Jonathan+Roth's+Short+Story

Jonathan Roth 2B 5 December 2008 __ Stand-Up __ The wind shook the leaves on the trees. The rain poured down on the ground like a meteor falling to Earth. Lightning filled the sky, thunder blasted loudly in the open night. Fog consumed the air and created a dark haze above the ground. I cuddled in my covers, hiding myself from the strange weather outside. I sat, shaking, waiting for the storm to subside. Every time thunder boomed, I yelped, and shrouded myself in the warmness of my sheets. I heard the garage open. I crept out of my bed and tiptoed down the stairs. Suddenly, a crash of lightning and thunder erupted in the house, and I stumbled, rolling on my little head until I reached the bottom. I laid there, limbs contorted, moaning in pain and agony. The door opened, letting in a rush of wind, which toppled over a pot sitting on the kitchen counter. Mother walked in, announced loudly she was home. I did not scream out. She called again. Still, no reply. She became worried, briskly checking the entire house for her son, who little did she know, was bleeding from his head on the floor. At once, she found me. I was panting, sweat beading down from my pores like a waterfall. My face turned pale, every once in a while spitting up blood and undigested food. Ellen bent down to help her son. “Evan!” “Mommy, take me to the hospital, NOW!” I felt the cold of the doctor’s stethoscope on my chest. I breathed in and out, in and out. But the air omitted was minimal. My breathing tubes were swollen, congested with phlegm and blood. The man removed his tool from my chest. “Well, it seems as if you’ve ruptured tendons in your chest, and broken your back with your fall. What I will do, Mrs. McGrath, is prescribe your son a couple of medicinal remedies that will help clear out fluids from Evan’s bronchial tubes. However, I’m sorry to say that there is a problem medicine cannot cure…” Mother’s eyes widened, and her facial expression drooped. It made me feel remorse for her. I didn’t care what the problem was; I already had enough physical mishaps to deal with. People call me names, make fun of my being a primordial, just to make themselves feel better. But my mom, sitting right across from the doctor, staring at //my// fate through //her// own eyes, felt the most sorrow. “Evan has multiple-sclerosis,” the doctor said. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, and I couldn’t possibly understand your feelings at this moment, but you and your son will get through this, by getting used to the situation and doing what you can to help Evan around the house.” The look on my visage was unchanged, but I felt the sadness through the room. Without looking over, I knew Mother was crying. Sniffles and whimpers sounded around the walls of the office. I couldn’t get down from the hospital bed to comfort her. I lost feeling in the entire left side of my body. Although I was frightened, I hid my feelings inside of me, so my Mother would not notice my sadness. For now, I would wait for the numbing to wear down, but I do not know it will not. I count the minutes, hours, and days that pass by, awaiting the moment that I would finally feel the left side of my body. My mom has stayed with me in the hospital. She thinks I am sad. But I am not. She thinks that my life will be changed forever. Not for that reason. She thinks I will get through this. But I cannot. I realize that I am who I am, and nothing physical can change me. Months in the hospital bed are boring. “Mom, I wanna go home already! I can very well walk slowly on my own, but always know that I will //never// get better. It is no use to keep me in this place if you and I both know this can’t be curable. I will always have to drag my left leg. I will always live with the torment of being made fun of. But I don’t care! I can handle that. I can manage this disease, and I can get on with my life if we //just go home//.” “Come on shrimp, get off your ass and show me whatcha got!” I looked up at the burly adolescent hovering over my body. “COME ON!” I couldn’t fight //him//, the biggest jerk in our school. I was some midget with a faulty left leg. I could barely walk, how was I supposed to freaking fight this giant? I did my best to lift myself back onto my feet. As if I were a small piece of wood, he pushed me back down. The kids around us did nothing. No one would stand up to him. What’s the difference between him and me? He’s not better than me. The only thing that makes him better than me in physical ability and traits. I can be stronger at heart, smarter at mind, and braver mentally. I had to stand up for what I thought was right; to fight back against the problem, and to fight for the kids too frightened to know the difference between what they should do, and what they want to do. I waited on the ground, pretending I was down for good. Then, the moment came. He turned his back to gloat to his friends, calling me a “pussy” and saying how weak I was. But I wasn’t. I was waiting for the perfect time to attack, and he gave it //right// to me by turning his attention to his allies. Suddenly, I strike. Grabbing a stone to my left (with my right hand, since I can’t feel my left arm), I get up and whirl it like a baseball straight at his leg, just to get him down. He collapses like the Twin Towers on 9/11, falling straight to the ground. Gasps rose from the throngs of people watching attentively to the “fight”. He’s down, now here’s my chance. Not taking my time one bit, I limp over there, short in stature, tall in pride. I stand up straight over his lying body. “Who’s the shrimp now, bitch!” I pin him to the ground, delivering a smashing blow to his head by smashing it on the concrete. About to punch him in the face, I pause. People have picked on me left and right, but I don’t attack them back. It’s their choice, but there’s nothing I can do to protect myself. I still sit on my knees, kneeling above his body in pain. I get off, and reach out my hand to help him up. “Take my hand.” He extends his to mine and takes it. “Why?” he asks. “Because I’m not that person. I live only because I can take what people say to me, and I try to strive to become the person that gains people’s respect. That’s why I’m helping you up; to earn the respect of you and my classmates. Don’t pick on me and make fun of me because of my physical disabilities. Look through the aspects that hold people back from being my friend, and you’ll find that I’m no different than you.” I shout to the people standing around, “And don’t bag on this kid because he was afraid to beat me up. You should respect him because he had the willpower to accept that in some ways, we are different. But on the inside, we all have feelings.” Applause swarmed throughout the crowd, and the bully-no-more got up and also clapped. I’ve never felt this way in my life. The smiles and glee felt through the area let me know that I’ve finally gained respect from my comrades. It’s about damn time.