The Strange, Lonely Life of Brian Davies Part III
A little background on Brian. Sorry it took so long, but work's been crazy.
"It's a boy." The three most wonderful words that Kim Davies had heard since her husband James had first professed his love for her. It wasn't just the relief of the whole agonizing process of child-birth being over and done with, but the relief of knowing that her baby was healthy. There had been a lot of complications throughout her pregnancy, and it seemed unlikely that the baby would make it to term, but doctors never say "It's a boy" when a baby is still-born. They say things like "I'm so sorry" or, lacking good bed-side manner, "Well, that was a lot of work for nothing." The night her Ob-Gyn had first told her to expect the worst, she'd had a nightmare in which the doctor had said "It' a corpse" and pulled down his mask to reveal himself to be Mr. Harper, her creepy high school phys-ed teacher who was a recurring star of her nightmares ever since the day she noticed his head bobbing up and down in unison with every breast-jiggling step she took as she ran the track on a particularly chilly November morning. She was quite certain that no doctor would ever say "It's a corpse", even the one given the "Worst Bed-side Manner" award at the AMA's annual ceremony.
There was no amount of good bed-side manner that would comfort her when, just four months later, the four happiest months of Kim Davies' life, she was diagnosed with cancer.
"I've never seen anything like this," Dr. Ornstein had told them "it would be easier to tell you where there isn't cancer. I'm so sorry, but there's nothing that can be done at this point."
Jim could tell that, even after thirty-plus years in the medical field, it still broke his heart to have to give this sort of news to a patient. The doctor's empathy was touching, but little consolation to a man with a newborn baby and a dying wife. "How long?" he asked.
"It's hard to say. Maybe...maybe weeks."
Ten days later Kim Davies was dead and Jim Davies was lost. This was back in the days when men smoked cigarettes in waiting rooms while their wives gave birth and the extent of their parenting thereafter was to be used as a threat (Just wait 'till your father gets home and hears about this) or, when there were male children involved, the occasional game of catch. Jim Davies, like most men of his generation, just didn't know how to raise a child. There were friends and family who gave him some much-needed help, but at night when he lay in bed, missing the woman he loved so deeply, the weight of his worry and desperation threatened to crush him. He had always had a drink or two when he got home from work. Within weeks it had become three or four and, when that failed to get him to sleep at night, five or six. People were starting to worry about him, as his drinking became more obvious a problem. Of course most of those people were still shocked when, despite not having drank that hard for very long, Jim was diagnosed with advanced cirrhosis of the liver.
Not even a year old, Brian was an orphan. At the age of five- or three aunts, two uncles, one grandmother, and a few cousins later- he was a ward of the state. There was some family left that could have taken him in, but none would. The Davies clan was German and Scandinavian, not people apt to throw salt over their shoulders or knock on wood. Most made excuses for fear of sounding ridiculous, except for one uncle who was honest enough to admit not wanting to be "lucky number thirteen in that kid's baker's dozen."
Foster care was actually an ideal situation for Brian. He was never in one place very long and the death that seemed to surround him lay dormant. Although these types of circumstances normally destroy a child's academic career he excelled in his scholastic endeavors. By the time he reached high school he was in The National Honor Society, spoke three languages fluently, and could throw a football "better than a kid with his grades is supposed to be able to" according to one foster-father. By the end of his freshman year he was a highly sought talent academically and on the gridiron. His coach said that he had "ice-water in his veins" but Brian never told him that the real secret to his success on the football field was that he just didn't care whether they won or lost. The quarterback position was easy for him to play. No queasiness- no butterflies in the stomach- just x"s and o's. Sure, he jumped around and pumped his fist in the air like everyone else when they won, but that was all part of the act.
In his sophomore year in high school, Brian wound up in the home of Frank Barone. Frank realized right away that Brian was special, which to Frank meant exploitable. After a month he filed the papers to permanently adopt the boy, and once Brian finally had a place to call home, everything went bad in a hurry.
There was no amount of good bed-side manner that would comfort her when, just four months later, the four happiest months of Kim Davies' life, she was diagnosed with cancer.
"I've never seen anything like this," Dr. Ornstein had told them "it would be easier to tell you where there isn't cancer. I'm so sorry, but there's nothing that can be done at this point."
Jim could tell that, even after thirty-plus years in the medical field, it still broke his heart to have to give this sort of news to a patient. The doctor's empathy was touching, but little consolation to a man with a newborn baby and a dying wife. "How long?" he asked.
"It's hard to say. Maybe...maybe weeks."
Ten days later Kim Davies was dead and Jim Davies was lost. This was back in the days when men smoked cigarettes in waiting rooms while their wives gave birth and the extent of their parenting thereafter was to be used as a threat (Just wait 'till your father gets home and hears about this) or, when there were male children involved, the occasional game of catch. Jim Davies, like most men of his generation, just didn't know how to raise a child. There were friends and family who gave him some much-needed help, but at night when he lay in bed, missing the woman he loved so deeply, the weight of his worry and desperation threatened to crush him. He had always had a drink or two when he got home from work. Within weeks it had become three or four and, when that failed to get him to sleep at night, five or six. People were starting to worry about him, as his drinking became more obvious a problem. Of course most of those people were still shocked when, despite not having drank that hard for very long, Jim was diagnosed with advanced cirrhosis of the liver.
Not even a year old, Brian was an orphan. At the age of five- or three aunts, two uncles, one grandmother, and a few cousins later- he was a ward of the state. There was some family left that could have taken him in, but none would. The Davies clan was German and Scandinavian, not people apt to throw salt over their shoulders or knock on wood. Most made excuses for fear of sounding ridiculous, except for one uncle who was honest enough to admit not wanting to be "lucky number thirteen in that kid's baker's dozen."
Foster care was actually an ideal situation for Brian. He was never in one place very long and the death that seemed to surround him lay dormant. Although these types of circumstances normally destroy a child's academic career he excelled in his scholastic endeavors. By the time he reached high school he was in The National Honor Society, spoke three languages fluently, and could throw a football "better than a kid with his grades is supposed to be able to" according to one foster-father. By the end of his freshman year he was a highly sought talent academically and on the gridiron. His coach said that he had "ice-water in his veins" but Brian never told him that the real secret to his success on the football field was that he just didn't care whether they won or lost. The quarterback position was easy for him to play. No queasiness- no butterflies in the stomach- just x"s and o's. Sure, he jumped around and pumped his fist in the air like everyone else when they won, but that was all part of the act.
In his sophomore year in high school, Brian wound up in the home of Frank Barone. Frank realized right away that Brian was special, which to Frank meant exploitable. After a month he filed the papers to permanently adopt the boy, and once Brian finally had a place to call home, everything went bad in a hurry.
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