Final Draft of the shortstory entitle 'Ryan' (Title was altered in final submission)

Before anyone commits their time to read this final submission for my first short story competition, there are a few things you should know. First, it would not have come about without the brilliance of my friends. If it were not for them, I would not have come close to what I produced (errors and all). And second, it was the silent cooperation of my entire family which allowed for the last forty-five minutes of frantic editing and self-derogatory comments about how procrastination is the father of my frayed nerves to produce my final submission within the last minute.

Enjoy.

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Title: A Walker for Two



Synopsis: A Doctor of a well-established reputation seems to have everything a career could demand except a family life. But when his only son falls ill to the flu, his priorities shift – perhaps too late.

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"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Grandma Gene began, hitting her hand on the table, "The chicken is already dead."

"You can never tell these days," replied Dr. Leale, "you cook them so raw."

"It wouldn't be so raw...”

If you happened to have known the Leale family, you would have become quite accustomed to this sort of behavior. Dr. Leale was hardly ever home, and when we was, it was to be at his dinner table fighting with Grandma Gene over the quality of her chicken dishes. Mrs. Leale had learned to block-out most of the conversation and pretended the disagreements never occurred. But tonight was different because her son Ryan, whom she usually spoke with during dinner, was in bed and ill.

“Charles,” began Mrs. Leale, “Do you know what Ryan asked for at church today?”

Charles and Grandma Gene were too far off in arguing about who's right it was to do what to hear Mrs. Leale. So she began again, “My day went quite well, thank you for asking,” she continued as though everyone at the table was earnestly paying attention, “We went to church today and your son stood before the congregation to make a special prayer request.”

Before she had approached a lull, she stood up and yelled, “Ryan! Your son!”

Both Grandma Gene and Charles stopped in mid sentence.

“Ryan?” started Charles, “Where is that boy? Tell him dinner is about over.” He smiled, “I would say it's almost cold, but...” he began to trail off as he realized his wife was increasingly disapproving his behaviour.

“Well,” she promptly resumed, “Your son stood before the congregation and asked if God could make an extra long day, as he did for Joshua.”

It was silent, neither Charles nor Grandma Gene seemed to understand the importance.

At this, Mrs. Leale hit her hand on the table, causing all the silverware to respond with a momentary applause, “You promised you would make another walker for him so he could take it down to the orphanage. His prayer request was that God would make more time in the day so you could help him while not missing any work.”

Tears began rolling down her cheeks, “And you know what he talked about all day today?” She took a moment to glance back and forth between Grandma Gene and Charles. “He was talking about how God was going to answer His prayer today and that his papa would make another walker.” She abruptly cleared her dish and went to bed for the night.

The next day would have made you at once shudder and then wonder why you were shuddering. The glances that Grandma Gene and Charles and Mrs. Leale all passed to each other were as penetrating as any dart into the deepest crevices of the soul, but because nothing had since changed, you wondered if this was as normal a greeting as anyone does when passing another on the road.

But the following day Charles had a wonderful idea and told his wife to dress extra spectactular. "Honey! Honey!" shouted Dr. Leale as he came through the front door"We must be on our way!" Mrs. Leale was in the kitchen when he arrived and didn't respond. "Honey -" Dr. Leale stopped, "What's wrong with Ryan?"

"I'm sure - it's not much - his stomach is a bit upset and his hands are a bit cold." said Mrs. Leal as she held Ryan's hand in one of her's and pressed her other against his forhead.

"Well, we best be on our way," I don't want to miss the president.

"President?" replied Mrs. Leale, "Weren't we going to see Our American Cousin?"

"Oh yes, Oh yes. Surely, you can watch the play, I'll be watching the president." Dr. Leale continued as he looked down Ryan's mouth as he briefly examined him, "I've heard the president give wonderful speeches and would like to know his facial expressions when he's watching a play. It is just as well?"

"I'm not sure what has gotten into you - looking at another man when you're with our wife - but let's try to have a nice evening." she clasped his hands, "Please, take off work until tomorrow."

Then a knock came at the door. Mrs. Leale hurried over, "It's Grandma Gene, I told her yesterday to come over, with Ryan sick and all."

When Mrs. Leale barely had the door unlocked, Grandma Gene came bursting in, “Oh! Oh for heaven's sake, look at you too.” Charles had been wearing a suite that was well over the looks of the most handsome doctors in town and Mrs. Leale had put on an evening dress that flowed out, down, and around her with the elegance of the British Aristocracy in which the play they were to see would poke fun. With a few quick hugs, and without giving anything beyond a few courteous goodbye's to Grandma and Ryan, the doctor and his wife were out on the lamp-lit street of Pennsylvania Avenue to Ford Theatre. No one could tell, but Dr. Leale probably understood the far-off muffled yelling of Grandma Gene to mean something along the lines of, "And what is so important that no one notices I'm here?"

Inside Ford Theatre, the seats were a bit disappointing. Dr. Leale had a wonderful view of the President from the ground floor, but it was off to the side where it was much too difficult to see the entire stage.

"Charles... Charles?" asked Mrs. Leale

"Yes honey?" answered Charles as he was looking around the theater with a bit of unconcealed worry. "The president isn't here and the play is about to begin."

"The theater is full, maybe he's late." And with a smile Mrs. Leale really did regret, "Or maybe he isn't coming? A president is a busy man."

Meanwhile, the the actors had been introduced (none of which the doctor knew). Charles sat down with a very ill-attempt at concealing his feelings of what it would mean to waste a night without seeing the president as the play begun. It went swell, and Dr. Charles was enjoying it more so than he imagined. And perhaps, on more than one occasion, he cast a few smiles to his wife as he did when Anne and him first met. But before the play had entered the second act, the orchestra starting playing 'Hail to the Chief'. Everyone turned round and noticed Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln as they entered their box.

If it weren't for the standing ovation, the yelling and shouting, and the orchestra playing, Dr. Leale would've been heard as far as the northern docks of the Potomac,"He made it!" as he grabbed and shook Mrs. Leale, “He's made it!”

A few moments after, the audience fell silent and awaited the play to resume. A loud bang echoed through the theatre, and a man fell to the stage – brandinshing a small knife. He yelled something no one quite understood, and then ran out the back of the stage. Looking back to the Presidential Box, Dr Leale saw people shuffling about and heard screams. He jumped from his seat, pushing a few people to the floor and ran for the presidential suite – forgetting about Mrs. Leale.

When Charles arrived, Mr. Lincoln was slouched over on his wife. Mrs. Lincoln was crying frantically and yelling, "Oh doctor! Do what you can for him, do what you can!" He swept his hand along his back and found no knife wound. But when he cradled Lincoln's head, he felt a smooth hole in the back. A clot had already began to form.

By this time the audience began yelling, "The President is assassinated! The President is assassinated!"

Two other doctors had arrived and they began carrying Lincoln outside. Across the street a man was found yelling to bring him over. It wasn't more than a seven hours later that the president had belonged to the ages.

When he arrived home, he was stopped at the door by Mrs. Leale.

“Where have you been?” before he could explain, she continued, “You left me! You left me! You left me!” By the third time she had began stomping her foot on the ground and waving her fist at him. “Did you even know I was missing?”

Dr. Leale responded, “The President it dead.”

Mrs. Leale took a step back, “There's no time for that!” as she grabbed Charles and pulled him in the house, “While you've been gone Ryan has become worse – vomiting all over. And no one would let me in to speak with you.” They were continuing to the back room where Grandma Gene was found sitting next to Ryan, “He can't hold anything down, and I don't know what to do.”

When Charles approached him, his little body was laying in his bed - so limp, so weak.

"Mama, I'm so thirsty." he moaned just above a whisper.

"I know honey, but I can't give you any water." Tears began swelling in her eyes. "It'll come right back up."

"Papa?" the boy began as he looked around the room, "I know why God didn't answer my prayer,” Charles sat on the bed next to him, “And why is that?”

“Because we don't need to make another walker – just give him mine. I won't need it anymore.”

Charles pressed the boy's head to his chest, "You're going to be okay. Papa will keep you healthy." Tears began flowing down his cheeks, "And you know what? We'll build walkers together

and give them to all your friends."

The next morning Charles awoke to the sounds of crying from his wife. He rose, pulled on his coat, and left the house.

A few weeks later, Charles had spent little time at work and much less at home with his wife. He could often be found standing outside his son's grave or on a hill overlooking the orphanage where his son often visited. No one knew for sure why Ryan had passed, but many had begun to call it the flu.

One night, as he was walking, Grandma Gene stopped Dr. Leale.

"Charles..." pleaded Grandma Gene, "Your wife still loves you."

He pushed by her and continued on. She tried to keep up as fast as her fragile legs could carry her.

"Charles! ... Charles!" Grandma Gene continued, "You can't save everyone!"

At this he stopped, turned, and looked long and hard at Grandma Gene. And then with a failing voice said, "Every day I pray to God that I could have had one, extra long day with Ryan."