Free A Broken Kind of Life by Jamie Mayfield Page A

insides felt like ice as he thought about how scared the boy had looked.
    Seeing someone in pain is not something you ever get used to. At least, I never did.
    Spencer’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Looking away from his father, he checked the display and saw that someone had rung the doorbell. It didn’t seem like twenty minutes, but Spencer hadn’t checked the time when his father had called. He took the money his father held out and went downstairs to pay the delivery man.
    They sat in silence at the dining room table and ate mediocre Chinese food, his father’s attention lost amid soy sauce and fortune cookies.
    When he lay in bed later, he stared at the ceiling and tried to find sleep within its textured surface. His nerves were out of control. In high school, he had spent most of his time dodging bullies who loved to slam him into lockers, trip him in the cafeteria, or spit disgusting projectiles at him. His heart thudded in his chest as he wondered if college could be the same, or his career after college. Would he always have to fight so hard just to be like everyone else?
    The kid’s face came unbidden once again to his mind, and sleep eluded him.
     
     
    T HE sun hurt Spencer’s eyes when they opened through the crust that glued them closed, just a few hours after he’d finally fallen asleep. A dull pain in the base of his neck warned of an impending headache, and he rolled onto his side with a groan. Searching under his pillow for his phone, placed where the vibrations would eventually wake him, he hit the button to see the time. Monday, ten minutes before the alarm was set to go off. He tossed the phone onto the nightstand, rolled onto his stomach, and buried his face in the pillow. The stretch in his back and arms helped to relieve the tension mounting into a headache, but he knew he’d have to take something once he got out of bed.
    His father would still be in bed when he left. It was his first day of college, and his father would miss it to nurse his hangover. The pain crept slowly toward his temples, threatening to block out the sun with its intensity. His stomach lurched with the pain, and he kicked back the blanket. The floor was cold under his feet as he moved quietly into the bathroom. The migraine meds sat in the medicine cabinet as they always did, but he resented having to take them right then. They made him feel slow and sluggish, not the best choice for his first day. Without them, however, the stabbing pain behind his eyes would only get worse.
    His throat closed up around the pill even as the water from the tap washed it down. Shutting his eyes against the throbbing in his head, he wet a washrag and pressed the cool cloth to his forehead. The last thing he needed right then was to be incapacitated by a headache. Crawling back into bed, he decided to wait fifteen minutes, until the meds kicked in, before attempting to shower. Spencer reset his alarm and closed his eyes behind the cool press of fabric. Please, just let it go away.
    The screaming pain had dulled into an incessant throb by the time the alarm went off under his pillow. Tight muscles in his shoulders cramped as he rolled to his side and checked the time on his phone. Spencer needed to be in the shower right then in order to make it to school in time to meet his interpreter. It took all his strength to make it into the bathroom and even more to turn on the shower. Rubbing shampoo into his scalp felt far better than the needle jabbed behind his eye.
    By the time he was dressed, Spencer had just enough time for a quick bowl of cereal in the kitchen before he had to leave. The smell of pancakes and sausage made his mouth water as he came down the stairs. He stared, open-mouthed, as his father stood in the kitchen making breakfast for them both. His father turned, plate in hand, and smiled when he saw Spencer in the doorway. He set the plate on the table.
    I could not send you off to your first day in college without a good