrong, sad, discouraged... Defeated. "Here buddy. Let me help." He pulled the covers up to Cole's chin, resting them on his little body. "Get some sleep."

Cole nodded and closed his eyes. He heard his parent's foot steps leaving the room, stopping just outside the door.

"How'd it go?" a familiar female voice said. Cole opened his eyes enough to see the figures but kept them closed enough that they would think he was sleeping.

Two people were standing outside of his door. One, he guessed, was his parent Chris. The other one looked familiar. "This is Susan and this is Chris. They're your parents, Cole." Oh right, two parents. That must have been Susan.

Chris shrugged. "He's-" Chris paused looking for a word. "He's tired."

Susan looked disappointed. Cole was sick of seeing disappointed. She sighed. For a moment, they sat in silence.

"Can I try?" she asked.

"Tomorrow. We can't push him too hard."

Susan took on a look of defeat as they closed his door and walked away. Cole didn't like that look. It was sad like the other looks.

Shutting his eyes once more, Cole thought about the one look that wasn't sad. The smile.