A Walk in the Past

By Steven W. Moore

Brandon Hanson and Katie Parker both grew up in Greeneville, North Carolina. They both went to the same schools, but more importantly, they both possessed a will to survive.

Brandon had some tough decisions to make about family problems, love, and ultimately enlisting in the Vietnam War. Katie had a supportive family, a steady young love, and a successful childhood. The two were destined to meetthe question would be when.

After they got to know each other, the decision for Brandon became whether or not to go to college or the war in Vietnam. He only had months to decideknowing his decision would affect a lot of people in his life.

Join Brandon and Katie on a journey of betrayal, heartache, lust, and love by taking A Walk in the Past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532029509

Steven W. Moore

Steven W. Moore is a Summa Cum Laude graduate earning his bachelor of arts in history at Mars Hill University in Mars Hill, North Carolina. He is the author of A Journey To Freedom, Her Husband's Crossing, and A Walk in the Past. He lives in Candler, North Carolina.

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Copyright © 2017 Steven W. Moore.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-2951-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2952-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2950-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913990

iUniverse rev. date: 09/09/2017

Contents

Chapter 1     Close Call

Chapter 2     In His Own World

Chapter 3     Horrific

Chapter 4     First Kiss

Chapter 5     Transformation

Chapter 6     Letters

Chapter 7     Crossing Paths

Chapter 8     Girl Troubles

Chapter 9     Reunion

Chapter 10   Teenage Trouble

Chapter 11   Courtship Boundaries

Chapter 12   Eye Contact

Chapter 13   Torn

Chapter 14   Magical Evening

Chapter 15   Lost In Time

Chapter 16   Embarrassing Moment

Chapter 17   War Vs Basketball

Chapter 18   Surgery Again

Chapter 19   Decision Time

Chapter 20   Visit Up North

Chapter 21   Across The Globe

Chapter 22   Home In Time

Chapter 23   Mind Battle

Chapter 24   Tragedy To Triumph

Notes

CHAPTER 1

Close Call

Come on, man, hurry let’s go! the twelve year old Brandon shouted in the wee hours of the fall Friday morning of 1967 to his fourteen year old friend Samuel. Hold on, I have just a few more things to get! Samuel shouted back to Brandon from the vacated darkened room. Brandon could see his own breath as he sat there, crouched down next to the open window, on the home’s side lawn. The road from his crouched position was just some twenty feet away. Come on, man, we shouldn’t even be doing this! Brandon again shouted to his friend who was picking up some last minute jewelry from the room of the neighborhood house that was vacated for the night. I’m scared, Brandon thought to himself as he could hear the dog from the next door house barking in the stillness of the night. Here, help me out, Samuel said as he squeezed his body through the tiny opening in the room window. The room Samuel was getting out of was below ground which made the window Brandon had been crouched beside at ground level. Brandon, with all his might, pulled Samuel out. You should have been in there with me, you jerk, Samuel said as he whipped the bag full of the vacant home’s contents over his shoulder. I was scared as hell just sitting out here watching you. Besides, you have to have a look out man when you do something like this, right? Brandon asked Samuel. I don’t know, Samuel replied. I’ve never done this before, he continued. Brandon peeped around the corner of the house toward the cul-de-sac which was located directly in front of the house. The house they broke into was at the bottom of a giant hill with the road leading to the circle of homes surrounding Brandon and Samuel. Brandon could see off in the distance a figure of a tall man walking towards them on the main road.

Samuel, get down! Brandon strongly whispered to his friend as he grabbed him by the collar and jerked him back down to the ground where they were both now crouched, waiting on the man to circle around in front of the house and head back up the hill. What if he sees us? Samuel asked. Are you trying to scare me? Brandon asked. No, I’m serious, Samuel said. Then the shit will hit the fan I guess, Brandon responded. They waited for what seemed like hours for the man to finally reach the spot where he would be walking directly in front of where Brandon and Samuel were hiding. The problem with where they were hiding was the fact that there was nothing separating them from the street. Brandon turned to Samuel with a frustrated, wide eyed look. This was a brilliant idea you had, he said. I thought it would be fun, Samuel said. Is it fun now? Brandon asked him. This guy can’t see us, it’s too dark, Samuel said. To make matters worse on the position where they were crouched, it was a clear night, so the moon was shining brightly over them. They now saw the man turning around and walking back up the giant hill of a street. Their hearts stopped as they could hear the footsteps of the man directly in front of them. As the man was walking back up the hill, he suddenly stopped and turned in their direction. He was now staring at the two frightened boys. He can’t see us, Samuel said. Shhh, Brandon snapped back quickly at him. The moonlight was so bright that night that it casted off a shadow from the house, right over top of Brandon and Samuel, helping their situation. As the two boys stared at the man in the eerie silence of the night, all three just stood there, motionless. Finally, after starring for several seconds in the boy’s direction, to the boys it seemed like forever, the man finally moved on. Samuel became adamant. Let’s get the hell out of here! he said. Wait a minute, man, shouldn’t we wait and see if the guy comes back? Brandon asked. You can wait. I’m getting the hell out of here, Samuel said as he stood up and began walking swiftly across the front lawn of the house they just burglarized. Wait up! Brandon said as he ran to catch up to his friend.

They arrived at Brandon’s house with the stolen goods in hand, well; actually, they were in Samuel’s hands. Okay, what are we going to do with this stuff? Samuel asked. Brandon put his hands on his hips as the two stood there in Brandon’s living room in deep thought. What about your house? Brandon asked. My mother’s too nosy; she goes through my stuff all the time. Look, your mom never would suspect a thing. She never goes through your stuff, Samuel said. Brandon rubbed his hands through his hair in worry. He had been jumpy since they first thought of this plan. Yeah, I guess, he said. We can keep it at my house, but where? Brandon asked. Does your mom have a jewelry box? Samuel asked. Brandon put his hand to his mouth in amazement. Yes she does, that’s a perfect idea, he said. But what about the rest? he asked. We can stuff it under your living room couch, Samuel said. Brandon leaned his body toward Samuel. Are you crazy! he yelled. Be quiet, your parents are sleeping. You definitely don’t want to wake them with me holding this now do you? Samuel said. Look, let’s just get rid of this stuff. I’m tired of looking at it. Put it where you said, Brandon said. Where’s your mom’s jewelry box? Samuel asked. Damn, it’s in her room, Brandon said. Can you sneak in there and get it without waking your mom and dad? Do I have a choice? Not if you don’t want the world seeing what we’ve just stolen, Samuel said. Alright, let me sneak in there. Put that crap on the floor, I’m tired of seeing you lugging that stuff around, Brandon said. The sooner you get that jewelry box, the sooner we can call this a night, Brandon. Alright, Samuel, I’m going.

Brandon slowly opened the door to his parent’s bedroom. The door creaked a little as he halfway opened it. His mother rolled around in her bed due to the noise but remained asleep. Brandon tippy toed over to his mother’s dresser and grabbed the white, leather box. As he was within arm’s reach of the door he dropped the box. It crashed onto the floor, making a loud rattling noise that awakened his father. What’s going on over there, son, Brandon’s father asked. Brandon said nothing, he just grabbed the spilled out contents and stuffed them back in the box and walked out of his parent’s bedroom. He knew his father well enough to know that when he was awakened from a deep sleep, he would go immediately right back to sleep.

Alright, here’s the box, Brandon said as he made his way back into the living room. Alright, let’s start shoving this stuff in here, Samuel said. Wait a minute Samuel. Don’t you think my mom is going to get a little suspicious when she opens up her jewelry box and sees all this new jewelry in it? Do you have a better solution? Samuel asked. God, it was your decision to do this and now here I am holding the bag so to speak, Brandon said. Look, Brandon, it’s all going to work out, trust me. Brandon just gave him a suspicious look, not trusting this whole plan from the outset.

I should have known better, Brandon recalled. Samuel was the neighborhood trouble maker. We had tones of kids my age that lived in my neighborhood, and they all knew Samuel was always up to no good. I guess my urge to be the bad boy was stronger than my good judgment. Of course with my bad luck that followed me around my whole life, I was bound to get caught. It was just a matter of time. Some people are naturals at living mischievous lives, me, I wasn’t a natural. Sure, I was good at downplaying the situation, but being crooked didn’t come naturally to me.

Here, let’s shove the rest of this under your couch, Samuel said as he began shoving the remainder of the contents of the bag under Brandon’s couch. I still don’t see why you can’t take some of this to your house, at least a little, Brandon said. I told you, Brandon, my mom is a nosy bitch. Trust me on this. By the time they finished disposing of all their stolen goods it was by now five a.m. and it was starting to get daylight outside.

I better go, Samuel said. What are we going to do with all this stuff? Brandon asked. We’re going to sell it, Brandon. Sell it to who idiot? Our friends in the neighborhood, or the people at school, all of whom know my parents. Oh yeah, I forgot, Samuel said. You’re Mr. Popular. Everyone will trace it back to you, Samuel said. Exactly, Brandon said. Don’t worry, I’ll do the selling. You just sit back and collect the dough, Samuel said. Now that’s what I’m talking about, Brandon said. Alright, man, let’s just stay low for a while. The cops will be buzzing around for the next couple of days, so just chill, Samuel said. Don’t worry, I have baseball games coming up all this next week, I’ll be busy, Brandon said. Brandon was the neighborhood athlete, Samuel was anything but. Maybe that’s why Samuel was the ringleader in this little crooked affair. He just simply had too much time on his hands.

You’re going to be at our little band practice next weekend right, Samuel asked. The two were in a band of four practicing for the middle school talent show. They had real instruments, but they were faking it, they really didn’t play them, nor did they know how. Yeah I’ll be there, Brandon said. Samuel patted Brandon on the shoulder. We need our drummer, he said, referring to the fact that Brandon was the drummer in the band. Don’t worry, I’ll be there, Brandon said as he opened his front door to let Samuel out. What a long night, Brandon said to himself.

As Brandon shut the door, Brandy, his little jet black toy poodle, came up to him and began licking his leg. The dog had been with the family for seven years, and Brandon had grown fond of it. Those two were attached at the hip when Brandon would find himself at home. Brandy made it a point to sleep with Brandon, the middle child of Mr. and Mrs. Hanson, every night in Brandon’s bed. When Brandon would come home from school every afternoon, Brandy would always run to the door fifteen minutes ahead of the bus stop delivery which was at the end of Brandon’s driveway, and wait for him at the screen door which was connected to the two car garage. Brandon was used to Brandy sitting at the door as he approached the garage immediately after getting off the bus, with Brandy’s tag wailing out of control. Come on Brandy, let’s go to bed, it’s been a long night, Brandon told his little buddy as the night turned into the early morning.

What are you doing up and why are you still dressed? Brandon’s mother asked him as she came down the hallway in her robe, yawing and puffy eyed from the previous night’s sleep. Oh, I was just out with a friend that’s all, Brandon responded. Kind of late to be out don’t you think? his mother asked. Brandon’s parents were not strict at all on Brandon. They gave him the freedom to do whatever he wanted while he was under their roof. They kept no tabs on who he hung out with. It was a blind trust of sorts by his parents. The loose parental control definitely led to his scantily behavior, as well as his choice of positive role model friends. Much of this treatment could be due in large part to his traumatic life and death experience when he was three-years-old.

Scalpel, the surgeon said. Check, the nurse responded as she handed the scalpel to the surgeon who was standing beside by the three year old Brandon who was lying on the operating table unconscious. It was his second surgery in just a matter of days. Brandon was diagnosed as having Hirschsprung’s disease, and a severe case of it at that. Hirschsprung’s disease is an illness where the colon is inflamed and the large intestines are infected, making bowel movements nonexistent.

He wouldn’t go to the bathroom for five or six, sometimes seven days at a time, Brandon’s mother recalled. And when he did, I would have to scoop it out of his bottom with my Vaseline hands. When that didn’t work, I would have to rush him over to the doctor’s office where the nurse would have to dig in deeper to get it out. I knew, with his dangerous, irregular bowel movements that something was terribly wrong. It didn’t take our family doctor long to recommend to me a surgeon.

He’s flat lined! the surgeon yelled out in the middle of Brandon’s second surgery as the nurses all scrambled to get the defibulator in place. Brandon, at three-years-old, lay on that operating table, seemingly dead. One, two, the surgeon said as the electricity pulsated through Brandon’s chest. Finally, after a few seconds, there was a heartbeat. Alright, enough for today, let’s get his intestines closed up and call it a day. I don’t want to risk losing him again, the surgeon said. The surgeons name was Dr. Jorgans. He was a specialized pediatric surgeon.

I recalled the vision I had whenever I died, Brandon recalled. There was a bright light followed by an old man talking to me. The problem with that was I couldn’t understand what he was saying to me. I can also remember laying in intensive care and waking up and looking at my mom rocking in her rocking chair through the many tubes that covered my face, and the plastic that acted as a wall around my bed. I can also remember lying in my hospital bed, reading the Bible upside down, the nurses really got a kick out of that, and Dr. Jorgens coming in and telling my mother that another surgery was needed. I would always say to her each time I heard that, ‘another surgery Mom.’ I can also remember Dr. Jorgens coming into my room to check on my stomach, and the minute he would open my robe I would pee on him. I had seven surgeries in all. Why did I have so many surgeries? I later found out that Dr. Jorgens wouldn’t wash his hands before operating on me. I guess he thought I was a lost cause. No need in taking extra precautions when you thought your patient wouldn’t make it. I was bitter at my Mom for not suing the hospital, but I later replaced that bitterness with sympathy when I realized that she was going through so much grief that the thought of suing never entered her mind. I was lucky to be alive. Not until I had a colonoscopy later on in life did I realize just how extensive and how much work had gone into rearranging my intestines. The doctor who performed the colonoscopy told me he had never before seen such a colon area. I would later realize growing up just how different I was, and it was always a painful wakeup call.

Nurse! Nurse! Brandon’s mother yelled with all her might into the hallway at the nurse’s station. One of the nurses came rushing in. What is it Mrs. Hanson? the nurse asked. Brandon’s mother had her hand on Brandon’s forehead. My son, he’s burning up! Mrs. Hanson frantically yelled out. The nurse quickly went over and took Brandon’s temperature. It’s 107! the nurse yelled out. Emergency nurses to room 310, stat, the nurse spoke up over the speaker situated over Brandon’s bed. Mrs. Hanson had her hands to her head. Hurry! Hurry! she screamed. The nurses, all six of them, rushed into Brandon’s room with a gurney. They placed Brandon on the gurney, with his little body beet red and sweating from the high fever. Where are you taking him! the panicky Mrs. Hanson yelled out. A tub full of ice water! one of the nurses yelled out. They rushed Brandon out of the room about as quickly as Mrs. Hanson called out to the nurse just moments ago. The nurses knew they didn’t have much time. With each passing second at that temperature, Brandon could easily suffer brain damage. His mother could only sit on Brandon’s hospital bed and pray while rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face. The nurses got Brandon in a tub of ice water quickly and quelled the life threatening body temperature. It was just another close call in a long line of life threatening moments for Brandon during his hospital stay.

Three months after Brandon entered the hospital; the nurse approached him in his hospital room one day with some much needed good news. Brandon, guess what? the nurse asked the three year old Brandon. What? Brandon asked. You get to eat solid food today. How does that sound? the nurse asked him. Brandon’s mother could only smile as she spoke up. What would you like, Dear? she asked. It was like a dream come true for Brandon. Finally, some real food, he thought to himself as he lay there in his hospital bed following his seventh surgery. Munchos, that’s what I want, Munchos, Brandon told the nurse. Munchos were a salty, bagged, potato crispy chip, and it’s the first thing that crossed Brandon’s mind when he was asked what he would like to eat. The nurse returned with the potato chip bag in hand. Brandon’s mother opened the bag for him and handed it to him. When Brandon placed one of the chips in his mouth it seemed to melt in his mouth it was so savory to his taste buds. He was downing the chips, one right after the other, hardly saving time to take a breath in between bites. Honey, slow down, don’t eat them so fast, his mother warned. Before the surgeries, Brandon’s mother had always been protective of him, after the surgeries only made the innate protectiveness of his mother reach a heightened state. Mom, this is way better than jello, Brandon spoke out with his mouth stuffed full. I know, Dear, but take it slow, his mother said. Brandon didn’t listen. His taste buds wouldn’t allow it. Within just a matter of seconds, the bag was emptied and Brandon’s mouth was full of the salty aftertaste.

So, you’re not going to pee on me this time now are you Brandon? Dr. Jorgens asked with a smile as he made his way into the room as the light was on and the nighttime darkness filled the one giant window that was in the room. The little Brandon could only laugh at that remark by the doctor. His mother laughed right along with him. About the time Dr. Jorgens was checking out Brandon’s stomach, Brandon’s father walked into the room. His father paid a regular nightly visit to Brandon, all dressed up in his work uniform. Brandon’s father was a truck driver for the only trucking outfit in Pitt County, North Carolina. The Hanson family lived in the city of Greeneville, North Carolina. Brandon’s father always had a smile on his face when he arrived to see his son. It didn’t matter what kind of condition Brandon was in at the time, or how grave of a situation it was upon his arrival, Mr. Hanson wanted his son to see him with a smile. Mr. Hanson thought it would only help to alleviate some of his young son’s stress. Had Brandon been much older than three, with all the stress of hearing that he would have to face one surgery after another, and with him being as sick as he was, the stress level on Brandon would have been much worse.

As the nurses were dressing Brandon one final time, getting him ready for his leave at the hospital, Mrs. Hanson grabbed a hold of her husband and dragged him over to the far corner of the room, opposite of where Brandon’s bed was located. She had a stressful, strenuous look on her face as she stared at her husband. How are we going to pay for this, Charles? she asked. What do you mean, Louise? Mr. Hanson asked. All of this long hospital stay our son has just undergone, how are we supposed to afford it? Mrs. Hanson again asked. Louise, our son has just gone through hell here and you’re worrying about money. Well, someone has to, Charles; because I sure as hell know you’re not going to. Louise, relax, let’s enjoy getting our healthy son home sound and in one piece before we start going and worrying about money, alright. Did you know your insurance ran out two months ago? Mrs. Hanson said. Mr. Hanson placed his hand to his mouth after hearing that news. How much do we owe? he asked. Fifteen thousand dollars, Mrs. Hanson responded. Mr. Hanson moved his hand from his mouth to his forehead. Oh my goodness, he said. Now you see why I’m worrying about money. But your right, Charles, our son is well and that’s all that matters at this point.

Now, you might think that fifteen thousand dollars isn’t that much considering that my son was in the hospital for three months and had undergone seven surgeries, Mrs. Hanson recalled. But this was 1957 mind you, and that was a lot of money, even in today’s standards. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no price tag that could be placed on my son’s health, but I knew we were going to be in for a rough ride, with us not having the money and all. My son was healthy however, and that’s all that mattered.

As a result of my hospital stay, Brandon recalled, I lost all memory of how to walk. I had to start from scratch. For the first six months after returning from the hospital, I crawled. My brother, Terrance, who was two years older than me, took it upon himself to teach me how to walk again. He would gently pick me up, hold me by the arms, and walk behind me. For a five year old, he was very patient in doing this little ritual with me. He did this until I learned how to walk again. The caring love of an older brother, even at only five years of age, came shining through.

For the next year and a half, upon leaving the hospital, Brandon had to live side by side with a plastic buddy. And that buddy was called a colostomy. A colostomy was simply a mechanism, a bag that gathered all the waste from Brandon’s body. It was used long enough to give Brandon’s bowels time to heal. On a regular basis, Brandon’s mother changed it twice a day, every day during that year and a half. She was diligent about it too, never missing a beat during the entire colostomy wearing ordeal. Brandon’s mother was the glue that kept the family together, and she proved it from the time Brandon got sick, as well as the taking care of him after he got home from the hospital. She was a rock in taking care of Brandon, almost making it look like she missed her calling and should have been a nurse instead. Her real job was that of being a secretary for the local plumbing company there in Greeneville. But during Brandon’s illness and recovery, she focused on nothing more than taking care of Brandon, that was her job and she did it to the utmost perfection.

It had been a month now since Brandon had returned from the hospital. One afternoon, after Brandon’s mother had dressed Brandon’s colostomy for that day, she headed to the mailbox. She dreaded that short trip from the garage, up the driveway, to the mailbox. She knew what would eventually be awaiting her in the tiny box at the end of her drive. She knew a bill from the hospital could arrive at any time, any day now, and it was like a load of bricks that was weighing down on her back. Her heart began to beat fast, as it did every time she made her way to that box every afternoon since they brought Brandon home from the hospital. As she finally made her way to the mailbox, she took a deep breath, grabbed a hold of the handle to the box, closed her eyes and opened the box. With her eyes still closed, she grabbed the stack of envelopes from within the mailbox and shut the flap back. As she was walking back down the driveway, with the stack of envelopes clutched tightly in her hand, she slowly opened one eye and began flipping through the stack of bills. Her heart stopped as she came to the envelope that said Greeneville Memorial Hospital. What she had dreaded for a month now was staring at her like an ominous villain. She stopped in mid-stride right in the middle of the driveway, opened both eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her body posture said it all. It looked like she had gotten the wind knocked out of her. Her husband didn’t take the heavy load of that envelope she was staring at seriously. She felt like she was on her own when it came to figuring out how to pay for it, an almost seemingly impossible task. That fact only worsened her depression as she was anticipating opening the envelope. She couldn’t wait to get back into the house to open it. Well, might as well get this over with, she said to herself. She opened it right out there on the drive, with the summer sun beating down on her. The only thing she cared about staring at at that moment was the bottom line of the bill. When she opened it and finally began staring at the bill, she thought her heart was going to stop. When she glanced down at the bottom of the bill, what she saw almost caused her to faint right there on the spot. The bottom figure read $0.00. She closed her eyes and opened them again real wide; trying to focus again on the figure to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. She held the bill up close to her eyes this time, the figure she had looked at seconds before hadn’t changed. She owed nothing. Like a flower bursting forth to bloom, Mrs. Hanson broke out into a little dance, right there on her drive. She didn’t care about any of her neighbors seeing her; she was too elated to care.

It hit her right then as she was getting carried away in her dancing. This could be a mistake, she thought to herself. As much as I’m going to hate to call the hospital, I must do it, she thought to herself. This could in fact be too good to be true," she said to herself as she stood in the driveway. Mrs. Hanson would often talk to herself. She would always tell Brandon, referring to her talking to herself that you needed someone intelligent to talk to. Brandon always thought that was the craftiest thing he had ever heard growing up. And it stuck with him throughout his life.

Mrs. Hanson, with hesitancy having a foothold on her body, picked up the phone to call the hospital after her little dance in her driveway. She was going from one emotional extreme to another. First, she was elated, now she was nervous and terrified. She feared that this weight that had been instantaneously lifted from her shoulders just seconds ago would be put back on her after this phone call. Greeneville Memorial Hospital, may I help you? the hospital operator asked Mrs. Hanson who was breathing heavily on the other line. Mrs. Hanson was so nervous that her breathing had tightened as she began to speak. Yes, ma’am, I have a question about a bill I received today and I was hoping you could help me with it. Sure, I would be glad to help. What’s the number on the bill? the operator asked. Mrs. Hanson was so nervous she was struggling to find the bill number on the statement. Where is it, ma’am, I can’t find it? Mrs. Hanson asked. It’s on the top left corner, right under your name and address, the operator told her. Mrs. Hanson was gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. Yes, I see it, she said. Can you give it to me? the operator asked. Yes, it’s 634561, Mrs. Hanson said. Give me one moment, ma’am, to pull that up, the operator said. Come on, come on, please be right, Mrs. Hanson was whispering to herself in hopeful desperation as she waited for the operator to pull up her bill. Mrs. Hanson felt alone as she waited on the other end of the line. She was taking care of Brandon alone, without the help of her husband, and she knew she wouldn’t get any help from him in regards to this bill. Mr. Hanson acted like that bill was nonexistent, that only put more added pressure on Mrs. Hanson’s already waited down shoulders.

Yes, ma’am, I have the bill right here in front of me. What’s your question? the operator finally spoke up on the other end. To Mrs. Hanson the wait seemed unbearable. She was beginning to get a headache from all the stress the moment was putting on her. What’s wrong, Mom, Brandon asked as he crawled by his mother standing there at the kitchen counter, noticing the obvious strain on his mother’s face. Mrs. Hanson was so focused on the conversation at hand that she failed to notice Brandon speaking to her. Ma’am, the bill says that I owe nothing. Is that correct? Mrs. Hanson asked. She held her breath for the answer. Brandon tugged on her skirt, trying to get his mother’s attention. What is it, Dear? Are you feeling alright? Mrs. Hanson asked. What’s wrong? the little three year old Brandon asked. Nothing’s wrong, Dear, now let mommy talk on the phone for just a second, okay. I’ll be off the phone real quick, Mrs. Hanson told Brandon. Brandon had always been attached to his mother, something that wouldn’t change as he got older, but after his stint in the hospital, the attachment only grew stronger.

Mrs. Hanson, are you there? the operator asked. Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry, I was just talking to my son. You’re bill is correct. You owe nothing, the operator said. Thank you, ma’am, Mrs. Hanson said as she hung up the phone. She was so excited she didn’t know what to do. The first thing that came to mind was to enjoy this moment with her son. After getting off the phone, she immediately reached down and gently picked up the feeble little son of hers. Mommy is happy, Baby, mommy is happy, she told Brandon as she lifted him up in the air. She was turning around and around, laughing the entire time while holding Brandon up. Brandon laughed right along with her. He was happy because he could see that his mother was happy, that’s all he cared about at that moment. For Mrs. Hanson, she felt like she was on top of the world. She was staring at her healthy baby boy, and the burden of possible financial ruin had suddenly disappeared. Things couldn’t be better for her.

As she put Brandon down, she suddenly went from being joyous, to becoming serious and inquisitive to herself. Why did they cancel the bill? she asked herself as she stood there leaning against the kitchen counter. Were they afraid that I might sue because of Dr. Jorgens’ negligents in operating on my son? she continued asking herself. At that moment, and something Brandon never realized growing up, or understood, Mrs. Hanson was too consumed with making sure her son was in good health to worry about taking legal actions against the hospital. That wasn’t her goal, or something she deemed as important at that moment in time. Her only focus was making sure she did everything in her power to see to it that Brandon would remain healthy. Thoughts of suing the hospital took a back seat to her son’s welfare. So it became a distant memory, and something she would not look back and regret.

CHAPTER 2

In His Own World

I remember the first time I used the bathroom since my surgeries. I was four and a half and I was now colostomy free, and it was time to do it for real. I was excited, nervous, and terrified, all at the same time, Brandon recalled. Those emotions were all churning inside me as I paced back and forth through the hallway next to the main bathroom which was to the side of the hallway. I was excited because I would get to use the bathroom just like everyone else. I was nervous because I didn’t know how smoothly it would go. And I was terrified because there was a very real possibility that it could be very painful. As I thought about the fact that when I indeed got started doing my business, there would be no turning back, pain or no pain, I would have to go through with it. That thought kept building up inside me as the time had approached. It only made me that much more nervous and terrified as I walked into the bathroom and stared at the toilet. In my eyes, that toilet I was staring at seemed like the finish line to a long race, something I had to conquer and overcome. Although it was made out of china, and it didn’t talk back, at age four that toilet seemed to be growling back at me like a monster. My body however wasn’t about to wait for my brain to be comfortable with the situation. I had to go, and I had to do it at that moment. It already started hurting a little in my colon area, even before I got on the menacing seat. There was no turning back now as I hesitantly got on the seat. I wasn’t quite sure what to do actually once I got on the seat, the last time I had done it this way was in my diaper, and I was too young to remember what it felt like.

Suddenly, the feeling came to me as if someone was poking needles up my rear end. I was halfway to my goal sitting there, but the pain was excruciating. My colon, or in my case, my large intestine end was on fire. At four years old, I couldn’t handle that pain, especially with it being my first time. The first thought that popped into my little brain once the pain hit me was to jump up and start running through the house screaming, and that’s exactly what I did. With crap halfway sticking out of my bottom, there I was running up and down the hallway. I can remember my mom was in the living room at the time folding clothes. The pain was so unbearable that I didn’t stop to chit chat with her, or to tell her how bad it hurt. I just kept running through the hallway and into the living room and back down the hallway, screaming at the top of my lungs. My body wasn’t going to wait for me to quit screaming, or to get used to the pain. I hurried back onto the toilet and finished with tears streaming down my face. I felt like I had given birth, but at that age it felt like a sword had just came out of my body. I was happy after it was all said and done, and after the pain had subsided. I was thrilled that I had just used the bathroom like a normal kid, without that looming bag hanging over my shoulder like some burdensome weight, or better yet, a bag that was attached to my side as a disgusting reminder of just how sick I was. I felt more free and alive than I ever had in my short brief life. Other than my scars, which covered my entire stomach, I was just like everyone else. And more importantly on that day, I used the bathroom just like everyone else. I screamed and I was in agony during the process, but I had something to show for it, and that something was being flushed down the toilet by my mom. I wanted to mount it up like a trophy and stick it up on my wall. Of course that was a childish way of looking at the whole scenario, not to mention disgusting, but hey, I was only four at the time, it seemed logical to me at that point to do something like that. I took a deep breath as I walked out of the bathroom with my mom. I was only four, but at that moment I felt as if I were nine or ten years old. For the first time in a year and a half, I didn’t feel sick. And better yet, I felt free and unfettered by anything that reminded me of my illness. That was until I went to see Dr. Jorgens later on that week.

Okay, Brandon, you’re going to feel some pressure when I do this, alright, Dr. Jorgens said as he put on a plastic glove that reached halfway up his arm.

When he stuck his hand up my rear end I felt as if my bowels were going to give way, Brandon recalled. "In fact, it felt like they already had. I just gritted my teeth as he probed up in me. My eyes were tearing up, but the pain I was feeling thanks to that damn mean doctor was so great that the tears failed to fall. I was old enough to know why he was doing it, but I was too young to still understand why it hurt so badly. I can remember giving him a dirty look after each time he did that. I was mad at my mom as well for allowing him to do that to me. She was always right there though, holding my hand during the entire process. Looking back, I can see that my mom was very dedicated in making sure that I was okay, no matter what the situation was, she always made it a point to make sure I was healthy and as comfortable as I could be, regardless of the circumstance.

Every time I would pay a visit to the doctor for my regular probing I would make it a point to bring my toy matchbox car play city. It was a toy erecter set that was the replica of a city. It had streets and bridges and buildings. I would set it up right there in the waiting room and play, along with my many matchbox cars that went along with the erector set. Dr. Jorgens would make it a point to give me a matchbox car after each visit. I guess it was to appease the pain I had just endured from him. Although the man made mistakes during my surgeries, and I still haven’t forgiven him for that, he was a caring pediatric doctor, and him giving me those matchbox cars revealed that truth."

It was the morning of my first day at school. I would be attending kindergarten. I don’t know if it was because I was so sick as a little child, which resulted in me being so strongly attached to my mom, that made me rebel so strongly in attending school. I bucked the idea like a bull bucking a rider off its back. That morning my mom chased me all over the house, with comb in hand, trying to comb my hair. I had really curly hair as a child, so when it was not brushed, it was sticking out in all kinds of directions. And that’s the way it looked as I approached the school parking lot for my first day. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t cry all that bad when my mom dropped me off for school. She walked into Mrs. Wilbaum’s class with me. I thought it was to make sure I was alright, but I later found out that that was only partly the reason.

Hi, Mrs. Wilbaum, how are you? Hi, Mrs. Hanson, how are you? I’m fine thanks. Listen, can we talk outside for a minute? Mrs. Hanson asked the kindergarten teacher just minutes before class was to commence on that first day. The two walked out into the hallway. Yes, Mrs. Hanson, what is it? You look deeply concerned about something, Mrs. Wilbaum said. It’s Brandon. He had an illness a couple of years ago. He had many surgeries as a result. The problem is that he can’t sometimes control his bowels when he has a movement. I have some diapers here, Mrs. Hanson said as she stretched her arm out to Mrs. Wilbaum with several diapers in hand. I need you to take these in case he has an emergency, she continued. But, Mrs. Hanson, I don’t change diapers while teaching. Please, Mrs. Wilbaum, please, for my son’s sake, take them. It will be just a temporary fix. When he has one of his accidents call me immediately and I will come down and clean him up. Mrs. Hanson said. She grabbed a hold of Mrs. Wilbaum’s hand. If you don’t take these diapers you will have a mess on your floor. The kids will poke fun at him, please, take them, Mrs. Hanson said. You do have a point, Mrs. Hanson. I told my son that the minute he has an accident to get you immediately, Mrs. Hanson said. I tell you what, Mrs. Hanson, when he does have an accident I’ll take him to the bathroom right away and call you, okay, Mrs. Wilbaum said as she reached out with her hand and took the diapers from Mrs. Hanson. Thank you, Mrs. Wilbaum. Sure thing, Mrs. Hanson.

I was so scared for my son when I had to let him go that first day for school and having him around other students, Mrs. Hanson recalled. It would be his first real interaction with other kids his age. Because of his illness I was unable to develop any friends for him prior to him going to school. I was so afraid that the other kids would poke fun at him because of his lack at sometimes being unable to control his bowels. But I had to let him go. For years I was his only contact, his only interaction. And because he was so sick as a little child, he was unable to have any friends. As a result, I knew this would only make it harder on him to socialize and make friends.

Oh, was my mom right about the kids poking fun at me, Brandon recalled. I would have to endure being made fun of by my peers for two long torturing years. Not until I was in second grade was I able to control my bowels. Kids can be mean, regardless of whether or not they understand that it’s something you can’t control, they don’t care. If you stink, they’re going to humiliate you, and that’s exactly what they did.

’You smell like crap,’ one of the, who I thought was cute at the time, kindergarten girls pointed out one day, a day that I was unable to keep it in my body," Brandon recalled.

Hey, Harry, this boy smells like dog poop, the girl said, pointing her friend Harry in the side during Kindergarten class one humiliating fall afternoon.

Little did I know at the time, Brandon recalled, but that cute girl would later become my first serious girlfriend. My first two years in school would result in me having the nickname by my peers as ‘crappy pants.’ Looking back, the name could have been a lot worse, but to a five, and eventually a six year old, that name made me suffer something awful. Everywhere I went, to the playground, the lunch cafeteria, and even in the halls before class would start, they would start in by calling me names, names that caused me to remember that I was nothing more than a sick little child, worthless and reeking of shit. I had no self-confidence during those first two years of school. Daily I would have to endure the constant name calling, kids laughing in my face. What those kids didn’t know was that it caused me to be tough, even to the point of being mean, which is exactly what resulted by second grade.

I made a tremendous turn around when I started the second grade. I was able to control my bowels now, and I was determined to be the one who would be picking on kids. I became the second most popular kid in school, something that would be attached to me for the remainder of my school days. Why the big transformation? I had turned into a good looking kid, one of the cutest in my school. And because of the entire name calling during my first two years, I was determined for some pay back. I was also very talented when it came to the sports we played during recess. This made me wanted by every girl in my grade, all except one, the girl who I thought was the prettiest girl in my grade, Jenny Williams, a girl I would pursue for most of my days growing up. What first became an infatuation would later become an attempt to conquest and win her over to boost my own inflated ego. I didn’t pursue her like your thinking, always trying to get her attention, following her around at every corner. No, I didn’t do any of that. In fact, she never even knew I liked her, nor did any of my male peers. I kept it a secret, standing back, distant and aloof, waiting for my opportunity, and seeing first if she liked me. After being made fun of for two years I was eager to make up for lost time, so I went on my first date in second grade. Yes, second grade. Lisa Taylor was her name. She wasn’t the prettiest girl in my grade, but I needed a start up girl before I advanced to the more pretty girls. It’s amazing to think that I thought like that, having that sense of adult rational at only age seven. But like I said, I was making up for lost time. One would probably think why would a seven year old need to be making up for lost time? After all, a seven year old had their whole life ahead of them. But when you’re seven, you don’t think like that. When you’re a child, you’re in the here and now, caught up in the moment. You don’t think about the future. Of course my mom had to tag along, driving us to the restaurant and eating with us. My goal that night was to get my first kiss. That goal wouldn’t be accomplished until some years down the road however.

By third grade thoughts of girls was the farthest thing from my mind. I was part of a gang now. I was the kid in charge of it actually. My elementary school was big enough to where we had two separate classes and two separate teachers for the same grade. The other class had formed a gang as well. We quickly became rivals. The head of the gang in that other class was the most popular guy in our grade, Chad Simmons. So there we were, the two most popular kids in the third grade, heading up two gangs. It was a recipe for confrontation. The two classes had recess at the same time, the only time students from both classes were able to mingle, except for the school cafeteria. This set the stage for a classic gang battle. My gang had been talking trash to the other gang for weeks leading up to the duel by the playground. It was simple, we had it all figured out. There would be one on one fights between the two gangs. The head of the gangs, me and Chad, would fight first, and on down the line, according to rank. My second in command in my gang was Hosé Gonzalez, the third most popular kid in my grade. His mother had migrated from Spain before he was born. His father was a Mexican banker who left him when he was two. Hosé was my best friend, and would remain my best friend for years to come.

The day of the fight was getting nearer and nearer, and the trash talking was heating up between the gangs with each passing day. The day of the fight on the playground turned into sundown at the OK Corral.

You really want to get an ass beaten don’t you punk, Chad told Brandon just moments before their physical altercation. It was a sunny, warm, fall afternoon that day. The other students from both classes knew about the fight weeks in advance and made it a point to stop everything to watch. There was a line of students down both sides of the giant field with them converging at the end forming a horse shoe around Brandon and Chad as the two stood in front of one another, just inches apart. They just stood there for what seemed like hours, glaring at each other eye to eye. They were the same height which made it appear as if it would be an even fight which only got the students even more excited and riled up. Finally, after the staring and trash talking, Brandon and Chad locked arms, scuffling for position and leverage over the other. They both slammed to the ground, Chad now on top of Brandon. Brandon got the