Close Your Eyes, Come With Me

VI

Jack didn't leave the theater after that. It only took Crutchie a day to figure out where he was, though. He'd been waiting there for Jack to wake up one day, and as soon as he did, Crutchie launched into an excited babble about how he'd finally seen Jack's paintings and how great they were. He came every evening after he'd sold all his papers to tell Jack what he'd missed that day and which boys had told him to say hello for them.

Jack didn't talk back much, just grunted and hummed acknowledgements here and there. He'd spent most of his resting time trying to recall all the things Medda had said to him before he'd passed out. He'd been foggy at time, but by the end of the week he was sure he'd finally pieced it together. When Crutchie came to see him that evening, Jack had made his decision.

"Hiya, Jack!" Crutchie greeted enthusiastically. "Get some sleep today?"

"Yeah, I slept fine," Jack replied, not rolling over to face him.

"Feelin' any better?"

"Feel fine," Jack still didn't turn over.

Crutchie plopped down on the floor beside the pallet of bedding Jack had been nesting on. He went straight into his daily spiel of stories and personalized well-wishes from their peers. Jack cut him off.

"Couldja just go away?"

Crutchie paused. "Huh?"

"Go away. Leave. Scram," Jack waved him off without looking at him.

"Why? Head botherin' ya?" Crutchie asked, sounding more concerned than offended.

"You're botherin' me," Jack corrected, already exhausted. The kid's optimism and naivety wasn't making him feel like any less of an ass.

"Oh..." Crutchie still seemed confused. "I'll letcha rest then. Guess ya need some alone time?"

"Not a matter of needin' to be alone. Go drag ya leg somewhere else," Jack finally spared him a glance. He needed to see his face the moment he understood.

Crutchie stared blankly for a moment, but his face eventually hardened into cold stone. He dragged himself up and began to walk out. For a moment he stopped, looking back at Jack with a hesitant, pleading look of hope. Jack just rolled back over.

"Run along. Ya got someone out there worryin' aboutcha. Don't keep 'em waitin'," Jack grumbled.

"I came here on my own!" Crutchie shouted. "Ya got fellas worryin' aboutcha too, Jack!"

"Well I'm gonna get better," Jack shot back, still unable to really yell.

"I hope ya don't!" Crutchie snapped.

Every thump echoed in Jack's skull as Crutchie walked away. He covered his eyes with an arm. People were exhausting. Yet he couldn't seem to get himself back to sleep. He sighed and slowly, slowly dragged himself to his feet. He leaned against the wall to take a moment to assess how he felt. Still pretty miserable, but every move didn't drive him to blindness and vomiting like before. Slowly and carefully, he made his way to the closet where he'd stored his shirt, vest, hat, and bag. Jack gathered all of his things and put all the usual outerwear on. With a humorless laugh he realized the papers he'd bought and entirely wasted were still in the bag, over a week old now. That was just another reminder of all the work he was going to have to do when he got back.

Still moving slowly, Jack searched the building for Medda. He appeared to be alone. That made sense enough. After all, he had no idea what time or even what day it was. Jack figured Medda would be able to put two and two together to figure out he'd gone willingly. What would someone with bad intentions want with a bag of outdated papers and a tattered cap? He would stop by tomorrow evening to give her a proper thanks and hopefully jump on any projects he'd been unable to start. It wasn't like he'd have anything else to do.

On the way to the lodge, Jack debated whether to go inside or just climb up and get to sleep straight away. If he went inside, he could figure out what time and day it was and shut down any rumors before they got worse. But he would also have to deal with the migraine that would no doubt follow the shouted greetings and cheers. If he stayed outside, he'd get some real rest, but he would be lost as all get-out in the morning. Not to mention he'd be delaying proving he wasn't dead or run off or whatever guys had probably been saying. A sharp, cold wind blew suddenly, causing Jack to shiver. He hadn't even realized how cold it was. With a frustrated sigh, Jack let the weather decide for him.

"He lives!" And unidentified voice shouted the instant Jack stepped a foot inside.

Jack looked around to see who had spoken, but before he could focus everyone was standing and talking at once.

"Who lives?! Jack?!"

"Jack! We thought Snyder nabbed ya!"

"Crutchie said ya broke ya skull!"

"Toldja he didn't go to no New Mexico. Ain't saved nothin' yet."

"Ya missed a lot."

"All right, all right!" Jack shouted over the commotion. His own voice shot a wave of pain through his skull. He prayed he hadn't overestimated his stability.

"So where were ya really?" Romeo asked, pushing his way forward.

Jack's hands went to his ears as the shouting started again. Someone yelled "quiet!" over everyone else, and it worked.

"I didn't break nothin'. Got my brains knocked around is all. I just spent my time sleepin' somewhere I was gettin' fed," Jack tried to remain vague as possible, both out of embarrassment and to avoid directing any begging to Medda's doorstep.

"But who soaked ya?"

"Yeah, we'll show 'em!"

Another wave of shouted agreements sent Jack's hands back over his ears. He couldn't take it. With his eyes screwed shut, Jack pushed his way through the group. The shouts turned from cheers and "yeah!"s to concern and confusion. To Jack, though, it was all just noise amplifying his pain. He made his way to an empty bunk, a few boys following him with questions he ignored. The finally quieted after he'd settled down with his back to them, still blocking out sound.

"Come on, fellas," someone, sounded like maybe Race, said. "Let 'im sleep."

Disappointed groans and complaints faded out of the room. Jack rolled over to watch them leave. He still needed to know something.

"Higgins," Jack called, stopping Race just before the door.

Race looked back. "Yeah?"

"What's today?"

"Sunday," Race grinned. "Ya really did sleep all his time, huh?"

Jack didn't answer, only rolled back over. Counting the days of work he'd missed generated another headache all on its own.

He was never going to get out of  here....