Claustrophobic (Teddy Duchamp)

9

Saturday morning, Teddy practically jumped out of bed. (I wasn't even trying to make a reference). He quickly got dressed and padded along to his mom's room. He tapped on the door before opening the door slowly.

"Mom? Hey, Ma," he said. He smiled at the sight of his mom looking so peaceful. He shook her a little until her eyes fluttered open.

She groaned and flipped around. She yawned and turned back to look at Teddy. "What?" she asked, groggily.

"Mom, you promised." Teddy looked at his mom over his glasses. "Only for a little while."

She sat up, her blonde hair, so similar to her son's, sticking out in various places. She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Okay. Okay. Give me 15 minutes."

Fifteen minutes doubled into half an hour. Mrs. Duchamp and Teddy got into the battered station wagon and started on their way to Togus.

Teddy was restless the entire trip to the hospital, bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers. He drove his mom crazy with all of that movement.

"Thank the Lord, we're here," Mrs. Duchamp breathed out. "I thought you'd burst if we were in here any longer.

The pair went into the hospital, and the nurses, for the most part, all knew Mrs. Duchamp and Teddy because of how many times they had made visits there since Teddy was about 9, just a year after his dad was admitted.

"Hi there, Mrs. Duchamp!" Jeanne, the nurse at the desk, greeted, a big smile plastered to her face as usual. "And Teddy, it's a pleasure seeing you again! I know your dad's gonna be happy to see you." After she and Teddy's mom exchanged greetings and updates on families, she turned to one of the nurses loitering behind her. "Missy, could you take Mrs. Duchamp and Teddy to Mr. Duchamp's room?"

A fairly young nurse perked up at the sound of her name, almost as if she were a dog. "Yes'm." She walked around the counter. "Right this way, then." She led them to the room Teddy could've found with his eyes closed, or for better effect, without his glasses. "He talks about you all the time," she told Teddy as they neared the door of the room. "I'm sure he'll be really happy to see you."

Missy smiled at the mother and son before opening the door. "Mr. Duchamp, your wife and son are here." She motioned for Teddy and his mom to come in. "I'll just be outside the door if you need me."

Mrs. Duchamp nodded. "Thank you." She turned back to her husband. "Norman, how are you?"

Mr. Duchamp was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at his feet. His wife came and sat next to him, putting one arm around his back and held his hand with the other.

"I brought Teddy to see you. He was practically jumping in anticipation the entire ride here," she laughed, nodding her head to tell Teddy to sit down.

Teddy pulled a chair forward next to the bed. "Hey Dad. How've ya been? Is the food alright?"

Mr. Duchamp slowly looked to his wife. "What year is it, Ida?"

"It's 1960," she replied, softly.

He nodded. "Right, right... Teddy how old are you now?"

"I'm 14. Remember, Dad? We came here on my birthday, a couple weeks ago." Teddy spoke gently because he knew his dad had trouble distinguishing between his past and the present. It was something that came with his PTSD from his time in the military.

"Oh, yeah. I remember. I gave you that jacket, didn't I?" Norman asked, looking his son's direction, but not directly at him.

Teddy smiled at his mom. "Yeah, you did. How've- how've you been, Dad?"