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was probably being used for the first time,
he sighed contentedly.
    “ There’s a first-aid kit
in the bathroom,” he said. “Bring me a wet washcloth. A towel,
too.”
    “ Where is it?” Ben
asked.
    “ I’m surprised you don’t
know already. It’s right down the hall on the left.”
    Ben hurried out of the
room, mentally chastising himself for triggering a series of events
that would haunt him for his final years of high school. He found
the bathroom, a simple affair reserved for guests, and collected
the items that were requested.
    “ Are you sure we shouldn’t
go to the hospital? Or a doctor at least?” he said as he reentered
the living room.
    “ No need.” Tim took the
washcloth and began patting at the crust of dried blood on his leg.
“Same thing happened to me freshman year. I still have a brace
upstairs and everything. It’s not a big deal. A couple of days with
that on and I’ll be fine again.”
    Ben had to admit that the
leg was looking better now that much of the blood had been cleaned
up. Once bandaged it probably wouldn’t need medical attention. The
ankle was a different story, swollen on each side like a chipmunk’s
cheeks and turning a dark, unhealthy color.
    “ It’s just--”
    “ Thanks for helping me get
home,” Tim interrupted. The finality in his voice was clear; Ben
was expected to leave. He turned to do so, spluttering more clumsy
apologies as he went. He stopped and turned at the door. “Are you
sure you are going to be all right? When do your parents get
back?”
    “ In about two weeks.” Tim
grimaced as he wrapped the cloth bandage around his shin. “They’re
in Switzerland.”
    Ben swallowed, but it
failed to flush away the guilty taste in his mouth as he left the
house and began his walk home.
     
    __________
     

Chapter 4
     
    Ben was back in front of
Tim’s front door, a book tucked under one arm. He had done nothing
but worry since he had left a few hours ago. First Ben had returned
to the scene of the crime where he had so carelessly left his
Rollerblades. They were still in the ditch, not far from a sharp,
blood-spattered rock that jutted out of the ground. At least the
culprit for the shin injury had been discovered, Ben thought, well
aware that he was trying to shift the blame away from
himself.
    Once he was home he
declined his mom’s invitation of a snack and instead went to his
room. Ben anguished over the foolishness of his actions for the
better part of an hour before his self-pity gave way to a growing
concern for Tim’s well-being. A million nightmare situations played
out in Ben’s head, the worst being that Tim would contract some
sort of infection and have his leg amputated or would die. The
morbid medical fantasies piled up until Ben decided to seek out
facts from his mother’s family medical guide.
    The gruesome book had
provided Ben with hours of entertainment as a kid. Not only did it
show nauseating pictures of diseases in their most advanced and
repulsive stages, but it also featured self-diagnosis charts that
were all too easy to navigate successfully. Ben had previously
utilized their wisdom to diagnose himself with everything from
vaginal yeast infections to critical brain tumors. Now for the
first time he was turning to it with all seriousness.
    What Ben had learned had
brought him scampering back to Tim’s house. Stomach bubbling
nervously and palms breaking out in sweat, Ben rang the door bell.
Someone called out in response. Thinking that Tim had fallen
somewhere and was helpless, he opened the front door and gave a
tentative, “Hello?”
    “ Hey! Come in!”
    Tim certainly sounded more
cheerful. Ben rushed to the living room and found Tim lying on the
same uncomfortable couch as if he had never moved, which couldn’t
be true since an open can of Coke and a bottle of pills were on the
coffee table. The leg was now bandaged and elevated on the arm of
the couch, but Tim looked pale and cold. He was still wearing his
jogging shorts