I’d seen photos of the scar tissue in his file, but now, looking at it with my own eyes, I felt something in my heart seize up. This kid would have a long, long row to hoe, and it would not at all be easy or pain free.
Tony saw me looking at the tissue and turned away from me, as though embarrassed. His back looked worse than his front, the scar tissue marching up to his shoulders and down to his knees, all of it a dark, angry red, not smooth and soft the way a child’s skin should be but leathery and tough.
I turned him around to look at me.
Does it hurt?I asked.
He shook his head very slowly, very solemnly.
It’s not so bad,I said, trying to reassure him.
I held out a bath towel, helped him dry off.
Afterward, dressed in fresh pajamas, he lay on the bed.
Tired,he signed.
Go to sleep.
I spread a quilt over him, tucked in the edges, lay down next to him.
Mister?
Yes?
I…