Date: Tue, 8 Jun 2004 20:42:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: taarob <taarob@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Good Doctor 13

This is a work of fiction.  I love getting email so if you
would like to contact me you can at taarob@yahoo.com or if
you'd like to see some other things that I've written you
can go to my web site at http://www.mygaystories.com .


                         The Good Doctor 13


I can't imagine that after all of these years that my mother
is still a mystery to my dad but that's the way he sometimes
looks at her, with a slightly perplexed look and a tiny
smile.  She's different with him, she gives in to him.  She
doesn't do that with anyone else that I've ever met.  In a
way it feels like she's still thinking of him as he was when
he was young.  A hot young stud husband with lots of
ambition and the brains to match.

My mom has actually seated Pete next to her with my dad on
the other side of her.  Normally she would have Jase within
hugging distance.  I wonder if she really understands that
she doesn't have to sell me anymore.

Jase keeps getting out of his chair and leaning against me.
"You know what, Dad?"

"What, Kiddo?"  Meanwhile my mother is doing everything but
hand feeding Pete.

He's almost climbing onto my lap.  "I'm gonna try those
things that I never used to like, those curly things."

I'm clueless.  "Curly things?"

"Yeah, Dad, the little curly fishy things."

A wild ass guess.  "You mean shrimp?"

"Yeah, Dad, those things, I'm gonna eat those.  Do they make
those things here, Dad?"

I bend over and pull Jase to my chest and kiss him on the
neck.  He squirms but doesn't pull away.  "Jase, I think
that Mary would make you anything that you wanted."

I'm sliding into dad mode.  Usually I don't even notice it
at the time that it happens, only afterwards do I realize
that I've been listening only to Jase, focused totally on
him.  I lay my hand on his neck and feel the heat of his
body, wishing that I could draw out the bad stuff, wishing
that I could pull it into me.  I can take it, whatever it
is, he's just a little boy and shouldn't have to deal with
bad stuff.  He lays his head on my knee and then turns it
and looks up at me with big hazel eyes flecked with green.
My eyes say "I love you" and I know that he gets the
message.  He's like a puppy dog rubbing up against another
warm body, basic.  It's about his mom although I'm not even
sure that he knows that.

I glance up and see my dad watching me, he smiles but it's
not a "boy that's funny" smile but a "I remember that
feeling" smile.  It's a tie that binds us, a shared dad
thing.  Funny, I never thought.....well I never thought that
we shared that much.

"Jase how bout I order shrimp and you get a burger or
something that you know that you like.  That way you can eat
off of my plate too."  I grin at him.  "And if it turns out
that you REALLY like shrimp then the next time we eat out
you can order a whole plate full."  I love feeding Jase. I
love watching him eat.  That's gotta be some really deep
genetic thing.

He looks relieved and climbs back up in his chair.
"Grandma, I'm gonna eat shrimp!"  He gives me a quick look.
"And a burger too."  My mother flashes him a smile and
starts to say something but my dad interrupts her.

He reaches over and places his hand gently on Jase head.
He's looking old but his hands are still huge.  "Me too,
Jase!  I'm gonna have shrimp with lobster sauce."

My mother zero's in on that.  "Bill, you know that you can't
eat that it gives you indigestion."

My dad shrugs, he knows that she's right but says simply.
"I don't care, I'm having it anyway."  He touches Jase's
shoulder.  "Jase can give it a try too if he wants."
Father, son and grandson united against the killjoy nature
of womenfolk.  We'll probably all be sick!

Meanwhile Pete is chatting up my mom by asking her how she
makes her Braciola.  This is like pouring gasoline on a
fire.  My mother could talk forever about Italian cooking.
The rest of us stopped listening years ago but Pete is
actually interested.  Not that he'll ever actually need to
fix that stuff himself.  Not at least for a decade or so
after mom is no longer with us.  Geez!  It sounds like I
hate her or something, which I don't, I love her, but mom
likes to have her way.  Oh what the hell, she drives
everyone crazy!

My dad is watching Pete with a friendly smile on his face
but I know that behind his eyes he's got questions.  Fuck,
I'd have questions too.  If I was sitting where my dad is
I'd have plenty of questions but I know too that he won't
ask them, he'll just worry.

Suddenly Pete stops talking.  He gets up quickly and excuses
himself while he grabs for his cell phone.  The first call
of the evening.  Pete walks away from the table while he
talks quietly into his cell.  I still can't tell by the
expression on his face whether this is and infected ingrown
toenail or a heart attack.  Steady, Pete is steady.  He's
the guy you want with you in a life raft or trapped on a
desert island.  Nothing shakes him, listen, analyze, and
decide.  Ringing your hands and putting the decision off
isn't an option, you really gotta know what you're doing.  I
don't deserve him.  What does he see in me?

My mother lays a hand lightly on my dad's arm and says.
"Must be an emergency."  She looks at me.  "Honey, if you
have to go we'll understand."  She's loving the drama of
this!

"I don't think that it'll come to that, Mom."

Jason has climbed up and is kneeling on his chair.  "That
happens all the time, Grandma.  Pete's a doctor, he gets
lotsa calls."

"Well, I'm just saying that if it's an emergency...." She
shrugs.  "A life may depend on Pete going, he's a doctor."
I wonder how painful it would be cutting my own throat with
a butter knife?

Pete is standing over by a window talking quietly into the
phone and my dad is watching him.  He doesn't say anything
just watches.  Lately dad seems to go more deeply into
himself like he's got some sort of internal debate going and
he's willing to keep it to himself.  There was a time when
he had an opinion about everything and not only wanted to
tell you about it but hoped that you'd disagree with him so
that he could argue.  Now it's all internal.  Maybe that's
happening because I've grown up, no more "What should I do,
Dad?" questions and no more work questions so maybe he just
feels like there's no point in it anymore, no point in
talking.

"Dad, you think that it's possible that I need a new roof?
It's beginning to look a little ratty, maybe you could come
over and take a look."  It's worth a try.

"Eric, there's no way you need a new roof!  That house is
only ten years old, ya got another ten years before you need
to think about roofs."

I shrug.  "Maybe I can get a roofing contractor to come over
and take a look."  Let's introduce a little competition.

"Eric, they'll charge ya a fortune!  Don't do anything until
I've had a chance to look at it. Maybe next week if your
mother can fit me into the car along with all the food, I'll
give it a look."

Pete is snapping shut his cell phone as he slides back into
his seat.  "Sorry bout that."  He flashes a screwy grin.
"Sometimes that happens a lot."  There's something about
that look that he gets on his face, a look that says, "I
don't take myself too seriously, I fuck up too." It's also,
to me, a sexy look because somewhere in it is a flash of
vulnerability, a vulnerability that mitigates, smoothes all
that competence, makes him more accessible.  Sitting here
with my parents and my son I'm thinking about how it will
feel later to be wrapped in Pete's arms as I fall asleep.
Surely at some point in their lives my parents must have
experienced that, maybe they still do and surely Jase will
eventually experience the same thing.  Another tie that
binds.  A human thing.

Pete is being charming.  His eyes are flashing, he's
gesturing with his hands and his deep voice is running the
gamut from intimate to sports announcer.  My mother, his
natural ally, is spellbound.  My father, on the other hand,
is taking a wait and see attitude.  Pete almost had him
swung over with all that football talk.  Where the hell did
he get that?  I've never understood football, maybe if they
played it on gravel dressed only in tank tops and jock
straps.

Jase is tired of eating and listening to grownups and is
approaching the climbing on to his dad's lap and napping
stage.  His index finger is in his mouth where it spends a
great deal of time anyway.

"Are we gonna go home, Dad?"  He's climbed between my legs
and lays his head down in my lap.  "I don't wanna eat
anymore, Dad!"

"Hang in there, Kiddo, we'll be goin soon."

Jase is bored outta his skull and that prompts question
time.

"Dad, do you like me?"

"Yep."

"How come?"

"It said to do that on the instructions."

"What instructions?"

"Remember when we bought that new toaster a couple of months
ago and when we opened the box it had that piece of paper
that said how to use it and take care of it?"

Jase nods yes warily.  "Yeah."

"Well when you were born you had this page of instructions.
It was on blue paper cause you're a little boy, little girls
have instructions on pink paper.  Anyway the instructions
said to feed you, change your diaper and love you."

Jase is disgusted.  Why does he have to tolerate me?  "That
didn't happen, Dad!  You're making that up!"

"No, honest!  It was written in English, Spanish, German and
French."

My mother is looking at me appalled.  My dad thinks it's
hilarious.  Pete is smiling gently and trying to decide what
medication he should use on me.  Prozac or Paxil hmmmmm.

Jase decides to take his case directly to the Supreme Court.
"Grandma, did I come with instructions?"

"Eric!  Will you stop teasing him!"  She then holds out her
arms to Jase who tiredly walks into them.  "You're making
him crazy!"  Mom doesn't get it.  Teasing is just another
way to be close, for fathers and sons anyway.

                    --------------------------------------

I pull into the garage and get out of the car to unlock the
door to the house in the meantime Pete has gone into the
back seat and scooped up a sleeping Jase who is like totally
unconscious and lying against Pete's chest.

Pete twists his head and looks at Jase with an odd smile on
his face.  We walk into the house and carry Jase straight to
his bedroom.  Pete lays him gently on his bed between Alan's
huge emerald green paws and then looks up at me with that
same odd smile.  We strip Jase down to his underwear and
then pull the covers up to his chin.  He stays totally
unconscious.

In the kitchen Pete leans against the counter and rolls his
head around loosening his neck muscles.  I back up against
him and pull his arms around me, not a sex thing a human
warmth thing.  He snuggles his chin down against my neck, I
snuggle back.

He speaks quietly in my ear.  "What is it about little kids?
S'like they push all your genetic buttons.  If there's an
ounce of fatherhood in you they pullllll it out."

"I know!  You're never the same, they change you."  His arms
feel so good, his hands are large and strong.

He speaks softly, a whisper.  "You've changed me too."

"Yeah, I've brought down your standard of living!"  There's
something very reassuring about a guy getting a hardon just
from wrapping his arms around you.

Pete slowly pulls my shirt out of my pants and then rubs my
bare chest with his hands.  "Gee, handsome young Italian boy
who loves me.....that is rough!"

I roll my head back against his shoulder while he kisses my
neck.  "I do you know....love you that is."

                    -------------------------------

"Why do you give little boys shots?"  Pete is...or was,
lying on the sofa reading the paper when Jase wheedled his
way between him and the paper and is now leaning on his
chest and occasionally reaching out and touching Pete's chin
with his index finger.  I move my sock covered foot down and
lightly nudge the spot in Pete's pants where I know his
balls to be and watch the corners of his mouth turn up
slightly.

"Shots?"

"Yeah, you know, with needles."

Pete takes the question seriously.  Not that Jase would give
him a chance not to.  He puts one hand behind his head to
prop it up.  "Well, Jase, sometimes we've gotta get things
inside of some ones body.....you know, like to fight
bacteria.....germs.  Now some things that we need to get
into you we can just make into pills...you know, like
aspirin and you can just swallow those with water.  But
sometimes that's not the best way, sometimes some stuff has
gotta go right into your blood or your muscles and that's
when we need to give ya shots."  He smiles and ruffles
Jase's hair.  "It's not cause we wanna hurt ya."

Jase is fascinated by Pete and wants to know everything
about him and what he does for a living, especially what he
does for a living.  To Jase a doctor is a goldmine of
answers to questions yet to be asked.

I'm fascinated by the bacon sandwich with mayonnaise on
toast that I'm eating.

Pete must have heard the crunch and looks up at me.  "Watcha
eatin?"

"My favorite......a bacon sandwich.....with mayonnaise."  He
looks at me like I've just told him that I made a sandwich
out of a Cocker Spaniel!  "Want a bite?"  I'm stalling.

He blinks.  "Have you had your cholesterol checked?" Who
pushed the "Doctor On" button?

"Cholesterol?"  Crunch crunch crunch.

Jase decides that bacon warrants jumping ship.  "Can I have
a bite, Dad?"  He scampers across Pete and climbs across my
legs before straddling my waist.  Jase is always careless
about where he puts his knees when he scampers and I see
Pete grimace.  Shouldn't little boys automatically know that
their dad's have testicles that need not to be mashed?

Little hands, god knows where they've been, grab mine and
pull my sandwich to Jase's mouth.  Crunch crunch.  Pete
looks worried.  When Jase sits on me I can feel the life
force in him, he's like a little atomic bomb going off
slowly.

"Wouldn't Dr. Malvic have done that?  He never said that I
had high cholesterol."  Like I would have remembered or even
have been paying attention.  If it was about Jase's
cholesterol it'd be burned into my brain but somehow mine
doesn't count.

Jase is getting down to my fingers and I gotta be careful,
we've have accidents in the past.  What is it with bacon?
It's like some sort of porcine heroin.  Just the smell of it
drives people to do extreme things.

I hand Jase the napkin and the remains of the sandwich.
"Sweetheart, do your dad a favor and go finish this in the
kitchen.  Then toss the napkin.  In the garbage, not on the
floor!"  He looks at me with disgust.

"I know, Dad!  I just missed the garbage can that one time!"
Like leave me fucking alone, Dad!  At least that's how I
used to feel.  Why do little boys have to grow up?  They're
so perfect the way that they are, well maybe perfect isn't
the right word.  They're so satisfying, for their dad's at
least.  They're so open to love, so open to everything in
the world.  Little boys actually say, "I love you, Dad!"