REVISIT THE PAST

 

By: Kenda

 

 

The Simon and Simon writers inadvertently offered us two time lines regarding Jack Simon’s death. Based on the episode, May The Road Rise Up, we are lead to believe A.J. was approximately four-years-old, and Rick nine-years-old, when their father died.  But in the episode, Revolution Number Nine and a Half, A.J. speaks of being in Little League at the time of his father’s death, meaning he would have been somewhere between eight and twelve-years-old when his dad died.  Therefore, I have made use of both those timelines in various S&S stories I’ve written. 

 

Revisit the Past was written as a result of another fan fiction story, Journey into the Past, by Brenda A.  To the best of my knowledge, Journey into the Past is not archived anywhere on the Internet. If I ever discover that it is, I’ll be happy to provide a link for it.

 

Brenda’s, Journey into the Past, is an excellent story that was set during Rick and A.J.’s adult years, and detailed what events caused Jack Simon’s death.  In 1993, with Brenda’s permission, I worked backwards from her story to further fictionalize the night Jack Simon died. Thank you, Brenda, for allowing me to do this. And thank you, as well, for being the fan fiction writer I aspired to emulate when I started this journey ten years ago. Your masterfully written relationship-dramas were of great inspiration to me.

 

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*The following excerpt is from Brenda A.’s, Journey into the Past. This seven-paragraph excerpt was used by permission in 1992 in the hard-copy zine, Special Kind of Heroes. Later in the story, references to Arthur Cavanaugh, the role he played in Jack Simon’s death, and A.J.’s part in discovering this, are also from Brenda’s story.  

 

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     "Andy! Hang on, son!"

 

     The wagon hit him from behind at the same instant the car reached the curve. The steering wheel wrenched in Jack's hands as the car crashed through the guardrail. The Buick rolled down the hillside, throwing the youngster viciously around inside the car. His head hit the side window, and he felt warm blood running down his face. It was like a roller-coaster ride gone crazy, and seemed to go on forever. The careening car came to a sudden, terrifying stop, and he was again thrown to the floor with shattering force. Remarkably, it landed upright. Andy lay there for a long time, not daring to move. He was surrounded by shards of broken glass, and his baseball uniform was bloodied by dozens of cuts. His head hurt, and he was jammed nearly under the seat, his arm pinned beneath him. When he finally tried to move, he cried out in sudden pain.

 

     "Daddy! Daddy...I'm hurt!" There was no answer to his cries, and his young voice rose in alarm. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy...help me!"

 

     There was nothing but silence from the front seat. Biting his lip against the pain, the youngster managed to pull himself free until he was again crouched on the floor, cradling his broken arm.

 

     "Daddy?"

 

The boy pulled himself up until he could see over the seat; his father was slumped over the steering wheel, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead. Ignoring his own pain, the child clambered over the seat until he was next to his father.

 

"Daddy? Are you okay?" He reached out tentatively and gently shook his father's shoulder, as he often did to wake him from a nap. At his touch, his father began to slowly slump sideways, toward Andy. The youngster was too small to stop him, and he was forced to the floor as the heavy adult form fell to the seat. Jack's ashen face, with his unseeing eyes, stared directly into the frightened blue eyes of his son.

 

     "Daddy?" His voice quivered. "Daddy, please talk to me."  He was shaking his father harder now. "Daddy, don't leave me here alone! Please wake up!" There was no response, and after a few moments he stopped, slowly pulling his hand away.

 

     "Daddy?" He stared in horror at the lifeless form for a full minute until realization hit him, and his terrified screams filled the quiet California twilight.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

     How long he sat on the floor of the car screaming "Daddy! Daddy!" over and over, A.J. didn't know.  He just knew it was now dark outside, and that his throat was raw, his head hurt, and so did his right arm, which he held cradled in his lap.

 

If A.J. had to guess, he'd say it had been an hour since the accident had first happened, but he didn't know for certain. He was so confused. He couldn't remember anything about the day. He had no idea why he was in the car with his father, where they had been, or where they were going. He realized he had his baseball uniform on, but had no clues as to why. His games were always on Saturdays, but wasn't this Friday? He was sure it was. Mom had just caught Rick smoking behind the garage that afternoon. Or, at least, A.J. thought she had. Every time he tried to sort it all out in his mind, tried to figure out how he had come to be with his father in the car, his head started hurting worse. Hurting to the point it made him want to cry. But he wasn't going to do that. A.J. wasn't certain why he wasn't going to cry; he just knew he couldn't. The hysteria from earlier was also gone, replaced by a determined resolve to act like a man, rather than like a little boy.

 

     That last demand A.J. placed on himself was a pretty hard one for a boy who had just turned ten six days earlier. It was pitch black out now, and A.J. couldn't see a thing. They seemed to be in an isolated canyon or ravine far below the road. When he looked up, A.J. could occasionally see beams of light from passing cars, or faintly hear the roar of a large truck.

 

     Once A.J. had calmed down, he had the presence of mind to try opening both front car doors, but couldn't get them to budge. The windows were jagged shards of glass that he couldn't crawl through without being cut. A.J. knew he should climb over the front seat and try the back doors, he told himself this numerous times. But every time he moved to do just that, his breath would catch in a half sob, and he'd sit back down, disgusted with himself and what he considered his failure in his quest to act like a man.

 

     Anyone else would have easily forgiven the youngster for not being able to get to the back of the car. Getting there meant climbing over his father's lifeless body. For as confused and terror-filled as he was, A.J. had no doubt his daddy was dead. When it was still light out, all he had to do was look into his father's open eyes to see that no life remained. Now that it was too dark to see, A.J. still knew his father was dead. The evidence was right under his left hand where it rested on his dad's bare arm. Jack Simon's skin was already growing cold, and A.J. knew his father wasn't breathing. A.J. was a smart boy for just-turned-ten; everyone said that about him. Therefore, he was intelligent enough to know what his father's cold skin and lack of breathing meant.

 

     Once A.J. realized that he couldn't get out of the car, and that his dad was beyond the point of needing help, he stopped trying to find a means of escape. He was scared, there was no doubt about that, and his whole body hurt. A.J. began to wonder how long he might be down here before help arrived. Maybe he'd be down here so long that he'd starve to death. Sometimes he was sure this whole situation was a nightmare, and at those times he'd yell for Rick as loud as he could; sure his big brother would wake him and offer comfort. Then Rick would chuckle at him and say, "You and your goofy dreams. You gotta lay off the chocolate ice cream before ya’ go to bed, kid." But no matter how hard A.J. wished it, that didn't happen. Rick wasn't there to wake him up, or to comfort him. For the first time in his young life, A.J. was truly alone.

 

     Oddly enough, A.J. was scared about a lot of things at the moment, but being in the car with his father's dead body wasn't one of them. He had always felt so safe whenever he was with his dad. Even now, in some absurd way, A.J. felt his father was watching over him and protecting him. Therefore, A.J. felt it was important that he do the same for his beloved daddy. He made a vow that he would not leave Jack Simon's body until help came. A.J. would guard and protect his father in the same way his father had always protected him.

 

     With all these thoughts running through his mind, A.J. finally gave in to his pain, his confusion, his weariness, and his grief. He laid his head on his father's back and tried hard not to cry as he said, “I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I'm sorry."

 

Exactly what was his fault, and what he was sorry for, A.J. couldn't remember. For some reason, he felt like he was to blame for the car accident and his father's death. It was so important to the youngster that his dad knew he was sorry, and that he never meant for any of this to happen.

 

After A.J.’s voice had grown hoarse from repeating his apology more times than he could count, he remained on the floor of the car. He cradled Jack's body with his good arm, while thinking about how much he loved his father, and how much he was going to miss him. The boy wondered how he, and his mom, and Rick, would ever go on without the presence of Jack Simon in their lives. When that thought brought tears to the surface, A.J. swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of uniform jersey, and vowed, “I’m not gonna cry, Daddy. I promise, I’m not gonna cry.”

 

The boy gave a hiccoughed sob and swiped his eyes again, while he sat alone in the dark keeping watch over his father’s body.

 

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     The fire engine inched along Canyon Road, its spotlight sweeping over the drop offs and ravines. The local fire department had received a summons over an hour ago now from a woman who reported that she had heard a child's voice calling for help while she was out walking her dog. Because of the way sound echoed in the ravines, she couldn’t pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Canyon Road curved and wound for over ten miles, so it was quite a stretch to cover.

 

     The firemen were ready to pack it in and go back to the station. The captain, Frank Jonzek, was a stocky, gray-haired man of forty-eight. He turned to the engineer driving the big rig and said, "We're not gonna find anything. That woman was probably just spooked by a coyote howling."

 

The engineer had just said, “You’re probably right, Cap,” when a fireman riding on the back of the truck yelled, “Cap, I think I see something!”

 

In fact, he had seen something. The spotlight he was sweeping over the area had reflected off the chrome of the rear bumper of Jack Simon's car. As the man swept a wider arc across the ravine, Frank saw the vehicle below them, and then spotted the broken guard-rail several yards in front of them.

 

“Pull over here, Hal,” Frank instructed his engineer.

 

When the truck came to a gentle, rolling stop, the four-man crew descended. They grabbed flashlights, crowbars, and the First Aid kit, as they carefully side-stepped their way down the steep hillside.

 

     As they came upon the Buick with its crushed driver's side, shattered windows, and bent and battered frame, the only thought Frank had was, It'll be a miracle if anyone's alive in there.

 

The captain held up his flashlight and peered into the shattered passenger window. Because of his previous thought, he was shocked to see two blue eyes staring back at him.

 

"Huh...guys, there's a little boy in here. He's alive. Somebody run up to the engine, call for an ambulance, and bring down a blanket."

 

“Will do, Cap,” Hal said, as he raced up the hill.

 

     It was after Frank had given those instructions, that his flashlight beam landed on the man that the child was hugging. Years of experience caused Frank to suspect that the man was dead. He called after Hal, "Call for two ambulances!" and saw heard Hal’s, “Okay, Cap!” in return.

 

     Frank and his two remaining crewmembers used crowbars to pry open the passenger-side door. It took them several minutes to get the twisted metal to give way as a result of their efforts. Frank talked to the boy inside the car while they worked.

 

     “Hang on, son.  We’ll have you out in no time.  Stay away from the door. Just stay where you are right there on the floor.”

 

Finally, with one combined heave, the three men got the door open far enough for Frank to worm his way into the car. The first thing he did was to place his fingers at Jack Simon's throat. He wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t detect a pulse. Studying the body with the aid of his flashlight caused Frank to surmise the man had been killed instantly. Judging by the angle of the man’s head, Frank knew his neck had been broken. He thought the victim’s chest might have been crushed against the steering wheel, too, but that was only a guess. There would be specific answers after the body was autopsied.

 

This poor kid. I bet they've been down here at least three hours, if not longer."

 

As saddened as he was by the situation, Frank managed to smile at the boy, who still sitting on the floor of the car while clinging to the man.

 

“Can you tell me where you're hurt, son?"  

 

For a moment, Frank thought the boy wasn't going to answer him.  Finally though, a quiet voice said, "My head hurts, and my arm hurts real bad."

 

     "Okay,” Frank said, as he allowed his flashlight to travel the boy’s body as he searched for signs of further injuries. “Do you hurt anywhere else?" 

 

    A.J. gave a small, negative shake of his head.

 

"All right, then, let's see if we can get you out of here. How about it, buddy?"

 

     As he reached for the child, Frank saw fear flash in his eyes, then saw that fear change to stubborn determination.

 

"No, I can't leave! I won't leave my daddy. I have to stay here until help comes. I have to stay here with him."

 

     Frank was heartsick over the words the child had spoken. He had suspected these two were father and son. Just from viewing the half of the man's face he could see, the resemblance was remarkable. However, he had been hoping they weren't related. He was praying this was the child's neighbor, or baseball coach, anyone but his father. Not that either one of those scenarios would have made this experience any easier for the boy, it was just that Frank himself was a father, and would never want any of his children to have to go through a situation like this.

 

     "Can you tell me your name, son?"

 

     The boy studied him for a moment before answering, giving Frank the impression he was being sized up as to the amount of trust this child was going to place in him. After a lengthy silence, the boy said softly, "It's A.J. A.J. Simon."

 

     "Well, A.J. Simon, I'm Frank Jonzek, and I'm a fireman. My crew and I are here to help you. Now that you know who I am, and what I’m doing here, how about if I get you out of this car so I can take a look at your arm?"

 

"No! I can't leave my daddy. I won't leave him. He needs me!"

 

     Frank was growing increasingly concerned. He needed to examine the boy for injuries. He was sure A.J.'s arm was broken, and by looking at the bump and gash on his forehead, directly above his right eyebrow, he suspected the boy might have a concussion as well. He was also certain A.J. was in shock. There wasn't enough room to offer first aid inside the bent automobile. Aside from those facts, Frank felt it was time for the boy to distance himself a little from his father's body. He hated to force the child to do that. In some ways, Frank wanted nothing more than to be able to leave A.J. with his dad until the child felt he was ready to let go. Unfortunately, Frank knew that just wasn't possible. A.J. needed medical attention, and it was the captain’s job to give it to him.

 

     "You know, A.J., I'm a daddy, too. I have eight kids. Do you believe that? I have a boy just about your age, as a matter of fact. I bet you're about eight, huh?"

 

     A.J. shook his head, then winced at the pain the movement caused him. "No, I'm ten. My birthday was last Sunday."

 

     "Wow, ten. You're older than my Paul, then. He just turned

eight in June. He's a ballplayer, too. What position do you play?"

 

    "I don't know! I don't wanna talk about it! I don't ever wanna talk about baseball again!"

 

     Frank was taken aback by this change in the boy. He had no idea what he had said to upset A.J., but he feared he had just lost what little trust he had managed to gain.

 

     Gently, he tried again. "You know, A.J. I'm only here to help you and your dad like I said earlier. I can't do that though, if you won't get out of the car. There just isn't enough room in here for me to give you the care you need. You've done a good job of staying with your dad, and watching over him. I know you're a brave boy, and I know he's very proud of you. But, help is here now, so I think it would be all right if you got out of the car. We won't go too far. We'll just sit right outside here. How about if we lean you up against the car? That way we'll be close by."

 

     When A.J. didn't answer him, Frank said, "Remember that I told you I'm a daddy, too. If my Paul was hurt in a car accident, I'd want him to let the firemen help him. It would hurt me if I thought he was in pain, and wasn't letting anyone make him feel better. I'd want him to be a brave boy and do what the firemen said, no matter how hard that was for him. No father likes to see his son hurting. Don't you think your dad feels the same way? Don't you think he wants you to let me help you, and make you feel better?"

 

     A.J.’s eyes dropped to the floor of the car. "My daddy doesn't like for me to be hurt or sick. It makes him feel bad. He told me so once."

 

    "See, I told you. That's just the way daddies are. So, given that fact, let me help you out now, okay?"

 

     As Frank reached for the boy, A.J. pulled away again. Only this time rather than protesting about exiting the car, he didn't say a word. He gazed at his father's body a moment with an expression that Frank couldn't quite read. Then A.J. laid his head on his father's back and whispered, "Goodbye, Daddy. I love you."

 

     Tears stung Frank’s eyes, and a lump formed in his throat. He had been wondering ever since he came upon the car if A.J. knew his father was dead. Now, he had no doubt. Frank could tell from the boy's expression and soft words, that he was well aware his father was no longer among the living. Had A.J. known that from the very beginning? Had he been trapped all this time knowing his father was dead? Frank shuttered at those thoughts. He was forty-eight years old, and couldn't begin to imagine how heartbreaking this situation would be for him in regards to his own father, let alone for this to happen to a ten year old.

 

Frank chased his dark thoughts away as backed out of the vehicle sideways, then assisted A.J. in doing the same.

 

“Watch yourself there, kiddo. The metal on this door is sharp.”

 

 Frank wrapped a hand around A.J.’s left arm and guided the boy to the other side of the vehicle.  He had A.J. sit against the front tire on the driver's side. He didn't want the on the passenger side, since he knew that would be where the body would be removed from when the ambulance arrived. The other firemen had waited until Frank had A.J. settled, and then one of them covered the body with a blanket.

 

     Frank threw the blanket over A.J.'s shoulders that Hal had set on top of the First Aid kit. Using the beam from his flashlight to see by, Frank began looking the youngster over.

 

     "What's A.J. stand for, sport? No, no, don't tell me. Let me guess. I bet Abel Jonas."

 

Without cracking a smile, A.J. said, “No.”

 

     "Can you move your fingers for me, A.J, the ones on your right hand? Let's see, how about Alvin Jacob?"

 

     A.J. was able to move two of his fingers, though he winced as he did so. “No, that's not what A.J. stands for."

 

     As Frank continued to lightly probe A.J.'s arm and the gash on his head, he said, "Okay, one more try, and then I give up. Adolph Jasper. I bet that's it."

 

     That got a slight smile out of the blond boy as he told Frank, "No, that's horrible! That's not my name."

 

     "All right, A.J. Simon, you win. What does A.J. stand for?"

 

     It stands for Andrew Jackson...ouch!" A.J. cried, as Frank moved his arm.

      I'm sorry, buddy, I won't do that again. You've got yourself a broken wing here, A.J. I don't think it's too bad, though. They'll be able to fix you up in no time at the hospital." Frank winked. "Andrew Jackson, huh? Just like the president. Pretty impressive."

 

     Both ambulances arrived as Frank was cleaning and bandaging the gash on A.J.'s head. "So, tell me about yourself, Mr. President. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

 

     "I have a brother."

 

     "Older or younger?"

 

     "Older. He's fifteen."

 

     "Oh, practically a grownup. What's his name? No, don't tell me. Let me guess. I bet it's Abraham Lincoln, and you call him A.L. for short."

 

     "No," said A.J., joining in their game once again.

 

     Trying to keep A.J.'s attention away from the stretcher and the men who were now on the other side of the car working to remove Jack Simon's body, Frank continued to tease A.J.

 

"Okay, let's see. I'll bet it's Thomas Jefferson, and you call him T.J."

 

     "No,” A.J. said as he strained to see around the car. “That’s not it.”

 

     "Don't move there, Mr. President. I need you to look at me while I bandage this cut." Frank placed his hands on A.J.’s shoulders and urged him to sit facing forward once again. "Okay, I get one more guess. I know this one is right. George Washington Simon, and you call him G.W., I bet."

 

     "No, you're wrong. His name is Rick. Well, Richard, really, but only when our mom's mad at him."

 

     "Kind of like I’m Francis when my mom is mad at me, huh?” Frank chuckled.  “I'm going to splint your arm now, A.J., so we can move you without causing you pain. It might hurt a little, but I'll do my best to be careful, okay?"

 

     At A.J.'s tentative nod, Frank began immobilizing the arm. "So, tell me about Rick. Is he a good big brother?"

 

     "Yeah, he's the best."

 

     Frank smiled at the boy. "He's the best, huh? What kinds of things does Rick do that have earned him that reputation?"

 

     A.J. shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "I don't know...lots of things. When I was little, he always read me stories before I went to sleep. He taught me how to ride a bike. He plays with me, takes me fishing, and he watches out for me. Stuff like that."

 

     "He watches out for you? I bet he doesn't let anybody pick on you then, does he?"

 

     "Nope. Rick always says, ‘Nobody better mess with Rick Simon's kid brother, unless he wants to mess with Rick Simon.’”

 

     Frank laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. President. Thanks for the warning." As Frank turned to put things back in the First Aid kit, he asked, "So, I suppose your big brother even helps you with your homework, doesn't he?"

 

     "No," came the sincere reply. "Actually, I help him with his."

 

     Frank laughed again. "I'm glad I got to meet you, A.J. Simon. You're an interesting young man."

 

     Frank finished giving A.J. what aid he could, so they could transport the youngster to the hospital. Throughout their   conversation, Frank could tell A.J.'s attention was only half on him and what they were saying. The boy continued to subtly try to see what was occurring on the other side of the car.

 

     Finally, the ambulance attendants came around the back of the car bearing the stretcher that held Jack Simon's body. Frank had no idea what kind of reaction to expect from his young patient, so prepared himself for anything. He was thankful that his men had enough sense to shut off their spotlights, and only use flashlights, as they walked ahead of the stretcher. He was thankful, as well, that they had thought to take the body up from behind the car, and not in front where he and A.J. were sitting.

 

Because of the darkness, one could barely discern that there was a body on the stretcher, which was good. Frank didn't think A.J. needed his father's blanket-covered body paraded past him in some sort of an absurd funeral procession.

 

    A.J. didn't say a word, but instead watched silently as his father was taken up the ravine and put in the back of an ambulance. Only then did he speak.

 

"Where are they taking my daddy?"

 

     "To the hospital, A.J. We'll be taking you there in a minute, as well, son."

 

     "Why are they taking him to the hospital? He’s dead. I know he is. He's in Heaven, now."

 

     Talking past the tightness in his throat, Frank laid a hand on A.J.'s uninjured shoulder. "You're right, A.J. Your father’s in Heaven now. And we know Heaven's a wonderful place, don't we?"

 

     A.J. nodded as Frank said, "Your father’s body will be kept at the hospital for a little while, then it will go to the funeral home until the time for the funeral."

 

     When A.J. didn't say any more, or ask any more questions, Frank kept his peace. Not knowing the family, or their beliefs, meant he didn't want to overstep his bounds.

 

     Within minutes of the first ambulance leaving, Frank was ready to have A.J. transported. It was then that he got a reaction out of the boy. Frank's assumption from earlier that this child didn't give his trust easily proved to be correct. A.J. threw a fit as the ambulance attendants tried to get him on the stretcher. He kicked at the attendants while clinging to Frank.

 

     “Frank, come with me!  Please come with me! Please!”

 

Frank didn't think twice about complying with A.J.’s frantic request. He calmed the boy by promising to ride to the hospital with him. Frank knew how frightened the youngster must be.  First he'd been trapped alone for hours with his dead father, and then strange men appeared in the darkness. Now that he finally trusted one of those men, that man was going to hand him over to other strange men. Frank could barely imagine how alone A.J. must have been feeling at that moment.

 

     Frank waved the ambulance attendants away and gently picked up the boy. "Okay, Mr. President, I'm going to carry you up the hill, and then you and I will ride in style to the hospital in style.  Sirens, and lights, and the whole works. What do you say to that, Andrew Jackson?"

 

     A quiet "All right," was all Frank received as A.J. molded himself to the fireman's broad chest. Looking down at the blond head, Frank's heart ached for the boy who had suffered so much in the past few hours.

 

I hope this boy has a strong, loving, family to go home to. He's sure gonna need one to see him through all this.  He’s surely gonna need one.

 

Chapter Two

 

 

     Doctor Robert Barton had received a call from the hospital that Saturday evening just as he was about to sit down and read a story to his youngest daughter. As soon as he heard that two of his patients were being brought in by ambulance, and who they were, he rushed out the door with a quick goodbye to his wife and three little girls, and headed for County General Hospital. Jack Simon and Bob had been best friends since their freshman year in high school. He had been the Simons’ family doctor since he had gone into practice eleven years earlier, and had delivered Jack's youngest son.

 

     By the time Doctor Barton had arrived at the hospital, the ambulance had already been there and left. He ran into the emergency room, inquiring of the nurses as to the whereabouts of his patients. A nurse, not knowing that the deceased man and Doctor Barton were close friends, told him, "The man, John Simon, was pronounced D.O.A., Doctor. His body's been moved to the morgue. Positive identification is pending until the arrival of the family. The boy is in Trauma Room 2. Doctor Ellingston is in there with him. He’s all ready had skull and arm films taken."

 

     The color drained from Bob Barton's face as he stood rooted in front of the nurses' station, while trying to  absorb what he’d just been told.

 

     "Doctor Barton, are you all right?"

 

     Clearing his throat, Bob said softly, "Yes...uh yes, Nancy, I'm fine." Running a hand through his thatch of thick reddish-blond hair, he asked, "What happened? How did Jack...Mr. Simon...die?"

 

     "It looks like his neck was broken, and possibly his chest was crushed by the steering column. The firemen are pretty sure he was killed instantly. Other than that, I don't know much. They think that the accident occurred between three and four hours ago. The car evidently didn't make a curve on Canyon Road from what I gather. The child was trapped in the vehicle with his father's body for quite some time before someone noticed they were down there."

 

     Oh my Lord, poor A.J.

 

"What's the boy's condition?"

 

     "Seems to be surprisingly good. A fireman carried him in here. He's in the trauma room with Doctor Ellingston and the boy yet. They're fairly certain Andrew's right arm is broken, and he has a deep gash on his forehead. Other than that, there doesn't seem to be anything else wrong with him. They're waiting in there for you."

 

     Bob nodded as he looked toward the room that held his young patient. "Is the family here? Have they been notified?"

 

     "Yes, Mrs. Simon has been notified. She's on her way here in a patrol car now."

 

     "Do me a favor, please. When Mrs. Simon gets here, put her and any family members that come with her in the empty office down the hall. Let her know what you've told me about Andrew. By the way, they call him A.J. Please assure her that he's not seriously injured. Then let me know that she's arrived."

 

     The man heard her, "Yes, Doctor," as he hurried down the corridor. Bob came to the room A.J. was in and leaned against the door before opening it, while trying to compose himself. The doctor pushed the anguish and sorrow he felt over the loss of Jack Simon aside, as he prepared to enter the trauma room and gaze into the face of the boy who looked so much like his old friend.

 

     As long as Bob Barton lived, he didn't think he'd ever forget the look of relief he saw in A.J. Simon's eyes upon entering the examination room that night. A look that seemed to say, "Finally, someone I know."

 

     Bob did his best to smile.  “Well, young Master Simon, I hear you’re paying me a visit this evening.”

 

     The doctor wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get an answer, or a smile, in return.

 

_______________

 

     Doctor Barton had been in with A.J. for close to an hour, and as each minute passed, he grew more concerned about the boy. A.J.'s physical condition wasn't too bad considering all he had been through. A clean break to his right arm that would require a cast that Bob could put on in the emergency room, and a gash to A.J.'s forehead that took ten stitches to close. A.J. had a good size lump surrounding the gash, as well as a mild concussion. The numerous cuts that ran up the youngster's arms, and dotted his chest and back, required no more than a gentle cleaning. What Bob was concerned with, was the fact that A.J. seemed to be shutting himself off emotionally, for lack of a better way to put it. He was answering all Bob's questions willingly, and seemed to be listening to what Bob said to him, yet A.J. wasn't reacting the way Bob thought a ten-year-old would to the trauma A.J. had just experienced. Bob knew how much A.J. loved and worshipped Jack, yet there were no tears, no signs of sorrow, no anything. A.J. hadn't asked for his mother or brother, either. When Doctor Barton asked A.J. questions about the accident, he received a blank look from the boy. The only thing A.J. would say in reference to the accident when Bob questioned him, was in turn to ask Doctor Barton, "It's Friday, isn't it, Doctor Bob?"

 

     To which Doctor Barton would reply, "No, A.J., it's Saturday."

 

     "No, Doctor Bob, it's Friday." This was always said emphatically, giving Bob the impression A.J. needed to convince himself it was Friday for some reason.

 

     This scenario was repeated three times before Bob said, "A.J., son, it's Saturday. See, you have your baseball uniform on. You had a game today, didn't you?"

 

     Bob was certain A.J. had pitched a Little League game that afternoon. For one thing, A.J. was wearing his uniform pants yet, and his jersey was lying beside him on the examination table. For another, Bob had just seen Jack Simon Wednesday night, and Jack had told Bob how anxious he was for Saturday to arrive. Jack had rearranged his busy schedule in order to spend the day with his youngest son, and to attend the first game of A.J.'s that he was able to make it to since the season had started eight weeks earlier.

 

     At Bob's questioning A.J. about his ball game, A.J. once again became upset, as he had earlier with Frank.

 

"No! No! You're wrong. It's Friday! I know it is! I don't wanna talk about baseball, not ever! Don't ever say that to me again!"

 

     Doctor Barton was caught off guard by this reaction. Here he had been worrying about A.J.'s lack of emotional response, and then all of a sudden the youngster is shouting at him over a Little League game. Not to mention the fact that Bob doubted A.J. Simon had ever shouted at an adult in all his ten years.

 

     Bob was also concerned by the fact that, though A.J. had been looking at him when shouting, A.J. didn't seem to be seeing him. The boy's eyes had taken on a vacant cast, as if A.J. had somehow mentally removed himself from the room, while at the same time he was shouting at someone else. But whom? The more thought Bob gave to it as he tended to A.J.'s cuts, the more he concluded, A.J. was yelling at me, yet it seemed as if his anger was directed at himself. But why? Could A.J. be blaming himself for what happened this evening?

 

     As he mulled these thoughts over, Bob patted A.J.'s left knee. "We're ready to put a cast on that arm, A.J. I'll get the things I need, and then you'll be fixed up as good as new. What do you say to that, champ?"

 

     As if the shouting and upset of a few minutes earlier had never happened, A.J. replied calmly, "That's fine, Doctor Bob."

 

     Doctor Barton walked to the supply cabinet to get the items he needed in order to put the cast on A.J.'s arm. He motioned for Frank to follow him. The nurse who was assisting him kept A.J.'s attention focused on her by making small talk. As the doctor removed the medical equipment from a shelf, he quietly asked the fireman, "Did A.J. say anything about the accident when you were at the scene? How it happened? How long they were down there? Anything?"

 

     “No, he didn't say a word about it. And he kept insisting it was Friday with me, too. The more I talked with him in the ambulance about it, and from what I've seen since we arrived here, the more I've come to believe that he doesn't remember anything about today. I mentioned that to the other doctor who was in here before - Ellingston. I thought part of his memory loss might be due to the concussion."

 

     Doctor Barton sighed as he glanced past Frank to A.J.

 

"Well, he does have a good sized lump on his head, but nothing that should cause a memory loss this severe considering the positive results the x-rays showed.”

 

     "I wanted to tell you, too, that A.J. reacted to me almost in the same way he did to you, Doctor, when I said something to him about baseball. All I said was something like, ‘I bet you're a ball player,’ and he got really upset and yelled at me just like he did to you.”

 

     "That's not like A.J. at all - to yell and get upset like that, especially at an adult. And, baseball - well, A.J. lives, eats, and sleeps baseball. He loves it. I don't know what, but something is going on inside that boy that's hurting him a lot more than he's letting on to us."

 

     “But what could it be?”

 

     Bob shook his head as he shut the cabinet door.  “I don’t know. And until A.J.’s ready to tell me, I probably won’t know. Which, by the way, is not something I’m looking forward to sharing with his mother. Poor Cecilia is going to have enough worries as it is.  This will just be one more she doesn’t need.”

 

     Frank silently agreed with the man, knowing that Mrs. Simon was now a young widow with two sons to raise by herself.

 

_______________

 

 

     Twenty minutes later, Doctor Barton was putting the finishing touches on A.J.'s cast.

 

     "Well, buddy, there you go. You're all set. Now you'll have something for all your friends to write their names on."     

 

A.J. gave Bob a slight smile, while nodding his head. The doctor just didn't know what to make of all this. A.J. had continued to sit calmly throughout all of Bob's treatment of his arm, not even crying out when Bob had to set the bone before he put the cast on. He knew that was painful; he could see the pain in A.J.'s eyes. But once again, there were no tears, not a single “Ouch!” nor a reaction of any kind.

 

Bob had just finished casting A.J.’s arm when a nurse had come in to tell him Cecilia and Rick had arrived. The doctor watched A.J. closely after that, and was puzzled because A.J. had no reaction at all to the news that his mom and brother were there. Bob expected him to ask for one of them, or both of them, especially for Rick. In all his years as the Simon's family doctor, Bob couldn't remember a time when Rick wasn't hovering over A.J. like a hen with only one chick whenever Bob was patching A.J. up after some fall, or treating him for his numerous bouts of bronchitis, strep throat, or pneumonia. Usually, where you found one Simon brother, you found the other. Yet A.J. just sat quietly, not asking for anyone or anything.

 

     Bob Barton had very little experience with amnesia and its causes - physical or emotional. Furthermore, he had absolutely no experience with a child suffering from it. He suspected that A.J.'s memory lapse was caused more by emotional trauma than by physical. A.J.'s head injury was, by far, not that serious. Upon questioning the boy further, Bob was fairly certain A.J. had not lost consciousness at any time after the accident occurred. Overall, he just didn't have enough knowledge in this area to make any guesses. Maybe all it would take would be a good night's sleep accompanied by a few days rest, and A.J.'s memory would return. Bob decided not to push any harder with the youngster for the time being. He would discuss it all with Cecilia first, and then the first thing on Monday morning, if A.J.'s memory hadn't improved any, he'd contact a pediatrician friend of his. Perhaps this friend could put Bob in touch with someone more experienced than himself regarding children and their reactions to trauma.

 

     "A.J., how about if you stay here with Mrs. Jenkins while Frank and I go to talk to your mom for a few minutes?" Bob inquired of his young patient.

 

     A.J. looked warily at the nurse who had been working with Bob. When she perceived his hesitation at being left with her, she assured him, "Hey, sport, I don't bite. I've even got a daughter at home about your age."

 

     A.J. looked at Frank. "Can't you stay here, Frank? Please?"

 

     Frank sat on the examining table next to A.J. and put his arm around the boy's shoulders.

 

"Well, Mr. President, I really have to get back to the fire-station, and before I do that, I'd like to meet your mom. I wanna tell her what a brave guy you've been. and how glad I am I got to meet you." Frank rubbed A.J.’s shoulder. "I'll see you again, A.J., I promise. How about if I come by your house in a few days to see how you're feeling?"

 

     "You'll really come to our house just to see me?"

 

    "You bet I will. It's not every day I get to help a president." Frank cupped A.J.'s chin in his a calloused hand and told him solemnly, "Yes, A.J., I'll really come to your house to see you one day next week, I promise."

 

     "Okay." A.J. relaxed a little then, taking comfort in the fact that Frank wasn't going to completely disappear from his life.

 

     "A.J., does your head still hurt?" Doctor Barton asked.

 

     "Some."    

 

     "I bet you haven't had any supper yet, either. Are you hungry?"

 

     A.J. shrugged his good shoulder. "I didn't eat supper, but I'm not really hungry, Doctor Bob."

 

     "Well, how about if I spring for a grape juice and a package of M&M's? Would you eat those for me while I'm talking to your mom?"

 

     "I don't think Mom will want me to eat candy if I haven't eaten supper yet."

 

     Bob smiled. Well, that's the first thing A.J.'s said since I came in here that sounds like him. He’s the only kid I know who would refuse candy by confessing that his mom wouldn't want him to have it because he hasn't eaten supper yet.

 

     "I think it will be all right just this one time. I'll clear it with her, okay? I'm going to give you a couple of aspirin to take while you eat your candy and drink your juice. You can't take them on an empty stomach. They might make you sick if you do. The aspirin will make that headache go away, so you eat for me, all right?"

 

     A.J. nodded. Doctor Barton turned to the nurse, handing her some change from his pockets. "Bev, will you please go to the lounge for me? Bring a juice and M&M's for A.J. Also, would you have someone call up to the pediatric ward for some books. A.J. loves to read. Frank and I will stay here until you get back."

 

     "Sure, Doctor."

 

Nurse Jenkins smiled at A.J.  "I'll be right back, A.J. What kind of books would you like?"

 

     A.J. just shrugged his left shoulder, not answering her.

 

     Doctor Barton made eye contact with Frank, who simply shook his head slightly at the youngster's sudden unresponsiveness. Bob prompted A.J. with, "A.J., you like all kinds of sports, don't you."

 

     Turning to the nurse Doctor Barton said, "A.J. likes boxing."

 

     "Boxing!" Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed. "Do you box, A.J.?"

 

     A.J. finally responded to that. "Yeah, I have a punching bag, and boxing gloves, and everything. I box a lot. I’ve been doin’ it since I was a little kid of about six years old."

 

     The adults smiled slightly at this comment.

 

"Wow, I've never had a patient who was a boxer before. But I'm not sure we have any books on boxing up there. What else do you like?"

 

     “Football, race cars, the Hardy Boys, if you've got one of those. I don't care."

 

     Not thinking, Bob Barton added, "I know I saw a new book on baseball when I was on the pediatric floor the other day. A.J. loves baseball. Bev, maybe someone could bring one of those--"

 

     None of the adults were paying any attention to the growing look of panic and fear on A.J.'s face, as Doctor Barton spoke about baseball. All three focused their attention on him, however, when started pushing Bob away from him.

 

"No! No! I told you, no baseball. I don't wanna talk about baseball!"

 

     Doctor Barton took hold of A.J.’s left arm. "Okay, A.J., okay. I'm sorry, I forgot. Calm down, now. Calm down. No books on baseball, I promise."

 

     A.J. continued to try to push Bob away, and once again the doctor noticed the far off look in the boy's eyes. It was as if A.J. wasn't seeing any of them any more.

 

     As A.J. continued to struggle with Bob and shout at him, the doctor grew more alarmed. He wasn't sure what it all meant, or what was going on inside A.J.'s head. However, he did feel it was important to bring A.J. back from the place of terror to which he had retreated. Bob gripped A.J.'s arm a little tighter.

 

"Listen to me, Andrew. That's enough now! Stop it, please, or you'll hurt yourself. I mean it now, A.J., stop it!"

 

     As abruptly as it all started, A.J.'s struggling ceased. He blinked his eyes a few times, as if orienting himself to his surroundings. Bob thought A.J. seemed dazed, as if he had no idea what had just occurred.

 

     The room was bathed in silence a moment, then the nurse said, "If you three gentlemen will wait here, I'll be right back. I'll go get A.J. something to eat ,and I'll see if we can't find something for him to read. I think we've got a book on football upstairs. I'll call and find out."

 

     Bob smiled his appreciation. "Thanks, Bev. We'll wait here for you."

 

     Bob released A.J.'s arm, and reached up to run his hand lightly through A.J.'s thick, blond hair.

 

"Are you doing okay now, buddy?"

 

     A.J. gazed at the man for a second, and then answered, "Yeah." After a pause he added, "My head really hurts."

 

     "We'll get those aspirin in you in just a minute. Let's see if they help, all right?"

 

     Bob checked A.J.'s pulse and blood pressure again, then pulled out his penlight and looked into the boy's eyes once more. He asked A.J. to follow the movement of his finger as he had done earlier. Everything checked out fine, as it had earlier, so Bob wasn't too concerned. He was fairly certain A.J.'s headache was the result of tension more than from the lump on his head. Doctor Barton asked him again if his stomach hurt, or if he was dizzy or felt nauseous. And once again, the youngster answered negatively. Bob decided he would re-examine A.J. after he talked to Cecilia, then he would make a decision whether to admit A.J. for observation that night. Normally, he probably would have kept him in the hospital until morning, but under the circumstances, he was more inclined to allow A.J. to go home with his family if it proved safe to do so. The child had been through a lot that day. Bob hated the thought of the additional emotional strain it would put on A.J., as well as Cecilia, to keep him in the hospital.

 

     Nurse Jenkins reappeared with her hands full. Doctor Barton rushed over to her side to relieve her of some of her burdens.

 

     "A.J., you're in luck. We actually did have a book on boxing upstairs. I'd really like you to tell me all about it. We can look at the pictures together while you eat. I know nothing about boxing."

 

     A.J. replied, "Okay," as Bob asked, "What's this? Chicken noodle soup?"

 

     "Yes, Doctor, it is. Really, I can't be