Scarred

Shawn's aunt helped him into the car and put his crutches at his feet. He'd been released from the hospital an hour ago--released. Like he'd been in prison or something. He didn't feel free. He had felt released when they removed most of the wires from his jaw yesterday so he could talk. He had felt free when he had first been permitted to walk around without an assistant. Now he felt like he was going to his doom. He had to live with his cousins now--under all the strict Pfeiffer family rules. Yesterday, he had endured the memorial service, full of hugs and tears and a fat preacher with a southern accent who hypothesized about whether a child as young as Cayela would be counted as innocent before God and whether his parents had come to repentance before their untimely demise. Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, he had learned that that man was, in fact, the pastor of the Pfeiffers' church. 

The drive wasn't very long, but he found it terrifying. Every bump, every lurch, and every time another vehicle swerved or laid on its breaks, his heart went in his mouth. You're overreacting, he kept telling himself, but it did no good. He just kept panicking at every corner. Spencer, his fourteen year-old cousin, was sitting beside him, pretending to ignore his anxiety, while little Daniel just stared at him like he was some kind of alien. Of course, the bandages on his head alone were enough to alarm any six year-old.  They'd scared Shawn the first time he saw his face wrapped up like a mummy in the mirror.

When they reached the farm, Spencer and Andrew showed him where he would he would sleep. It had been Daniel's room, but Daniel would now sleep with Andrew until they could make another room ready. He lay down on the bed and did not emerge until someone knocked on his door the next morning.

"Shawn?" His aunt called through the door. "Shawn, breakfast is ready. I have it here."

"I'm up!" Shawn mumbled through his pillow. He rolled over and stared at the boxy black alarm clock: 6:00. For pity's sake, it was July! Who gets up at six in the middle of summer? He sat up and, for the hundredth time, felt the painful throb of his left shoulder trying to work with his right. The door creaked open and Aunt Grace came in, carrying a tray. 

"Everyone has already eaten, so you get breakfast in bed today." She set down the eggs, back bacon, and english muffin on the wide stool which was serving as his bedside table. "Would you like some tea?"

"What kind?" Shawn's jaw clicked and ached as he spoke.

"We have mint, chai, mulled apple, English breakfast, and I don't know what else."

"Can I have coffee?"

"No--we don't drink coffee."

"Seriously?" Shawn sat up. "Then give me the apple stuff."

"Mulled apple?" Shawn nodded. "Right--I'll be back shortly." She stood and left the room. Shawn lay back against his pillow and sampled a piece of back bacon. 

The first week at his aunt and uncle's house wasn't as bad as he'd expected. They did keep on getting him up before dawn, and they still didn't have coffee, but they treated him well enough. He still didn't want to go anywhere until he had all his bandages off and stitches and staples out, so he didn't have to go to their church the first two Sundays. Aside from the doctor and the physiotherapist who came once a week to help him cope with one arm and make use of his prosthetic arm.

Finally, on June 27th, a hot Friday afternoon, Shawn and his aunt drove into the city to get it all removed. They had had them changed a few times, but this time, there would be no knew bandages--just bare skin. Shawn's heart was pounding as he sat down on the bed to wait for the doctor. He hadn't seen his face since the accident. Would the damage be visible? Would he have tough-looking scars, like through his lip or eyebrow? He would get the proper eyepatch now too--a black, pirate-like one to replace the white, padded bandage that  current covered his left eye socket.

Finally, they began removing them. Shawn watched his aunt's face carefully as they unwound layer after layer. Finally, as it began to sting and pull at his skin, he saw a slight change in her expression. She had turned just the slightest shade paler. As the last bandage peeled back, she covered her face with one hand and turned around. Shawn could feel himself beginning to panic as the doctor carefully began snipping and drawing out stitches. When he finished, he smiled at Shawn, then his nurse took over with Shawn while he spoke to Shawn's aunt. The nurse had little enough to say so Shawn tuned her out to listen to the doctor.

"Mrs. Pfeiffer--"

"Grace--my name is Grace." 

" Grace, your nephew will need all the love and support he can get over the next while. I would strongly advise that you contact a counselor to help him."

"He is in physio therapy every Thursday. Isn't that enough?"

"No. He is dealing with far more than any child his age should ever have to deal with. The accident was hard enough, but now he must cope with the long term physical effects too."

"Will it stay like that?"

"The skin will soon regain its natural shade and the scars will fade some. But no, he will never look like a normal child again. He may be faced with bullying, not to mention severe self-esteem issues as he grows older."

"Shawn? Shawn?" 

Shawn looked back at the nurse. "What?"

"It's nothing, Shawn. I just thought you weren't listening."

For some reason, which he never afterwards was able to explain, Shawn turned on the nurse and let fly a handful of swears, giving his opinion of the unimportantance of what she had to say. The nurse just stared at him and, a moment later, he aunt was beside him, berating him for his language and apologizing to the nurse. The nurse accepted it graciously and provided Shawn with a mirror, but, after one look at his face, Shawn lost all inclination to speak to anyone. The skin was a hideous molted pink and yellow. One jagged, puckered scar ran across his cheek and travel up his a nose which looked as if it had been patched together and sewn back on. His jaw was crooked with a general lumpiness and small, indented scars covered both sides of his face, especially the left, as if he had some kind of horrible skin disease. His left eyebrow was shredded and split up with many thick scars, extending from an empty eye socket that looked fresh out of a horror movie. One massive, angular scar on his scalp was a deep, rough red. It looked like he had been skinned alive. He could not look away, though the sight turned his stomach. Every line, scar, and mark screamed the same thing--they all sentenced him to a life alone, surrounded by stares and whispers. What would his friends think? Would he ever be able to make friends again? Who would look a face like that in the eye? If his own aunt couldn't look straight at him, what would strangers do?

"It isn't fully healed, Shawn," The doctor leaned forward, "It won't look so bad in a week or so. We have the patch you requested here. Would you like to try it on?"

Shawn nodded numbly and they fitted the strap over his head, letting the black velvet cover where his left eye had been. He had expected it to look pirate-like, but it just looked strange and out of place on his molted skin. That was the final straw. He turned and ran from the room.