"How old are you?"
"5, ma'am."
"He's got manners, Carl!"
She squealed, clapping her hands as if he were a talking doll.
His father snorted and turned toward the kitchen.
"He's a little piece of shit. Any manners he has, I had to beat into him."
"Hmm...I think I'll call him Joe. You like it, kid? J-O-E. Joe."
"Leave off the E," his dad yelled over his shoulder. "He doesn't deserve the extra letter."
"No E, sir," Jo confirmed, head bent.
The nurse looked at the blood on his coveralls, and reached for a pair of latex gloves.
"Let's take a look."
Jo coughed and unzipped his coveralls to the waist. Gritting his teeth against the memories triggered by being alone in a small room with an older man, he tugged his stained undershirt over his head. The nurse quickly masked the shock that splattered on his face, but Jo saw it. He dropped his eyes straight to a cracked floor tile and kept them there.
"Nasty little scrape there," the man said as he pulled a bottle of saline and several gauze pads from a shelf.
Jo, already jumpy from the whole situation, flinched noticeably when the nurse approached. The man halted and held his hands up where Jo could see them.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."
Jo nodded faintly, eyes still fixed on the floor. The nurse set up his supplies with slow and slightly exaggerated movements while eyeing his patient.
"Are those breaks old?"
"Sir?"
Jo peeked up to see the man nod to his torso.
"Your ribs. Are those old breaks or are they from tonight?"
"They're old, sir."
"Name's Jim, son."
The man gave him the hint of a lopsided smile, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared.
"Quite a few of 'em."
Jo coughed.
"Must not've healed well. Doesn't help that I can see 'em all through your skin. Not an ounce of fat on you."
Jim poured saline on a gauze pad and began to cleanse the weeping scrape with slow, purposeful movements. Ointment was applied next and then a clean piece of gauze was placed over the wound. Jo coughed and tried to breathe through the increasing tightness in his chest as he felt the hands of other men alongside Jim's.
"You had the cough for awhile?" Jim asked as he placed the last piece of paper tape.
Jo thought for a second.
"A couple months, sir."
Jim's eyebrow raised.
"You smoke?"
"No, sir."
"History of asthma?"
"No, sir."
Jim frowned.
"I had pneumonia last fall," Jo offered.
"Shouldn't still have a cough, though," Jim muttered, snagging a stethoscope from a peg on the wall. "Turn your back to me."
YOU ARE READING
Way Down I'll Go
General FictionJo's brothers are his world. He's spent his entire life sacrificing everything to give them the life he's never had. Having battled through a horrific childhood, his every breath is for the benefit of his brothers, who gave him a reason to live thro...
Unheard by All But Me
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