Mark Tufo - The End ....

Justin arched one more time and relaxed, his eyes were closed. Doc Baker hesitantly walked closer to check his vital signs.

"Doctor." The guard said. "Maybe you should step back." It was looking more and more like Justin's transformation was not such a secret.

"Nonsense." The doctor said without much conviction. "Can't you see his chest rising and falling? He's breathing."

I don’t know why these thoughts run through my head, they just do. Maybe it has more to do with the aforementioned acid trips from my college days than I would like to believe. What if the doctor had just created the first hybrid human-zombie? A living zombie? Would he be able to reproduce? Talk about unruly grandchildren.

Justin opened his eyes. "Did it work?" He asked. The flood of carbon dioxide that was released into the room as everyone let go of the breath they were holding was nearly intoxicating, possibly suffocating, no wonder why Vegas used to flood their casinos with oxygen.

"It'll be a few days until we can be sure but this is a great start," Doc Baker said. "I'm going to need some more blood Justin," he added apologetically.

"You sound like Eliza." Justin said jokingly.

"Poor taste son. We'll have to work on your material. Tracy could you wheel me up to him. If I try to do it I'll end up doing donuts."

"That wasn't much better than Justin's attempt at humor." Tracy said.

The doc got his measure of blood and left, giddy as a schoolboy that got to touch his first female breast. The guard also left the room but was in arm's distance of the door in case his services were still required. Tracy and I stayed with Justin a few more hours before my reserves started to give out. It was great to see our kid come more into his own with each passing minute. He looked happy, he smiled, and more importantly those flat black eyes never returned.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 8 -

I don't know what I had done in a former life to deserve this (although I had some guesses). Porkchop and I had become fast friends. Not sure what he saw in me, maybe it was my captive audience to his incessant questioning. I didn't begrudge the kid, like so many others his road up to this point had been extremely difficult. I was to learn that Doc Baker was not his biological father but rather a much needed stepdad. Generally, Porkchop wore me out like no tranquilizer could. Where was he when I used to suffer through bouts of insomnia? This next story had me riveted though. I am going to attempt to translate it as best I can, right from Porkchop's mouth to this journal.

PORKCHOP'S PAGES

"It was an awesome night. I had just made Major General on Halo ODST. I had killed like thirty-two guys and only died twice." (Tommy was here this time. The big kid usually came to see me right after lunch. He also held up two fingers to mimic Porkchop's hand signals but I think it had more to do with licking off some errant jelly.)

“The night it all started, my dad had come home from the bar early. Said he had got into a fight and didn’t feel so good. Which was kind of a bummer ‘cause when he goes out drinking he always comes home late and doesn’t bother me when I’m playing my 360. He just walked into the living room, grunted at me and walked into his bedroom. I was pretty psyched, it was a school night and I’m not even supposed to be watching TV, although mom didn’t care. Dad used to always say it rotted your brain, but what about booze?” Porkchop stopped his narrative and was actually asking, looking at me to answer his question.

I’m not one to rain on another’s libations, I’ve enjoyed the devil’s brew entirely too much to call someone else on it but Porkchop was fairly demanding an answer. “Um well, shit…sorry.”

“Oh its fine my dad used to say motherfucker all the time.”

“Porkchop!” Doc Baker admonished from across the room.

It was funny to see someone so innocent looking use one of the higher echelon cuss words, but I didn’t let on to either Porkchop or the doc.

“Sorry.” Porkchop said without a hint of truth, he was looking right at me with a smile in his eyes.

“No big deal.” I said smiling right back at him.

“So?” Porkchop prompted.

“Right, well it’s like anything Porkchop, if you do it in moderation.”

He was looking at me with the glazed over stare of a lost teenager.

“If you don’t do it too much.”

“Oh.” He answered. I had got him back. “My dad used to go to the bar every night after work and on Saturdays too, sometimes on Sunday but not all the time. He used to like to say that if God could rest on the seventh day so could his liver. What does that mean?”

“Um, I’m really tired Porkchop.” I was shooting for evasiveness. There was no way I was going to start dragging his dad through the mud. I didn’t even know the guy.

“My mom says he was an assaholic.”

I think I ripped a hole in my intestinal wall trying to stifle a laugh.

“That’s enough swearing Porkchop.” Doc said absently as he was prepping what looked like a surgical tray.

“It was getting late and I had finished playing Halo and had moved on to Rockband.”

It took me a moment to realize Porkchop had started his story back up. No matter how funny the kid was I had to remember this was the night he had become an orphan. He had lost a mom who most assuredly loved him more than the air she breathed and the food she ate and a father who might not be the best role model in the world but he was a provider. That was the best I could offer his memory.

“Smashing Pumpkins was on, do you know the song 1979?”

He didn’t stop for my answer. He needed to tell the story and if he stopped he might not get the nerve to start it up again.

“I was halfway through on expert!” He said proudly. “I hadn’t missed more than 3 or 4 notes.”

I knew this was impressive, I had never even graduated to the ‘hard’ level. ‘Medium’ was all the coordination I could muster when I played.

“My dad comes into the room and just walks right in front of the television. I couldn’t see shit.” He added softly looking over in the Doc’s direction. “I wanted to yell at him to get out of the way, but that’s not a good idea, ever.” He stressed. “The crowd on the game starts booing at me 'cause I’m missing so many notes. My dad turns away from the screen, it was then I noticed he had blood all over his face.” A tear streamed down Porkchop’s face. I wanted to take the kid in my arms and hug the bad thoughts right out of him. “So I asked him if he was alright. He looked back at me like he just realized I was there. He…he lifted his arms up and started walking towards me. He was holding a hand. I knew it was my mom’s 'cause of the wedding band.”

That was something that no kid should ever have to see.

“He dropped the hand on the floor. I…I couldn’t do anything Mr. Talbot. I just kept looking at my mom’s hand on the floor. I was wondering why she wasn’t screaming, why wasn’t she coming out of the bedroom to get it. I mean maybe it wasn’t too late to sew it back on. I wanted to get some ice but then my dad stepped on it and I heard her hand bones crack. All I could think, Mr. Talbot, was that my assaholic dad had just ruined my mom’s perfect hand and now it could never be put back on. I got so mad I stood up on the couch and just started swinging my guitar controller. The first swing caught him square on the side of the face. I thought he was going to get so mad but he didn’t say anything, it was almost like he didn’t even know I had done it. So I did it again thinking that maybe that would get his attention. And then I did it again and again. Something snapped I didn’t know if it was my controller or my dad’s head. I was bummed about the controller. I had saved up all my allowance for 5 months to get it.”