The Lesser Blessed by Richard van Camp Page B

They look at each other and move away. They don’t cut off my ears (and I don’t wear glasses).
    Jed and Mom kept asking what happened. I told them about Jazz and how he had kicked my ass. Jed wanted me to press charges, but Mom said no. She looked at me. We didn’t need the cops. I wasn’t bleeding from my ears after all. I had a rip in my scalp.
    “Nothing bleeds like a head wound,” the doctor said. I got six stitches.
    The doctor took some X-rays and gave me a note saying I couldn’t eat for ten hours. If I threw up, I was to come back to the hospital where I could stay for the night.
    I snapped awake. We were in the hospital hallway. I was in a chair. Across from me, Jed was sleeping, sitting up, leaning against my mom. Mom watched me, and we were quiet. We were so quiet. The doctor had left us alone.
    I sat up and reached my hands out. I wanted to take a picture, my mom and Jed looked so beautiful. I softly took Jed’s hand and placed it on my mom’s. My mom started to cry a bit, really quiet. I then took Mom’s hand in mine and watched her right eye. The tear duct my father had destroyed would never work again, so even though she made the sounds of crying, nothing came. For some reason, I thought of Donny, and I started crying too. Our arms made a perfect triangle.
    My mother leaned against me and I could smell her hair. Her face was as hot as mine. My left hand touched my face where my tears ran hot and wet. I held my wet finger to my mother’s right cheek and ran a wet trail where her tears should have been. We cried together.
    Jed woke up holding both our hands, and we sat there awhile.
    “Now now,” he said, “now now.”
    We took a taxi home. When we pulled into the driveway, the kitchen lights were on and someone was standing in the porch. It was Johnny. He came down the stairs and walked towards us. He had his hands in his pockets.
    “A-me-nay?”
my mom asked. “Who’s this?”
    “Johnny. Can we go inside?”
    Jed came close to me and put his arm around me, supporting me so I wouldn’t slip. There was ice on our driveway and the stairs were pretty steep. Johnny walked behind us, apart from us. I was hoping he’d try to help me but he didn’t.
    “Easy,” Jed kept saying. “Take ’er slow.”
    When we got inside, I took my coat off. “Johnny, this is Jed; Jed, this is Johnny. Mom, this is Johnny Beck.”
    “You’re Annette Beck’s boy?” my mother inquired. “She was in my English class but she quit.”
    Johnny blushed.
    My mom handed Johnny some blankets from the laundry room. “I have to go to classes in the morning for an exam. Johnny, I want you to wake Larry up every fifteen minutes. Can you do that? Will your mother let you stay the night?”
    Johnny went into the kitchen. “I’ll just call home.”
    “You gonna be okay, champ?” Jed asked.
    “My ears are ringing.”
    “I’ll get you some rat root,” he said.
    Jed carried this leather pouch around his neck. He sat down and pulled it out from under his shirt. I sat next to him and watched him take the tiny root out of the pouch. It was like a curved stick, kind ofhairy, about the size of a stubby pencil. It was tan-coloured and really thick.
    Jed had a little walrus moustache. It was more long whiskers than anything else. He had these black irises that you could see your reflection in if you looked long enough.
    “Here, chew on this—but don’t swallow it. Chew on it and let your mouth produce lots of spit. Swallow only after you’ve chewed it to nothing.”
    “Okay.” I bit off a small chunk, and it stung. The root was sour, bitter. “Hey-a!”
    “Yeah, I know,” he smiled. “Chew, chew, chew.” It was then that I realized his shirt said, “Good-bye Tension! Hello Pension!”
    “What is that stuff?” Johnny asked, sitting down across from me, next to my mom.
    “Rat root, bitterroot,” Jed answered. “Good for stomach or head pains. Good medicine.”
    “Thanks, Jed,” I said. “Mahsi.”
    “No