Ray of Sunlight (6 page)

I didn’t give the whole thing another thought until I came in the next Saturday, and he presented me with a good quality artist’s pad and a large pack of pastels.

“Could you draw the kids in Oncology for me?” He asked when he gave them to me. “Your picture of me made me look healthier than I am. Could you do that for the other kids with cancer?” He didn’t even wait for my reply. “Of course some of them still don’t have hair, and you wouldn’t know what they had looked like before.” I swear he didn’t even pause for a breath. “Oh, I know! I’m helping them paint their faces and get in costume for the Halloween party on Friday night. Why don’t you draw them then?” He turned to me with that gorgeous smile that made his eyes twinkle and my insides turn to goo. “Can you come Friday night?”

Give up my Friday too? Not that I usually did anything but stay at home and try to make Pete miserable. But, before my brain could catch up, my mouth said, “Sure, what time?”

He told me, and I agreed to come and do my best with the drawings—even though I still wasn’t sure why we couldn’t just take pictures of the kids instead. He tried to explain how a portrait would mean so much more to them. I had agreed so fast, it didn’t even occur to me that the bus might not run by there at that time.

Come to find out, it didn’t. I asked my parents to take me, explaining what I was going to do, but Allen said no way. He told me he wasn’t going to help me shave off community service time by drawing stupid-assed portraits that a baboon could probably draw better. He hadn’t even seen me draw, so how could he know what quality they might be? CJ seemed to like them.

Mom seemed torn. She said she was glad I seemed interested in something and wanted to do something that I wasn’t required to do, but she had to work, so Allen would have to take me, and if he didn’t want to, there was nothing she could do about it.

To my surprise, it was Pete who actually came up with the solution.

“I can drive you,” he offered. “I’d like to meet your crispy critters anyway.”

“Don’t call them that,” I snapped, not even mentioning that the party was in the oncology ward, not the burn unit. Doofus.

“
You
call them that,” he countered.

“I haven’t for a while.” I hadn’t even noticed before then, but it was true. When had I stopped being a shithead… at least as far as the kids went?

Pete made a show of grabbing his chest like he was having a heart attack. “Don’t tell me you might finally be maturing a little!”

“Fuck off.”

“Forget I asked.” He chuckled. I didn’t think there was anything funny about any of it, but he had offered to take me to the party, and I was going to hold him to it.

W
HEN
WE
got to the hospital on Friday evening, Pete insisted on going in with me. He said he wasn’t going to drive all the way home just to have to come back and get me in a little while. When I checked in with Mrs. Barton, I was really hoping she’d say he wasn’t allowed to stay, but she welcomed him with open arms, like everyone usually did. Everyone loved Pete. Me, they seemed to take one look at and instantly hate. Pete, they wanted to adopt or nominate for sainthood.

Anyway, we finally got to the party. CJ and all the staff had decorated the hell out of the place. I had heard that the whole idea had been CJ’s in the first place but that the staff had jumped in and made it happen. We got all the kids situated in the playroom. The layout of the oncology ward was similar to that of the burn unit. The playroom was a large, open room at the end of the hall. Most of the kids on that ward could get to the room by themselves, but a few of them needed help. I was sent to get a couple of them, and Pete tagged along. It seemed like I had a shadow for the night, whether I wanted one or not.

Once everyone was there, including CJ in clown garb, he announced loudly, “It’s showtime!” as he did every time he started a show. The kids all cheered, as they always did, and the evening was instantly in full swing.

CJ led a few games, and then the kids went around to various booths the staff had set up. I had one of my very own. Somewhere, someone had found an easel and set it up along with a huge pad of paper, and about every art supply known to man: colored pencils, pastels, crayons, Cray-Pas, chalk, even watercolors and brushes.

I was suddenly intimidated. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to draw anyone else. The one portrait of CJ might have been a fluke. I was afraid we were getting the kids’ hopes up for nothing. CJ told me they were photographing the kids too, so if the portraits didn’t turn out, they’d still have the photo. I could tell he was trying to take the pressure off, but it wasn’t really working. I appreciated his efforts, though.

The first kid came up, dressed like Dracula and sat down on the stool provided, with a big smile of fake vampire teeth. Pete settled in close, as if just waiting for me to fail so he could report back to his father how I compared to that baboon Allen had mentioned.

It took way too long to put the finishing touches on the first portrait. CJ came by a couple of times, lending support but trying to hurry me up.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, Russ,” he told me, though on the last trip around, he added, “Though it very nearly is.”

I didn’t know why that made me feel so good. His opinion mattered for some reason. That wasn’t like me. I didn’t care what anybody thought.

Especially Pete, who caught me by surprise. “That’s actually really good, Russ.”

“Eat shit, dude.” I was so over having Pete mess in my life.

He walked by on his way to check out other booths, but I heard him mumble. “It was a compliment, dickhead.”

I had a fleeting thought that maybe I had reacted inappropriately, that maybe he had been trying to sincerely give me a compliment, but then another kid plopped down on the stool, and I was off on my drawing spree again.

I got faster and faster as the evening flew by. I didn’t get to draw all the kids, but the ones I did draw really liked the results. I had to admit I was feeling pretty good about myself by the end of the evening. I didn’t even mind putting up with Pete on the way home.

O
VER
THE
next month, I spent a lot of time at the hospital. The bus, it turned out, went right by my high school just a tiny bit earlier than dismissal. Attila smoothed it over with the principal for me to leave that few minutes early as long as I went to the hospital. And the bus made its way by the hospital again at seven o’clock, so I started spending another three and a half hours each evening working off my community service. At this rate, I’d be finished in no time. By Thanksgiving I had already put in 165 hours.

But a lot happened before Thanksgiving. I had pretty much, unofficially, been assigned to CJ. I was his gofer. I got all the stuff he needed for his show. I set up the playrooms before the shows and thoroughly cleaned them afterward, but the rest of the time I just sort of hung out with CJ—who was fast becoming my best friend.

We talked about a little bit of everything. He encouraged me to draw more and more and had an idea about getting me to paint murals in the halls on all the units. He said I had plenty of community service time left to finish them, and he’d help in any way he could so we could still spend time together. I kind of liked the sound of that… to have my artwork in the hallways. That would be cool, but Mrs. Barton had to take it to the board of directors, and I knew they’d never approve it. It had been a good idea, though. I was flattered that CJ had even thought of it.

I
HAD
dinner every night at the hospital with CJ. Every time I went to pay for the meal they brought at the same time as CJ’s, the staff said that I had money in my account.

“How do I have an account?” I was confused. “Let alone have money in it?”

CJ just laughed. I didn’t find out until much later that he had initiated a “Feed Russ” campaign among the staff and everyone pitched in a little each time they got a meal at the cafeteria. CJ joked, at one point, that I probably had enough to keep me fat and happy until I retired. I couldn’t figure out why they would do that for me, but then again, it was probably more for CJ. Everyone who ever met him, it seemed, would do anything for him. I knew I would.

O
NE
DAY
,
about two weeks after CJ asked about the mural, there was a pile of art supplies waiting for me in CJ’s room.

“They approved it, Russ.” CJ was so excited. “They saw your drawings and were impressed. They want to see some plans so they can feel they have some say in it, but that’s just a formality. They approved it!”

I think he was happier about it than I was. I was terrified. A few sketches here and there were one thing—especially since they had been for the kids. Kids loved anything, but this was a mural we were talking about. Multiple murals! And I had to come up with the designs. I knew nothing about doing either of those things, but it was positively impossible to say “no” to CJ. One look at those beautiful, excited, blue eyes, and I would have cut off my right arm if that’s what he wanted me to do.

It turned out to be far less drastic—and less painful—than that. CJ and I put our metaphorical heads together and came up with mural ideas for the main hallways in the Oncology Unit. We decided we’d start there and worry about the other wards later.

CJ said that the mural for the oncology ward had to be a battle scene: the White Cell Warriors against the Cancer Cavalry. I wasn’t sure anything like that would get approved, but CJ said that in addition to medical treatment for the cancer itself, all the kids on the ward were offered group and individual therapy with a psychologist as well. And, during those sessions, the therapists often got the kids to visualize their “White Cell Warriors” defeating the “Cancer Cavalry.” He felt sure, as long as the mural wasn’t graphic or gory, that the design would get approved.

We worked on that for a while, and finally had something we thought they’d like. Then we tried to figure out whether to submit that one alone, right then, or wait until we had plans for all three wards. We decided to design the various parts of the hallway for Oncology and submit just those first, along with a list of supplies I would need to paint the walls. It was hard to estimate how much paint and shit we’d need. I’d never done anything like this before, but CJ helped and then assured me that we could always get more if we needed it.

We had gone with a comical version of CJ’s battle scene: larger than life characters in full armor with visors down, mounted on sturdy white horses, carrying flags that said White Cell Warriors, throwing Jell-O, using water guns, and having pillow fights with clumsy-looking, green, cartoonlike, furry monsters riding black horses much too tiny to carry their bulk. The monsters were carrying flags that said Cancer Cavalry. The horses legs were buckling under the weight and many of the Cavalry were running away as fast as they could, or were lying on the ground with funny, confused faces, and stars or birdies circling their heads. There was absolutely no blood or gore to be seen. It was upbeat and positive and sent a message to the kids that their own White Cell Warriors could defeat the Cancer Cavalry in their bodies.

The board
loved
it and told us to start right after Thanksgiving.

T
HAT
BROUGHT
up another topic. Thanksgiving. I hadn’t seen any family visit CJ, and I was there practically all the time now. I didn’t want him to be there by himself for the holiday, but I wasn’t sure the ’rents would let him come home with me. For that matter, I wasn’t even sure the doctors would let him, or if he would want to.

I was stuck, for quite a while, trying to figure out which bit of information I should obtain first. Three weeks before Thanksgiving, we somehow happened on the topic of family.

“So CJ,” I started, “just tell me if it’s none of my business, but… are you going to spend Thanksgiving with your family?”

Emotions flitted across his face too quickly to name, but he finally answered. “Technically, I guess, it really
is
none of your business. But I don’t mind telling you.” He took a deep breath, as if the story he was about to tell me was a long or difficult one… probably both. “The easy answer is ‘no, I won’t be spending Thanksgiving with my family,’ but your unspoken question—the one you might actually ask next, would be ‘why not?’ so I’ll answer that one too if you want.”

He paused, seemingly waiting for an answer, so I nodded.

“I haven’t seen my parents since before my sixteenth birthday, when they kicked me out of the house.”

“Why would they do that?” I couldn’t imagine anyone even being cross with CJ, let alone kick him out. Me, yes. In fact, I wasn’t sure why Allen hadn’t done just that by now. But not CJ.

“Because the old man caught me in my bedroom, making out with Marshall,” he answered nonchalantly, but I could tell he was studying me for a reaction.

I probably didn’t give the best one. “You’re gay?” Even to me, my voice sounded a little harsh. I didn’t really mean it disapprovingly. After all, I had been attracted to guys too; I just hadn’t acted on it. I was shocked, though, to find that CJ was… and had.

He answered in typical CJ style… with humor.

“Sure, isn’t everyone?” He smiled his widest “I’m adorable, gotta love me” smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I could tell he was worried that I might have a problem with it, pull away, or worse. I had to disavow him of that opinion immediately. There wasn’t one damned thing in the world he could do to make me stop lo—liking him. I’d deal with that slip of the mental tongue later.

“That’s cool, man,” I finally answered, not answering his teasing question, but trying to put his mind at ease. “I don’t mind or anything. I was just shocked.” I thought to tell him that I had been attracted to men too, but I knew that would take us off the conversation I needed to have with him. I took a breath and got back to the story. “But they kicked you out of house for that?” I still couldn’t understand it.