The Free (P.S.) by Willy Vlautin Page A

chin. A teenage boy sat next to her in dirty, ripped jeans. He had on four shirts layered under a ragged black-leather jacket. His hair was greasy and matted and cut crudely, and his hands were covered in scabs and homemade tattoos. His fingernails were black with grease and dirt. He looked ill under the fluorescent lights: pale and tired, and his face was covered in acne.
    Pauline entered the room and introduced herself to the girl and the boy sitting next to her. But the girl didn’t acknowledge her, and the boy wouldn’t look at her directly.
    “Can you hear me, Jo?” Pauline said and moved to the side of the bed. She waved a hand in front of the girl’s face. “Are you able to talk? I’m your swing-shift nurse and I need to check your leg.”
    Pauline looked at the boy. “Has she spoken since she’s been here?”
    “She quit talking a month ago,” he said, still looking at the ground.
    “A month ago?”
    “For the most part.” He hunched over in the chair and began chewing his nails and spitting them on the ground in front of him.
    “What about her parents?”
    “I don’t know about them,” he said.
    “Where’s she living?”
    “We’re all living at a house outside of town.”
    The boy stood up and walked over to the girl. His pants sagged down showing filthy white underwear. Pauline could smell him as he went by. “Jo?” he said and coughed. “Say something. The lady wants to talk to you.” He shook her to get her attention, but the girl just stared at the wall.
    “See, I told you,” he said to Pauline.
    “What’s your name?” she asked.
    “Bob,” he said and sat back down.
    “Does the house you’re staying at have running water, Bob?”
    “No,” he said. “The water’s shut off.”
    “Well, somehow you need to clean up. Your friend is really sick. You smell. Your clothes smell. You should look in the mirror. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave and take a shower and wash your clothes before you come back and visit her. It’s for her safety and really for yours, too.”
    The boy kept his eyes on the ground. He kept chewing on his nails, and then without saying anything more got up and left. Pauline watched him as he walked out and then looked at the girl. “Jo, I have to inspect the bandages. If you don’t want to talk that’s fine. If anything hurts just tap me on the arm, alright?” She waited a moment but the girl kept her eyes trained on the wall, so Pauline pulled back the bed sheet and blanket. She lifted the bandages covering the thighs of the girl’s wire-thin legs.
    “Does he always smell that bad?” Pauline asked.
    “Yes,” the girl whispered faintly. “He won’t take a shower even when there is hot water.”
    “Ha, I knew you could talk,” she said and smiled at the girl. “Your bandages look good. I’ll repack them after dinner, okay?”
    Jo nodded.
    “Have you had them packed before?”
    “No.”
    “How are you feeling otherwise?”
    “I’m tired.”
    “How’s your pain?”
    “It’s alright.”
    “On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how do you feel?”
    “About a three. I just feel like sleeping.”
    “Good, ’cause that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But you also have to eat. They say you’ve haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been here.”
    “I haven’t been here that long.”
    “Is it the food?”
    “It’s not that. I’ll start eating.”
    “Think about what sounds good and tell me. We’ll try to get that, alright? Sometimes you just need to get your appetite started.”
    “Okay,” Jo said.
    Pauline charted on the computer in the corner of the room and left. In the hallway she looked at her watch and walked to room 9.
    “Are you really awake, buster?” she said, looking at Leroy Kervin. His eyes were open, but only half of his pupils were showing. The rest were rolled back in his head. His hair was combed away from the yellowing welt on his forehead. The cut on his lip was healing, and