Young Fegan is Lost

Fegan's mother wept by his bedside in the Royal Victoria Hospital. He held the pellet in his palm. The doctor dug it out with tweezers and Fegan didn't make a sound. When the cops came, he told them they were shooting squirrels and one of the boys got too excited. An accident. Besides, it happened over the border so there was nothing to be done about it.

His mother wrung her hands and wept some more. "Don't go running with the likes of them, Gerry, for the love of God. They'll ruin you."

He stared at the ceiling. "They're my friends," he said.

"Friends?" She grasped his hand, wrapping his bruised fingers around the pellet. "You come back with that in your leg, and you call them friends?"

He turned his head on the pillow so he could see her frightened eyes. "They're my friends and you can't make me turn away from them."

"Don't you understand?" She leaned close and whispered. "You'll be lost to me. You're my only son and you'll be lost to me."

He rolled onto his side, showing her his back, and closed his eyes.