A PALE HORSE

Peter finished brushing his teeth, put his toothbrush neatly in its holder and turned to go into his bedroom. A clamor out on the street and Momma Rose’s loud reprimand delayed Peter’s crawl into bed and brought him to his balcony to observe. He watched as Momma Rose drew every inch of her five feet tall frame up against a very drunk, very large young man and his giggling girlfriend. Peter could hear Mamma Rose berate the man for knocking over one of her outside tables in his inebriated state. The man, not knowing how to handle the small spitfire currently squared up to him, backed up with his hands in the air and promptly knocked a second table over in the process. Peter smiled as he watched Momma Rose walk up to the unfortunate fellow and grab him by his ear and pull him up off the floor. Peter winced in sympathy for the guy, remembering the times he was on the receiving end of that treatment, and laughed when Momma Rose started telling the man off in French as he stood helpless in her grip. His lady friend had retreated to the street and as she stood giggling at the sight, she stepped into the light of the street lamp. Peter recognized the woman, Maggie, he had run into earlier this afternoon.

So, Peter thought smiling, the man on the other end of Momma Rose’s treatment was the Russian. What did she call him, Max? Yes, that was it- Max. Peter leaned out the window of his upper story apartment and called down to Rose, “As-tu besoin d’aide (Do you need help?)?” Peter asked Rose. To his surprise, the big Russian looked up at him and answered his question to Rose with, “Yes! Please help me by getting this little ona d’yavol, this she-devil, off of me!” Max answered, barely managing to hold Rose at arm’s length with a massive hand placed precariously in the middle of her forehead.

Peter laughed and shouted, “Momma Rose, if the big man pays for the damage, will you let him go?”

“Oui, long as he leaves directly, mon chou… my dishes can’t take any more of his bumbling!” Momma Rose said indignantly, mourning the small collection of broken plates at her feet.

Maggie had walked up to Max as he dug out his wallet, “Here, allow me.” She took his wallet out and proceeded to pull out five hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Momma Rose. She smiled meekly and handed the old woman the cash.

“This should take care of the dishes,” she said as Max looked on stunned. Momma Rose took the money and released Max so she could turn from the massive figure and stuff the bills into her ample bosom. Maggie noticed the little woman’s gesture, reminiscent of something her grandmother would do, she thought, and decided immediately that she liked her very much.

“I will take Max home now, Momma Rose.” Maggie told her. “Desole pour le derangement (Sorry for the inconvenience).” Momma Rose noticed how the girl slipped easily into perfect French as she apologized for the inconvenience. The young woman seemed not at all cowed by the big man, Rose thought, and smiled.

She’s got him on a short leash, but he’s chasing parked cars! She laughed to herself at the thought, and turned once again to face the giant Russian. She sniffed in disdain and she and Peter watched as Maggie led Max, who was still rubbing his injured ear, away by the arm.

Momma Rose looked up at Peter with a smile and spoke with authority, “Thank you for your assistance, Peter! Shouldn’t you be in your bed?” she asked.

“I was headed there when I heard your dulcet tones uttering profanities… I couldn’t miss the excitement now, could I?” Peter grinned down at her. Momma Rose smiled at Peter and waved her hand dismissing him as she proceeded to clean up the mess Max had made in the café. Peter stuck his head back in the bedroom and closed the window to keep most of the street noise to a minimum. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed and chuckled at the look on the big Russian’s face when petite Rose grabbed his ear and pulled him into a stooped position to make herself clear to him. Peter laid down in his bed, pulled his covers up to his chin, and fell into a deep slumber.

“Peter! Hey, champ! C’mon, son… I know you can hear me! You’re going to be fine!” the blips and beeps of various machines came to him amid his father’s voice, trying to sound calm but scary to him just the same. He was aware of a cold surface underneath him and the smell of something mediciney, as well as many frantic voices shouting orders. Peter could hear everything that was happening and feel the hands that poked and prodded his legs, and he knew that many people were involved. Trying to… what, exactly? He couldn’t remember anything, but he wasn’t aware of any pain. It sounded like they were trying to… save him? If he wasn’t in pain, why did he need saving? A door opened and fast footsteps to his left, then a low, calm voice appeared at his side.

“Peter, my name is Dr. Lambrough, You can call me Ty. How’s your holiday?” Peter wanted to tell the doctor that he was fine, he wasn’t in any pain, but when he tried to speak he found he couldn’t. In fact, he couldn’t move his legs or arms and he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to open his eyes. He felt strangely detached from himself. “Listen, son. I’m going to need you to just hang out here and let us do our job of helping you. Can you do that for me? Can you relax? It helps everything go smoother, it really does.” Dr. Lambrough again, Peter thought. He knew he would like the man, if he could see him. He was calm-sounding enough, but Peter could definitely feel a lot of movement around him; sense that many different people and hands were busy very close to him, the doctor’s included.

He started to think and panic… am I going to die? Why can’t I feel anything? I’m only thirteen! He felt a subtle shift in the tension of the room and heard several of the machines start beeping in a frantic staccato.

“We’re losing him!!” shouted one of the people in the room.

“Peter!” he heard his mother’s fear and wanted desperately to tell her he was okay.

A new voice shouted “Get her out of here and get me the crash cart, stat!”

“Absolutely not! She stays right here! Mrs. Devereaux, if you could just stand over there, please.” The doctor, sounding slightly less calm suddenly appeared very close and clear in Peter’s left ear, “Son, this is not what you promised me. I didn’t come in here on a holiday weekend for nothing, Peter. Work with me! Work with me….”. Dr. Lambrough’s voice trailed off in Peter’s ear, and then disappeared altogether, replaced by a low hum and the sound of…

Water? Not water, exactly, Peter thought. The beach? Waves? And light… warm, like sunlight. In fact, Peter found himself floating… or flying.

Floating? Or flying? Either way, it was the coolest thing ever!, he thought. Down towards a narrow stretch of sandy beach that reminded him of the coast near his parent’s beach house in Madeira Beach. They hadn’t been back to Florida since last year, but he remembered it clearly.

Peter looked back over his shoulder into what should have been the clear, bright sky, but instead he saw his body laid out, lifeless, and he could see everything that was going on in the emergency room. He watched as the doctors and nurses tried in a chaotic frenzy to keep him alive. Peter found himself cheering for them. To him, this was almost like one of those doctor shows on TV. Peter turned back toward the stretch of beach and found he would rather be walking and gamboling in the surf than be anywhere else at the moment, including fighting for his life in the emergency room of St. Xavier’s Hospital.

Peter heard a man’s voice call to him from the shore, “Hey! Quit messing around up there, Peter! I need to talk to you. Can you come down here, please?”. Peter looked down to see where the voice was coming from, and was surprised to see a young man, not much older than himself… maybe fifteen? He touched down and his feet sank into the warm sand. The guy that had called to him approached calmly, and he seemed friendly enough. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, flip-flops and a vintage t-shirt with the Superman “S” emblazoned on the front. “Hey, Peter! So cool to meet you, my man!”. The guy extended his hand, grabbed Peter’s hand as if to shake it, and instead pulled him in for a tight hug. Peter felt a warmth and relaxed in the man’s embrace, and he thought he could faintly hear the blips and beeps subside and a cheer from many voices. “Yeah, you just helped them out a lot, but I don’t have a lot of time to chat now, so you gotta listen up, okay?”, the boy made eye contact with Peter, and he found himself looking into the clearest golden eyes he had ever seen. He also noticed a similar hued light that was present right over the guy’s right shoulder. It was warm and welcoming, and Peter knew that whatever was in that light was wonderful. Peter was confused, he knew that the light came from a place he wanted to go, but the word of the boy stopped him from moving forward. In fact, he couldn’t move at all.

He did the only thing he could think of to do,

“Who are you, and why can’t I move?” The kid smiled again reassuringly and told him, “Relax, Peter. My name is Michael. This is gonna sound weird, maybe, but… maybe not, given the fact that you’re on a beach in the middle of a hospital operating room, but I’m an angel, and I need your help.”

Now Peter was really confused, “My help? You do know I’m only 13, right? Hell, you can’t be more than fifteen or so yourself!” he queried.

Michael chuckled to himself, “Yeah, Peter, I get it. It’s blowing your mind. Take a second to process… just know I don’t need you right now.” Michael looked back over his shoulder at the silvery light, then turned back to the boy, smiling. Peter looked back around at the chaos in the emergency room and at his parents tear stained faces outside the emergency room doors.

“That’s good, because right now I won’t be able to help anyone. I think I’m dying.” Peter told Michael with complete sincerity. Michael laughed again and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter thought this was very strange considering he couldn’t really feel his shoulder. “Wait,” Peter said, “Michael, right? You said you are an angel… why do you look like a surfer dude?” A note of skepticism had worked its way into Peter’s words. Michael raised an eyebrow, and before Peter could blink Michael had grown three feet, gone were his t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops to be replaced by a white robe and wings that, although furled, drug the ground behind him. Around his waist was a scabbard with the golden handle of a gigantic sword sticking out of the end. Peter was terrified of this new apparition, but as quickly as he saw this “other” Michael, it was replaced by the young surfer. Peter, whose reflexes were slower even in this place, took an instinctive step back. “Whoa.”, Peter swallowed audibly. “Asked and answered. Michael, please don’t do that again!”

“I thought you might prefer this to that.”, Michael laughed. “Don’t feel bad. I would be pretty freaked out by me if I were you. Why do you think that we are always having to tell people DON’T BE AFRAID and DO NOT FEAR when we show up on the scene? We’re intense, bro! Peter,” Michael started “each of us in life has a purpose, a job that we have to do before we are allowed to move on... what you see behind me. That’s where my Master is, and you’re not meant to be there yet.”. Michael took a step past Peter toward the stretch of beach behind Peter, heading back in the direction of the chaotic hospital, and he beckoned Peter to follow. Michael continued as he walked, Peter next to him, “Now, there are some very special people who have a higher calling, it’s a really important place to be and a big honor.” Michael paused, gauging Peter’s reaction to his statement.

“You mean, like superheroes?” Peter asked in a skeptical tone and looked at Michael’s t-shirt bearing Superman’s logo.

Michael looked at his own shirt, smiled and said, “Yeah, in a manner of speaking. Peter, you come from a very distinguished ancestry, your ancestors came from the line of Shem!”. Michael said the last sentence with a bit more excitement than Peter seemed to think it needed. Blankness returned Michael’s excited expression and he couldn’t believe it required further explanation. “Peter! Shem! You know… SHEM!” Michael spread out his hands in front of him, as if to embrace all of the air surrounding them, but Peter still didn’t get it.

“Shem doesn’t sound like a heroic name. Shem sounds like a sheep!” Peter said. Michael was momentarily speechless, gave his head a little shake and continued, “He was Noah’s youngest son.”

“Like the Ark? Noah and the Ark, with all the animals and stuff? I always wondered, why were mosquitoes allowed on the Ark?” Once again, he had interrupted Michael’s tale with a childlike curiosity and exuberance, and Michael matched him. “Yes! The Ark! All the animals, and what else can repopulate fast enough so bats have something to eat?” Michael said without missing a beat. He took a deep breath and continued, “Here’s the deal: you come from this line, so, yay you! On top of that, because of your selfless act earlier, you have been chosen!”

“Um, chosen for what?”, Peter was confused.

“To help. Us.” At this, Michael grasped Peter’s shoulders and looked him excitedly in the eyes. And this time, Peter felt the angel’s hands. Faintly. He also began to notice tingling in his legs where before he had felt nothing.

“Help with what? Do I get superpowers? I always wanted a cape…” Peter was really becoming excited with the prospect of having super powers, but Michael also knew he was not going to have much more time with the boy, and he had to keep him focused.

“No super powers. I need you to help an angel. Not me.” Michael added, answering the question from Peter’s eyes before it escaped his lips, and he concluded, “You can wear a cape if you want to, but I wouldn’t advise it.”. Peter stopped thinking about flying and laser vision and blinked.

“I’m supposed to help an angel?”, Peter asked, a bit overwhelmed at this new information.

“Yeah. He’s in trouble and needs a little help,” said Michael rocking back on his heels a bit. Peter stopped and watched as the doctors zapped his body with paddles he knew were designed to get a stopped heart beating again. He started to feel a tugging sensation deep in his chest, and pain in his legs. He flinched, and then looked at Michael in question. “We don’t have much time Peter; the doctors are going to pull you back in a minute and I really need to know you’re on board with us?” Michael pleaded with him. He looked a little nervous and Peter felt as if his answer would change his life forever.

This is too much! he thought. I am lying dead, or dying, on a table at St. Xavier’s! I am on a beach with an angel, and he is asking me to trust him, so I can be a superhero! What is happening? I’m only thirteen... He got scared and took a step back from the young man in front of him. Michael reached out and steadied him, then pulled his face close to his so they were eye to eye, emphasizing the gravity of the words he was about to say.

“Peter! You’ve got to focus! Brother, there is so much I want to tell you and I know you have a million questions, but now isn’t the time. Don’t worry! I’ll be there… it’ll be you and me over the long haul to get this done. I can’t answer everything for you now, but just know there’s nothing I would ever do to hurt you, screw up your life, or jeopardize this mission. It does come from Him, after all.”, Michael said, smiling at the last. Peter could see the insistence, almost desperate, in Michael’s golden eyes, and got serious.

Peter said, “What can I do? How do I help?”, wanting to help but not really feeling like a superhero.

“Grow up! Finish school! Live life! In time, you’ll remember our talk. And, along the way, we’ll have others… you’ll remember those, too. You’ll learn to believe in yourself the way I do.” Michael told him with sincerity.

Peter thought and then asked. “If I say no, will I die?”. Michael cocked an eyebrow, and smirked.

“No,” Michael smiled and again put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. He could really feel it this time, and the pain in his legs was worse, but Peter also felt a sense of peace flow through him, and he knew either answer would be okay with Michael. Michael went on, his hand still on Peter’s shoulder, and his expression still joyful and sincere, “You will live a great life, Peter. I’m not promising you’ll be rich or always happy, but you’re going to do some incredible things for you, and for others. You won’t remember me until you’re ready. That’s okay,” Michael added when he noticed Peter’s sorrowful expression. Michael liked the boy, and he could tell that the feeling was mutual. Michael continued, “You and I will see each other again. If you choose to help, you will have helpers that will watch over you and teach you the things that you need to know to survive and help when the time comes… and I’ll be there, too.” Michael told him. The tug on Peter’s chest became stronger, almost too strong for him to resist, and his legs hurt so bad that he cried out. “Time’s up, my man!”, Michael told him as Peter’s feet lifted off of the sand and he felt himself being pulled backward, away from the angel. “Can we count on you?”

Peter thought about how cool it would be to help an angel…well, do whatever it was they had to do. Peter’s thirteen-year-old brain already had him and his angel bff saving the world from certain disaster. Peter smiled down at Michael and shouted over the suddenly- raucous blips and bleeps of hospital sounds.

“I’ll do it. Michael, I’ll help! Yes!” Michael gave a whoop. His fist shot up in the air, and he gave Peter the most glorious smile that he had ever seen. Wow!, thought Peter. I’ve heard people talk about how people could light up a room with their smile, but Michael could power all of New Orleans with his! Ow! The pain in his legs was unbearable. Peter willed himself back to the beach one more time. There was something he had to know. He reached out for Michael’s hand and screamed “Pull me back!”.

Michael was startled, and grabbed Peter with both hands, planting him firmly on the ground in front of him and said, “Peter, I can’t keep you here, and you can’t fight the pull. It will only hurt more. What do you need?”, Michael asked, slightly panicked.

“I need to know…”, Peter trailed off as more pain hit him. He couldn’t remember! Michael grasped his shoulder once more, and took the boy in a great hug, quelling the pain briefly. Peter felt calm. Michael spoke into his… ear? Well, yes, it was Peter’s ear, but Peter felt his words on a visceral level, like he was speaking directly to Peter’s spirit. And the voice was different. Commanding and confident, yet warm. It was, Peter imagined, very much like what being spoken to by an older, wiser brother would sound like. “You’ll remember one day, and we’ll do great things, brother. Be well!”. Michael released Peter from his grasp, winked at him, and then, with one impossibly strong movement, flung Peter by his right shoulder directly into the chaos of St. Xavier’s. And with that Peter felt a pain in the shoulder that Michael had touched, in fact he felt pain all over. His body felt like a thousand hot brands had been taken to it. He had fallen into darkness and silence. No, not quite silence; there was a steady beeping coming from next to his head. He heard soft breathing coming from beside him and slowly opened his eyes. It was nighttime, and nothing looked familiar to him. He became scared and the beeping became a little faster. Peter turned his head to the side and saw his mother asleep in a chair next to the bed he was laying in. He saw that the machine emitting the beeping noises was recording his heartbeat. He looked down and saw his mother’s hand resting on the bed next to his fingers. He reached out and tried to touch her fingers. In his mind, he could feel himself reaching out, but he couldn’t summon the strength to bridge the distance between her hand and his. He breathed deeply, and tried again. Still nothing. He racked his brain trying to remember what had put him here, and he had nothing. Peter knew he had been through something, but he couldn’t remember what. He was in a hospital for a reason, and he couldn’t move at the moment, but he wasn’t scared. Logically, he knew he should be concerned, but he was certain, for some reason that wasn’t immediately apparent to him, that everything in his life was exactly how it should be. He let the expectation of movement leave him, and just concentrated on reaching for his mom to give her comfort.

“God”, he thought, “my mom is really scared and I would really like for her not to be. Could you give me the strength to help me reach out and grab her hand?”. His progress was slow, and his body felt achy. His mother opened her eyes at his touch and sat straight up from her slumped position and threw her arms around Peter.

“Peter, I thought I had lost you!” she wept. Peter winced at the pain in his shoulder and his mother, sensing the movement, let him go, “I’m so sorry, Peter, that shoulder is probably very sore.” She stood quickly and pushed the nurse’s call button. Half a minute passed before a nurse walked through the door. “Look, Nell! He is awake!” Peter’s mother told the nurse with a big smile.

“Well! Praise the Lort!” Nell exclaimed, and quickly raised her gaze in obvious reverence and joy. She approached Peter’s side, bustling past Claire and hip-shoving the rolling tray away that stood between her and her young charge. She positioned the stethoscope in her ears and held the metal disc to her mouth to breathe quickly and warm it before placing it to listen to Peter’s up-until-recently faint heartbeat. Strong, she thought. He’s going to be fine, thank God! She bent low to him and asked “How are you feeling?” Peter looked at the nurse. She had a very friendly face and he couldn’t tell how old she was, but seemed like one of those very wise people that always knows what to do.

“I hurt,” Peter rasped, placing a hand weakly on his neck, indicating his audibly scratchy throat “and I’m thirsty.” Peter saw his mother reach for a pitcher and pour some water into a cup with a bendy straw sticking out of it. Peter knew the cup belonged to his mom because her lipstick was on the straw, but right now he didn’t care. When the straw was placed in his mouth he took a long drink. The dryness in his throat eased. “What happened? How long have I been here?” Peter asked his Mom.

“That doesn’t matter! You’re going to be better now, sweetheart!” His mother told him, and hugged him again, and he winced again. She turned back to her chair, and pulled it closer to her son’s side. Claire Devereux couldn’t remember ever feeling more relieved in her life. Peter had been through so much in the last thirteen days… they all had. She was over the moon to have her baby conscious and responding, but knew he must be experiencing a lot of discomfort. I just want to get him out of this place and home where he belongs, she thought. Get him back to health and normality. I don’t want to bother him with having to relive something awful that he, at this point, doesn’t even remember, she reasoned. There will be time for that later, if it comes up. Tears had started to gather in his mother’s eyes as she thought about what had happened. Too much, she thought. It’s too much. If he doesn’t remember now, thank heaven for small favors!. I hope he never has to relive it. She dabbed at her eye and sat back down, telling Peter “You have been in the hospital for over a week. The doctors had to put you into a medically induced coma, so they could treat you.” She finished. “I stayed here waiting for them to wake you up.” Peter watched as a tear escaped and rolled silently down her face. The door to the hospital room opened and in hurried a young doctor. He was shorter than average and reminded Peter of a TV show his parents used to watch; he couldn’t recall much about it, other than it was about a kid doctor, which Peter thought was pretty great. Peter noticed the T-shirt peeking out of his green scrubs. Superman? Yes, the faded blue tee appeared to have the top of the iconic “S” in faded red and yellow. Not the letter S, he corrected himself mentally. Peter was a huge comic fan and he knew that what appeared to be the Earth “S” was actually the Kryptonian symbol for “hope”. He found himself hoping that this young doctor was as much a fan as him. The man’s voice broke Peter’s reverie.

“So,” he said to Peter, “you woke up just in time for dinner?”, he smiled at Peter as he visually scanned his chart and made a couple of notes. “How are you feeling? You look pretty great, considering.”. Peter wondered what the doctor was “considering” when he motioned to Peter to make a scant bit of room for him to sit at the edge of his hospital bed. Peter edged over and the young doctor carefully sat next to the boy. “So, is it Peter, or do you prefer Pete? Petey?”, the doctor asked. He smiled when he saw Peter blanch at the last suggestion and said, “Okay, Peter is it! Listen, my man, I have a couple of tests I need to administer. They won’t hurt, and they’ll be quick… are we cool?”, the young man turned to reach for an instrument before Peter could respond, and Peter decided that he was pretty tired of people not listening to him when they asked him something before they did whatever THEY wanted. As if in answer, the doctor turned back to him and just smiled and waited. Peter was puzzled, until he realized that this doctor was waiting for his approval before he did anything. Peter nodded, and the doctor smiled again, and proceeded to check Peter for his responses to outside stimuli by nearly blinding him and running a little spiked wheel over the instep of his foot. This last torture treatment caused Peter to squirm and emit a slight yelp. His response seemed to satisfy the doctor because he put away his little torture instrument and made a few more notes. He then asked Peter to recite the alphabet, his name and address and then asked him a couple of math questions. Peter thought this was all very weird and complained he was hungry. The doctor smiled, turned to the nurse and asked her to get Peter a light broth and some crackers to start and then asked Peter’s mother to step out into the hall. They left the door open a little and Peter found he could hear every word they spoke just like if they were in the room with him.

“So, is he going to be okay, doctor…?” he heard his mother ask.

“Please, call me Dr. Mike, Mrs. Devereaux. I believe that Peter is going to be just fine. Truly, it is an amazing recovery! Our concern was obviously great but he is responding quite well. With the amount of time Peter was clinically dead, , he should have sustained some impaired function. His motor skills appear normal, his wounds are healing with great speed and I think there will be minimal scarring.”, he told her. Peter noticed that he spoke to his mother in a much different manner than the way Dr. Mike spoke to him. He supposed that doctors must speak differently to kids than they did to parents. Still, he liked Dr. Mike.

“He was complaining about his shoulder being in pain.” Claire told the young doctor.

“I could go back in and have another look, but that was not one of the places he was bitten, although when we used the defibrillator to bring him back it could have caused some bruising. More than likely he is experiencing a bit of referral pain.”, he explained. Peter winced and put a hand to his shoulder. That would explain why he felt so achy. His mother and the doctor came back into the room with the nurse, Nell, who brought Peter his soup. Peter ate his soup while Dr. Mike felt around on Peter’s shoulder. There was only one area that seemed to be sore, and it was located on the front of his shoulder where his arm and body met. The doctor explained to Peter’s mother, “Couldn’t be related to his accident, but judging from the redness and the shape, I would say this is a typical defibrillator paddle burn. Should go away in a couple of days. If any pain continues into next week, we can re-evaluate.”. Peter noticed that Dr. Mike used the word “accident” and that put him one step closer to figuring out what put him here. I have to find out more! He was about to ask the doctor to expound on what happened to him, when he abruptly stood up and motioned to Peter’s mother to join him on the other side of the room, out of earshot. Peter muttered to himself and sucked down the rest of his broth as they conferred. Dr. Mike reappeared after a couple of minutes and approached Peter, holding up a hand to stay his questions as he was ready with answers.

“My name is Dr. Mike and yes, I like Superman, he reminds me that ordinary people can do extraordinary things. I didn’t tell you my name because you didn’t ask and I assume you can read.”, pointing to the name tag affixed to his green scrubs. Dr. Mike continued, “I can’t tell you anything about the events leading up to you being here. I’m sorry, but it’s not my place.”, he said apologetically. Peter, evinced his disappointment, and the doctor came closer, laying a comforting hand on his aching shoulder. “Remember, Peter- we can choose to be ordinary or we can choose to do the extraordinary, like Superman did. Like you did. Just as heroic if you ask me!”, Dr. Mike said with a wink. Peter blushed and thought about Dr. Mike’s words. Strange but to Peter it felt almost as if they had met before. As he stared quizzically at the doctor’s back disappearing through the whooshy door, Peter realized two things: he had to find out for sure what happened from his father because his mother was never going to tell him in a million years. And, he didn’t have any pain in his shoulder where Dr. Mike had touched it. Peter also realized he was pretty tired. He pushed away the broth on the rolling tray, settled onto his side and his now pain-free shoulder and drifted off thinking about flying.