Ethan walked with his head down, collar turned up against the chill wind that chased him down the dark street. Leaves rustled and tumbled by as the limbs overhead creaked and shivered against the cold fall wind. Even though it wasn't quite seven o'clock, the sun had long disappeared before Ethan began his walk home from the library to his home. He was in no hurry. When he got home he knew he would still be alone. His mother worked second shift as a floor nurse at the hospital and his father had gone out for milk when Ethan was five and now that Ethan was eighteen, he knew it was unlikely he'd ever see his father again. It had been five years since Ethan had stopped hoping, scanning faces in crowds, hoping to see his father come home with an explanation why he had thrown away his family so carelessly.
Ethan was a good kid, smaller than most of the guys and some of the girls in his senior class. He was a good student and turned in his homework on time and well done. He volunteered at the city library after school. In part because money was tight at home and his mother couldn't afford internet or even cable TV. Ethan didn't have a smart phone or his own computer. The city library offered free internet, plenty to read, people to talk to, and a couple dozen regular elementary school students that Ethan helped tutor when they needed it. It gave him plenty of time to do his homework as well. The rest of the time, Ethan pushed the book carts around, carefully replacing the books back where they belonged on the shelves. Another perk of being a volunteer was the free coffee and cookies in the staff lounge. No matter how hungry Ethan was, he never took more than two cookies and one cup of coffee, though he was generous with the cream and sugar. He remembered all the librarian's birthdays and would give them something he had made himself, since he didn't have a paying job and money was too tight for him to receive an allowance. Ethan never complained. Their apartment was warm enough. He had clean clothes and most of the time plenty to eat.
Ethan heard a rustle of paper and tin and looked to his left to see a woman struggling at the door of her building. Without thinking, Ethan quickly mounted the stoop and caught the bags the woman struggled with.
"Let me help you with that," he said quietly.
The woman was startled but looking at Ethan's face she could tell he was a young man to be trusted, in a city where a woman alone was safer not trusting any strange men.
"Thank you. I bought too much and its so chilly tonight I couldn't manage to get my keys out without losing my groceries." She slipped her key in the door and pulled it open, propping it against her thigh. "I think I can manage now."
She reached for her sacks. Ethan handed them to her and turned to leave. Something in Ethan's face made her feel sorry for him.
"Would you like to come in, for a cup of coffee or hot chocolate? You looked chilled to the bone."
"No thank you, miss. I need to get home. My mom will be worried. Have a nice evening," Ethan replied as he walked down the six steps to the street.
He resumed his walk up the street, considering the eight cold, dark blocks to his family apartment and wondering why he didn't take the stranger up on her offer of something warm and probably some nice company too. The longer he walked the more he regretted turning her down. She was attractive from what he could see. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, though Ethan didn't understand why that would have mattered. He'd never kissed a girl or even gone on a date. Without access to privacy on the internet, Ethan hadn't even seen much pornography, which his classmates seemed to watch endlessly, judging by their conversations he could overhear walking from class to class. Ethan understood the physical workings well enough, he just didn't have any firsthand experience or observation. He dwelled on that shortcoming in his upbringing as he walked along. A scuffle broke him out of his inward thoughts. He turned his head to the alleyway between two of the tenement houses that lined this neighborhood. Three young men, about Ethan's own age from the looks of them, had an old man backed up against the wall, but the old man was defiant and standing his ground.
"Do you young punks think I fought in two wars and lost my sons in another just so you could come rob me of my hard-earned pension? Come on, I'll show you what an ass-whipping feels like. I've buried plenty of punks like you. I'll probably get a medal for wiping the streets with you three fools."
Ethan felt sorry for the old man, whose tough words weren't going to get him out of this. Those three gang members weren't frightened in the least of a crazy old man, war hero or not. They pressed closer.
"Just give us the money old man, and we won't cut your heart out and let you hold it while you die."
Ethan knew he should just keep walking. But he'd already made one decision he regretted so he stopped.
"Hey, why don't you leave the old guy be? He didn't do anything to you. If you need money that bad, get a job."
"Why don't you just keep walking, Ethan?" replied one of the trio. Ethan recognized the voice. He was a senior at the same high school and a known trouble maker and gang member. Ethan shifted his gaze and realized he knew all three.
"He's not worth the trouble. Just go on home. It's too cold to be out playing pranks on old farts," Ethan replied, giving his classmates a way to exit the scene, probably without any repercussions.
They didn't take the hint.
"Maybe we should make this a two-for-one. You've got to have something good on you worth taking. Come on, give it up."
Ethan gripped his backpack strap firmly. All he had were schoolbooks and library books. He didn't know what was worse, being robbed or being robbed for something so trivial and being found out by his classmates that he didn't even have enough money to make being robbed worthwhile. Something inside Ethan changed in that moment.
"No, I don't think I will. All I have are books, and those won't do you donkey's any good. And I am not about to give them to you so you can wreck them just because you can. Now leave us be and maybe we'll let you walk out of here in one piece."
His brave defiance worked. The three thugs took a step back. And then the effect wore off.
"Fuck that and fuck you," said the biggest.
While Ethan was being held and beaten, he hoped that the old man had gotten away. And then he hoped that the books would survive. Then he felt darkness closing around him and he had the fleeting thought that he really should have gone up with that strange young woman instead of walking home. Ethan could see a light and struggled to make out what it was. He felt a touch on his wrist and then nothing at all. Ethan thought to himself that he wasn't cold anymore. Maybe death wasn't so bad after all.
Ethan waited in the darkness for a long time. Then the darkness turned to gray, like false dawn. Muffled noises in the distance drew his attention but he couldn't move anything to turn and see what they were. Then the darkness fell again, and he dropped into the abyss.
Ethan woke to pain. Every bone and muscle in his body hurt and there wasn't anywhere that wasn't screaming for relief. He tried to open his eyes and couldn't. He tried to scream and shout and found his mouth blocked.
"He's awake! He's awake!" his mother's voice parted his fog of pain. She gripped his hand. "Can you feel my hand? Grip it if you can feel my hand."
Ethan mustered all his strength and gripped her hand. "You've been badly beaten, Ethan. You've been in a coma for three days. Are you in pain. Squeeze my hand for yes."
He gripped her hand tightly.
"Ok, I'll get your doctor. Don't try to talk. You've had a machine breathing for you, your lungs were collapsed. Your eyes were badly bruised, so your head is completely wrapped. Don't try to speak or open your eyes. You need to rest."
A nurse came into the room and Ethan felt warmth spreading from his left arm and across his body. The pains went away, and he felt much better. Much, much better. He tried to grin, but the tube in his throat blocked his efforts. He drifted back into unconsciousness, blissfully numb on morphine.
He could feel the pain returning as he came around again. The tube in his throat was bothering him and he wished he could talk to his mom, to let her know he was going to be all right. He felt a warmth in his chest and his breathing got easier. The pain in his ribs was fading quickly. He tried to move his arms and realized he was restrained. His mother roused from her sleep in the chair by his bed and rushed to his side.
"Hello honey, I'm here," she said, stroking his arm gently. "Are you still in pain? Do you need another shot?"
He pushed her hand away and made scribbling motions with his hand.
"Do you need a pencil and paper?"
He nodded his head yes, as much as he dared. In a few moments he felt a pencil being placed in his hand and a pad being held up. He tried to imagine the letters as he scribbled 'Remove the tube.'
