Jude the Brave

By Claire Bradbury

WHEN HE WAS YOUNG, Jude thought he would stop having nightmares. He imagined growing up was supposed to be about leaving all of his childhood fears behind. Now that he was older, he knew life didn’t work that way. He was still scared, but the things that terrified him had changed. His greatest fears no longer came when his eyes were closed. They appeared when he was awake. He had to stand and watch.

ILLUSTRATION BY SYDNEY SMITH

The day after the diagnosis, Noel asked, “What will happen to me?” Jude didn’t know what to say. All he could do was pull Noel close and hold the boy until he tried to wiggle free.

Noel started treatment. He sat attached to a tube, a needle in his arm, the drugs loaded into a clear bag. Jude stayed beside his boy, shifting in a plastic chair, pressing feet flat on linoleum tiles, fighting the urge to rip the syringe out, pick up his boy, and run away.

It was nearly impossible to watch the poison solution drip. Instead of running, Jude grasped for things that were still the same. He bought apple juice from a vending machine, retied the boy’s left shoelace, thanked the two nurses twice each; he smiled, he tried, and failed, to find words that might make Noel feel better.

Noel was a perceptive only child, who thought of his mother’s face as a smudge. He was a creature carefully attuned to his means of survival. With a sniff, he sensed Jude’s inner struggle, pulled over the small table, and suggested they draw to pass the time. Noel got to work with crayons, spreading wax on paper to make a large green alien.