The Kryptonite Kid: A Novel (25 page)

And Robert yelled, “NO—IT’S SUPERMAN!”

And sure enough, it was.

You came zooming out of the sky like a star, shooting straight toward me. I could hardly believe it! It was REALLY you, Superman! I HAD to wave at you! I couldn’t help it. I had to yell, “HI, SUPERMAN! I’M OVER HERE! COME AND GET ME, SUPERMAN!” And you did. You flew down and picked me up and held me in your arms and we started flying away. And I waved goodbye to EVERYBODY—to my mom, and my dad, and Veronica. And I spit on Buster and it landed right in his hair. And I waved goodbye to Robert. And I yelled, “DON’T WORRY, ROBERT! WE’LL BE BACK TO GET YOU!” And then allofasudden my eyes turned into Kryptonite just like that giant ape’s and they started hurting you, Superman. And you started falling to the ground. And I started falling with you. And Buster started laughing. And we kept falling, falling together, crashing to the earth. Together! And I tried to look away so I wouldn’t hurt you, Superman. So I wouldn’t kill you. But I COULDN’T take my Kryptonite eyes off you! You were so beautiful. So perfect. And you were MINE—at last! I couldn’t look away!

I woke up screaming. Sister Madonna was standing beside my bed, praying. Her hands were folded. Her head was tilted to one side. She reached out and touched me gently, on the forehead, with her smile. She said, “Poor child, what is it? What’s troubling you?” She dried my tears with her handkerchief because I couldn’t do it myself, I couldn’t 
move my arms, or my feet. I couldn’t turn my head. I could only look up, at the ceiling, which was dark. “Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Do you want anything?” I tried to move my lips, to explain, to tell her there’s only one thing:

“I want to fly.”

I didn’t say it. Instead I said:

“Can you do me a favor?”

And she said, “What is it, my child?”

And I told her how I was glad she was praying for me and everything but couldn’t she maybe check and see if Robert could get in to see me? And she said Who’s Robert? And I said He’s the one who’s writing this letter because I’m just doing the talking. He’s the one who brought me that comicbook. And she said she would talk to the doctor and see what she could do God willing.

“Now get some rest,” she said, kissing my eyes.

But how could I sleep, Superman? There were so many things going on inside me. There were so many things I HAD to tell you because a lot of things have changed, Superman. You see, I’ve learned something— I’ve learned something VERY important. I’ve been laying here for weeks now, just looking at the ceiling and counting the cracks and waiting for something to happen. Like maybe they’ll let Robert in. I sure hope so. I can’t STAND it anymore, Superman. They got me tied up like a mummy. I can’t turn my neck. I can’t turn anything. I feel like I’m frozen.

Sister Madonna whispered to somebody that I broke my neck poor child. But I don’t believe it. I don’t believe ANYTHING anymore, Superman. Not even you.

Every time my mom comes in she has to stick her neck way over so I can see her face. The bandages go all around my face and it’s like looking out of a window all the time. Except the window’s in the roof because I have to look up all the time. And every time my mom cries my face gets all wet and sometimes tears fall from her eyes into my eyes.

And she cries a lot, Superman. Almost every time she comes.

Which is everyday.

She always brings me a present. And usually it’s a pretty nice one like a sailboat. Which I can’t play with anyway because I’m not allowed to take a bath. Because I can’t. And she always wears a black dress which she NEVER did before. She sits beside me on the bed, gently, as if I might crack. She bends over me and smiles and asks me how I am and I never answer. I never say a word to her, not since I’ve been here. She keeps talking the whole time, telling me about Buster and the new hot water heater and everything. And usually I listen but I never talk. Not to her. Not to her or Buster or my sister the Sister or anybody. They even let my sister get away from the convent so she could come and try to talk to me. Which she did. “Why won’t you talk to us?” she asked. “Why won’t you talk to mom? It’s killing her.” But I didn’t say anything, Superman. I just looked up at the ceiling and I didn’t even smile. When she was leaving she said she would pray for me.

I decided something, Superman. I decided there’s a LOT of people I don’t want to talk to anymore. So I’m not. I’m just going to lay here and look at the ceiling and wait. I’ll wait here in darkness for the morning. I’ll wait here in mourning for the evening. I’ll watch the electric lights go on, then off. Then the nurse will say, “It’s time for your midnight pill. Wake up.” And I’ll say to myself:

I am awake.

The doctor is standing at the foot of my bed. I can’t see him, but I can feel him. I can hear him talking. His voice sounds distant, like a bad phone connection. I can’t hear too well with these bandages over my ears. Sister Madonna is to my left. She’s talking louder, as if she’s interpreting what the doctor says. She’s looking down on me. I can see the top of her head. I think it’s morning and I think I’m awake. Sometimes I’m not too sure. The ceiling is bright. A ray of sunlight is shooting through the window beside me, like a searchlight. I can feel the warmth on my shoulder.

Sister Madonna is talking but the doctor is speaking.

He says he is moving me to another room where it will be OK if Robert comes in to see me. And he says he is going to send in another doctor who wants to look at me. Only he doesn’t want to give me shots or anything. He just wants to talk to me sometimes. And I never heard of a doctor who didn’t give any shots but I said OK because I didn’t have much choice. I REALLY wanted to see Robert so he could write this letter. And also just because I wanted to see him. So that meant I had to see the other doctor who didn’t know how to give shots. Whose name was Dr. Clark.

“Nice name,” I said.

He looked puzzled.

“I just like the name Clark,” I said.

“Well, gee, thanks Jerry.”

“You’re welcome.”

He tried to be real friendly and talked as if he was a kid just like I was. Which was pretty dumb, I thought. He smiled a lot but it never stayed there very long because he kept asking another question. I didn’t like him too much.

He asked me why I wouldn’t talk to my mom?

“I don’t want to.”

He said What’s wrong, don’t you like your mom?

“She’s OK.”

He said Well what about your dad?

“I hate him.”

He said Do you ever dream about him?

“No, but ...”

“But what?”

“But I dreamed about my mom the other day.”

“What was it?”

“It’s pretty hard to explain.”

"Try.”

“OK.”

And then I told him how 

I was laying on the ground and my green cape was twisted all around my neck and my mom was crying. She was crying and screaming “WHY? WHY DID HE DO IT?” 
Veronica tried to hold her back, but she kept coming closer and closer. She kept looking at me and screaming to everybody, “Why? Oh God,
WHY?"
She held on to that question like a crucifix. And then I heard the siren.

And then I woke up, Dr. Clark.

There was sweat all over my forehead. I could feel it dripping in my eyes. Sister Madonna wasn’t around like she usually is. It was the middle of the night. I tried to call the nurse but I could hardly talk. My throat was real dry. There was nothing I could do. I lay there trapped inside my bandages. Pretty soon I fell asleep again. What else could I do? It was too dark to see the cracks. There was no one there to talk to. I closed my eyes and heard the siren.

It kept getting louder and louder. And closer. There was a whole bunch of people around me, looking at me and making funny faces. My eyes were open and I could watch them. But I couldn’t hear them. All I could hear was the siren. It was right next to me. Then it stopped. They were picking me up and putting me in. Buster was standing right there watching. He wasn’t saying nothing. He looked like he was gonna throw up. He was even crying a little bit. But not as much as my mom. But quite a bit for Buster. Somebody said, “Be careful! Don’t hurt him!” I tried to tell them that it didn’t hurt, that I was numb, I couldn’t feel anything. But words wouldn’t come out. It felt like somebody was sitting on my throat. I could hardly open my mouth. So I didn’t. I watched them close the doors. They slammed them shut. The last word I heard belonged to my 
mom.
“Why?”
It got caught in the door. And then the siren.