The Choir He Wanted, The LIfe He Had

Saturday, September 21, 1936

I knocked on the door as hard as I could. I wasn't expecting an answer right away, so when there wasn't one I didn't knock again. It felt like forever before the door opened and Roger stepped outside.

"Are you ready for this?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

The results had come back, and it was found that Roger was okay to have the surgery. He had decided to do it that weekend, and now I had come to pick him up.

As we walked to the car, I notice that Roger didn't look very good. He was pale and looked worried.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I don't know," Roger replied. He didn't say anything else the rest of the way. When we got in, I asked,

"Are you worried?"

"Maybe...a little," Roger replied.

"It'll be okay," I said. "You'll do fine."

"What if I don't come out of it?" he asked.

"You mean, what if you die?" I asked. I shook my head. "That won't happen, I promise."

"I've never had surgery before," Roger said.

"I have," I said, "And I did fine. And so will you."

Roger didn't respond. By the time we got to the hospital, he was tapping his hand on the door, looking even more nervous.

My father parked the car, and the three of us walked into the hospital. It was only then that I noticed that Roger was wearing the same clothes that he had worn the day before.

"Why didn't you change?" I asked.

"What's the point?" Roger asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Then why do you care?" Roger asked.

"Nevermind," I said.

When we walked into the hospital, my father told us to wait. We went to the waiting room and sat down, and I could tell that with every minute, Roger became more uneasy.

"You'll be okay," I said.

"What about Peter?" Roger asked.

"What about him?" I asked.

"What if I have to protect him?" Roger asked. "I can't do that with a hurt arm."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "Worst case scenario, we have to bring you two back to my house for a while."

"I've already told you," Roger said. "We wouldn't adjust well to your lifestyle. It's too much more...sophisticated than ours."

"Give me one reason my idea would be a problem," I said.

"My brother relieves himself on the floor around the house," Roger replied. "I don't think anyone in your family would want that."

"That's an easy fix," I said. "We have a toilet indoors."

"Jack," Roger said, "My brother's five. He's never left my house. He has no other experience than what I could teach him."

"Then going to my house would give him that experience," I said. Roger sighed but didn't respond.

"Merridew?"

Roger and I looked up, confused. There was a nurse standing in the entrance to the waiting room, but neither of us fully understood what was going on.

"Come on. That's you."

My father put a hand on Roger's elbow, and Roger slowly stood up. He began to turn pale, and his fear was obvious. I stood up as well and said,