I Am Clever

alec_towser


A Fine Line - Between Chaos and Creation

Everybody seems to think I'm lazy; I don't mind, I think they're crazy...


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Chapter Two of the Lovely Story
I Am Clever
alec_towser




When the other three got the news, they rushed to the hospital as soon as they could. Keith kept biting his lip, so much that he finally made it bleed, but he didn't notice. Pete looked as though he didn't know what to do with his hands, and John kept on swallowing very hard.

When they got to Roger's room, Pete saw a doctor standing outside. "H-how is he?" he asked softly, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"He'll live," the doctor replied, fixing John's gaze so that John could lip-read what she was saying. All three of them relaxed visibly, then Keith asked, "What's wrong, then?" sounding as though he might cry at any minute. "We heard he was stabbed in the throat."

"Well, that's the bad news," she replied, looking as though she's rather not say.

"What is it? Just tell us," John prompted, careful not to speak too loudly.

"Mr. Daltrey is now permanently mute. He also took a bad hit to his ribs. Nothing is broken, but he'll probably be sore for a while."

Three pairs of eyes widened as they let that sink in. Roger had been the lead singer for the Who. He had been well-known for his voice, & now it was gone? It didn't seem real.

"May we see him?" Keith asked.

"Of course," the doctor nodded. She opened the door, telling them, "He's still in a coma, but he should come out of it fairly soon."

They went in and the doctor left them, John finding Keith a chair on Roger's right side, then joining Pete, who had wheeled himself to Roger's left. "What does he look like, Pete?" Keith whispered, gripping his cane with a white-knuckled grip. "Tell me."

Pete slowly but vividly described what he saw, until Keith was satisfied. From the pale blue sheets covering Roger, to the bone-white partially bloody bandage around his neck, every detail was given.

Keith listened attentively, stroking the hand that he had found lying on the bed, which had what he could identify as an intravenous tube leading from it. Once Pete had finished, Keith finally broke down and burst into tears, leaning his head on the bed near Roger's still hand.

John got up and crossed over to the other side of the bed, putting his arm around the younger man in a comforting gesture. "Why?" Keith sobbed, turning his huge sightless brown eyes up toward where he thought John's face was so John could see what he was saying. He ended up being a little off to the side, so John had to gently turn Keith's face so he could read his lips. "Why did this have to happen to him?"

John had no reply to that. He couldn't really do much more than he waas at the moment, so he remained silent and simply held Keith as he cried.

* * * * * * *

They hated to leave Roger, but they had to go home later that evening. They came for the next two days, and there was no change. Then the third day came, and they were told that Roger hwas finally waking up. At the sound of that news, they all let out a cheer and hurried up to see him.

* * * * * * *

Roger awoke slowly, his face and side aching and his throat burning. He opened his eyes slowly to find he was in a hospital bed. He blinked drowsily, and shifted slightly. He groaned as that simple movement sent a wave of pain lancing through him. He was still exhausted, so he was about to close his eyes again when it hit him: He hadn't heard anything when he had groaned.

Roger cleared his throat and tried to say something, but no sound came out. All that it served to do was make his throat hurt even more. He tried again, but with similar results. Roger was starting to get worked into a panic, wondering what had happened. He raised his hand gingerly to his throat, and felt something thick and coarse wrapped around it. His hand moved all around, and he noticed that when he touched it, even gently, it hurt the most in the front. He dropped his hand again, and thought. The last thing he remembered was going to the bar with his friend and the gang of punks. He had fought against them, and he had been stabbed in the throat... Roger winced as he remembered the awful feeling he had felt of something ripping, being torn completely through, like scissors through a piece of delicate cloth.

He was really starting to get scared now. But he was also extremely tired. He closed his eyes again, and was just on the brink of falling asleep when he heard the door open. He forced his eyes open, and looked to see who it was. It was John, Pete, and Keith, come to see him. John and Pete smiled when they saw he was awake, and John (as quietly as he could) conveyed the news to Keith, who smiled even more than John and Pete had. "How are you, Rog?" Keith asked, as all three of them came around to the side of his bed. At Roger's gesture, John helped Roger to partially sit up.

My side and throat hurt, and I can't talk. He moved his mouth to say the words, but no sound came out. John had been watching him carefully, and he translated that to Pete and Keith so they knew what Roger was trying to say.

Keith replied, "Yeah. The doctor told us that you'd been hit hard in the ribs and that you'd be sore for a while."

What about my voice? Roger wanted to know.

John repeated that, and Pete looked Roger straight in the eyes. "Well, there's no way to really go around this, so... Rog, I'm afraid you've lost your voice. For good."

Roger's face paled at that remark and he closed his eyes, thinking about the implications of that. Then he opened his eyes again, now with a slightly wild look in them. But I'm a singer! I need my voice! It can't be gone!

"I'm terribly sorry about all of this, Roger, really am. We all are."

How am I going to be able to talk to people now? The only reason I can talk to you is that John can read my lips and tell what I'm trying to say.

"Well, sign language was recommended, if you're willin' to try it when you get out of here."

I will try, but...

"But what, Rog?" Keith leaned in closer.

But... I miss my voice. I wanna be able to talk again! Roger's eyes welled up with tears. He furiously scrubbed at them with his hands, but it didn't help.

"It's okay, Rog, it's gonna be alright," John soothed, putting his hand on Roger's shoulder gently.

Keith whispered something to Pete, who moved his wheelchair a little to the side and carefully guided him closer toward Roger's bed. Once Keith had found the edge, he sat down facing Roger (with help from Pete) and asked Pete to hold his cane. Pete took the cane from Keith, and motioned for John to move back and let Keith do what he had asked to do.

Roger saw John remove his hand from his shoulder, and he tried to contain the tears that so desperately wanted to spill forth. Then Keith sat down by his side, and felt around for Roger. Once he had found him, Keith leaned forward and put his arms around Roger in a warm, brotherly embrace.

Roger returned it, and he was overwhelmed by a mix of feelings all at once. Something snapped inside, and he found that he couldn't hold the tears back any longer. Keith just sat there with his arms around Roger, allowing him to let it all out, knowing that Roger needed this.

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That's good, but I do have a question that I hope you'll address soon.

If Roger can't make any sound, how will he communicate with blind Keith?

No worries, the question will be answered by the next chapter.

This is, indeed, getting pretty interesting darling.

And I promise that I'll do my best to work on my own fic.

Thank you, thank you.

And please do. You write some good stuff.

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