Page 8 - Tank

“Mister?”

A small voice interrupted Matt. His eyes intent on the news as he sat with his best
friend. A friend who’d done the impossible. Stopped a speeding Humvee. Some of
the news people were calling him a superman. Others noted the way he looked
before. Labeled him a mutant. None knew the real man dying on the bed next to
Matt.
“Mister?” came another voice. This one a woman’s voice. One asking if her
daughter could come in.
Matt lowered his head. Turned the volume down on the news. Waited. Hoped
these two would leave. All Matt wanted to do was sit in peace with his brother
from another mother.
A laugh escaped. The term something those who grew up in the home took as
their own. Each boy from another mother. Each boy in need of a mother. Each of
those who grew up in the home never saw their mothers ever again.
Matt shook off the nostalgia. It wouldn’t do any good. He moved to face those in
the door only to find himself face to face with the young girl his friend had saved.
Her eyes were bright. Cheerful. Full of something Matt couldn’t quite place a finger
on.
“Could you tell me his story mister?” the young girl asked. Her eyes full of
curiosity where happiness existed a moment ago.
Matt couldn’t help himself. He smiled. A true smile. One long missing from his
face. From his heart. He sat back. Looked at this young girl his friend found
necessary to rescue.
She was precocious, he would give her that. The girl was just a girl. About eleven
Matt guessed. Long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and still dressed in her best dress.
His eyes traveled to her shoes. Glossy black shoes with a strap. His mind searched
for the name of such shoes.
In his heart Matt could care less what style shoes this girl wore. She was the reason
his friend was lying next to him on a ventilator. A friend who would die soon. The
doctors so sure Tank was a dead man they stopped coming by. The nurses didn’t
even check in.
“I’m sorry,” the girl’s mother said. Tugged at the girl. Tried to move her away. All
the young girl did was move to a seat on the other side of the bed. Took the same
hand she’d held after the crash.
The mother scolded the girl. Matt simply watched. Her eyes held him. There was
something about this girl. Something which compelled him to accept her presence
on this death watch.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Tank,” Matt answered. Smiled when she smiled. Laughed at the funny name his
friend possessed. When the girl’s mother attempted to take her away, Matt stopped
her. Told the woman to take a seat.
“What’s your name?” Matt asked. He raised his hand when the mother tried to
answer. Waited for the girl to speak.