Date: Sun, 13 Mar 2016 05:43:40 +0000 (UTC)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mickey 14

Mickey felt helpless.

"What's happening?" he asked Casey, who was now stooped down at Drew's
feet, while Mickey had carefully stepped around him and was kneeling down
around his head. Daisy was right behind her.

She swallowed before speaking. "I think this is something to do with the
concussions he had, which is really why we made him quit football," she
said as she bent over him.  "He never wants to talk about it, as he thinks
that there's not a lot that can be done. But he still needs to take care of
himself."

Mickey glanced up at her then returned his focus to Drew, who was shaking
on the floor as he continued to hold his head.  Mickey touched his tense
and flailing arms only at critical moments, when it seemed like he might
hurt himself.

"What can we do?" he said softly. The moaning and clutching at his head was
slowly subsiding, but the breathing was now labored, like he had to keep
testing his ability to breathe.

Wrapping his hand around Drew's left wrist, Mickey used his fingers to
press around the joint, like he was trying to get the circulation going.
At least it didn't seem like it was making things worse, so he did the same
with the other wrist and just his breath.

He wasn't sure if his efforts had really done any good, but after a few
moments Drew seemed to be calming down.  But now his body was almost limp
as Mickey finally started speaking to him.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

Drew's eye's opened and he took a deep breath. "I'm better, I think," he
said before squinting his eyes, like he was trying to figure out what was
in front of him.

 "I just don't want to move...not yet. Just let me, um... stay here for a
bit, OK?"

"Of course," Mickey responded. "We won't try to move you."

Casey started to take off his shoes in an effort to make him as comfortable
as possible. He had laced them up tightly, like he learned to do for his
football boots, so it took some time to carefully untie and then remove
them without twisting his foot. It also didn't help that Daisy kept
sticking her nose close to him, aggressively sniffing around his leg.

"Should I get him a pillow?" Mickey asked, mostly directing the question
toward Casey but at the same time hoping that Drew would respond.

She didn't wait for Drew to say anything. "Yes, for sure, that would be
good," she replied. "I don't know where he keeps the linens, so maybe just
grab stuff off of his bed.

Mickey stood up slowly and deliberately, making sure that he didn't bump
into Drew. But as soon as he felt like he cleared any danger zone he dashed
into his nearby bedroom, grabbing both pillows and practically ripping the
blankets off the bed.

"Does it still hurt?" Mickey asked as he again knelt down beside him, the
wad of bedding and pillows held tightly in his arm.  His ear was almost in
Drew's face as he strained to hear the answer.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"I think he said, `yeah, better.'"

Putting his mouth nest to Drew's ear, he whispered, "I've got a pillow here
to put underneath your head.  Would that help?" Immediately, his head
rotated and his ear was now near Drew's mouth. He could hear the breath
come in and out.

After a moment, Mickey looked up at Casey and nodded, "Yeah, he'd like the
pillow." Mickey started to unravel the pillows from the blankets, handing
them over to Casey while he put the blanket to the side.

Suddenly, Drew, gripped his hand. "Are you...OK? Is Casey OK?" he asked.

Mickey quickly bent down. "I'm all right, and so is she," he replied.

"You sure?"

Mickey squeezed his hand. "I'm sure"

"We're going to gently raise your head, OK?" Mickey then informed him as
Casey pushed on all sides of the first white cushion, fluffing the down
lining back and forth to test its malleability and making sure its shape
would fit the tiny crevice between Drew's head and the tan bamboo hallway
floor.

Walking Drew through the process step-by-step, he slowly raised his head
while Casey quickly slipped the pillow gently underneath. She put the other
pillow behind his back to brace him against the wall. They both then draped
the blanket over him, Mickey starting with the shoulders and torso and then
handing it off to Casey, who pulled it over the rest of him before
cautiously wrapping his feet.

Fearing that the floor may seem cold, Mickey gently pushed the blanked
underneath Drew's body as much as he could, both front and back. With
Casey's work on the feet, he was practically in a cocoon.

"Are you comfortable? Can we get you anything else? he asked.

No response.  .  "Drew?" he asked again, his voice slightly shaking.

"He's asleep," Casey declared. "That's a good sign. He needs to rest now."

"Um...should we have moved him into bed?" Mickey asked. In his concern, he
was starting to second-guess himself.

"Well, this isn't the ideal place, lying on the floor like this.  But as
long as he can sleep that's the best thing. Let's just let him get some
rest. Hopefully, he should be OK after that."

Hearing her say that gave him assurance that he could not have given
himself. Preparing for what might be a long vigil, he pushed himself up
against the wall and tried to settle in. Daisy seemed to take the cue and
joined him, slipping around Drew to position herself, paws out, right near
his head.

"How often has this happened before?" he asked, turning and looking at
her. It was one of the few times that he took his eyes off of Drew.

"I'm not sure. At least once that I'm aware of. He had gone for some
diagnostic test that confirmed he had had at least one concussion, but we
don't know how many others," she said as he rubbed Drew's foot with her
fingers.

"I could hardly look at some of those films of him getting clobbered.
`Roughing the passer was a mild way of putting it," she said, sarcasm
unmistakable in her voice.  "He was definitely a target for a lot
people. I'm just surprised he lasted as long as he did.  He's got a pretty
tough hide."

"Will he be OK?" Mickey asked, his hand now fussing with the blanket,
making sure that every square inch of Drew's body was covered.

"To be honest, I really don't' know for sure. I want to think so, since
he's actually been fine in spite of it all. But he has to be really, really
careful, at least for the next few years. He certainly shouldn't be playing
any contact sports or roughhousing it."

"Contact sports like basketball?" Mickey asked, thinking of Drew's
acrobatics, not to mention heroics, during their last matchup. In spite of
feeling a bit like he was ratting on his partner, he couldn't help sharing
some of the details with Casey, especially how Drew had shielded him from
almost certain injury.

"Well if anyone doesn't think that basketball is a contact sport then they
need to watch him," she replied, smiling.

They spent the next few minutes silently watching over him. He looked
almost like a recumbent statue, but the regular breathing reminded them of
the real person there.

After a few minutes, Casey broke the silence. "By the way, you can go and
do things, Mickey, we both can. He'll probably be asleep for at least an
hour or so," she said, reaching over her brother patting Mickey on the leg.

"I'm OK," he responded as stared at Drew. "I'll just wait here in case he
needs anything."

When she was growing up, it seemed like everyone she knew behaved like
Mickey – when one person was down then the partner was there by their
side. She remembered her Dad doing it for her mom during the long
illness. As busy and prominent as he was, her Dad had sloughed off almost
all his work to subordinates in order to attend to their mom.

But as she got older and was able to experience more of the world she
realized that it wasn't that way with everyone. She remembered the time one
of her roommates got sick and had to cancel a visit to a big rock
concert. Rather than seeing her through the illness, her boyfriend berated
her for getting sick at the `wrong time.'

Then there was the friend who was taking an extra class each semester in
order graduate faster and reduce her student debt. Instead of pitching in
to help with the inevitable logistics jam-up at finals, where she hardly
had time to even get a meal, her boyfriend just said that it was `her
problem.'"

She noticed that Mickey hardly took his eyes off of Drew.  It almost looked
like he was checking off each breath, making sure that one followed
another.

						***

The first thing that Mickey noticed was some motion in his arms. Then he
saw the head move slightly before the eye's just barely opened.  Daisy got
up on all fours and started panting.

Kneeling closer, Mickey softly stroked the back of Drew's hand. He was
afraid to touch his head.

"Hey," he said quietly.  "Are you awake?"

"Uh huh," he whispered.  Again he asked, "Are you and Casey all right?"

"Yes, we're both OK. But you're the one who needs the attention now, OK?

Drew's jaw seemed to stiffen for a moment, like he was steeling himself for
some great effort, then his body again moved slightly. "I'll be...fine," he
replied, unconvincingly.

"Ohhh, wow... it doesn't hurt anymore.  It doesn't hurt..." he continued,
softly.

Daisy stuck her head in between them and was about to start licking his
face before Casey called out, `Back, girl" and she, reluctantly, moved to
the side.

"She's OK," Drew said. "She just wants to check up on me," he said as he
weakly reached out his arm to quickly stroke her paw.

Trying to roll over, his body pushed up against the pillow as his arm hit
the wall.  He paused for a moment and looked around, momentarily confused
when he realized that he was actually on the floor.

 "What time is it? I'd better get up." he said as his entire body
contracted, trying to get on his feet again.

"Not yet," Mickey said, quickly grasping Drew's shoulder. There wasn't much
pressure, but the intention was clear and Drew relaxed again and stayed
down.

 "I wish the he would listen to me like that," Casey said.

"I listen," Drew protested, his head raising up slightly, "but only if you
ask nicely."

Smiling to himself, Mickey adjusted the blanket on Drew's back.

"Just get acclimated a bit, OK? No need to rush right now," Mickey said.

After resting for another few minutes, Mickey allowed him to get up. Not
unexpectedly, he wanted to go to the bathroom before anything
else. Grabbing his arm to make sure the rise was successful, Mickey
continued to support him into the main bathroom, which was just down the
hall.

"I've got to piss like a racehorse," Drew said.  "That must have been what
really woke me up."

Mickey chuckled again as he stood behind Drew, holding him steady while he
peed into the toilet. He forced his eyes to stare at the collar of Drew's
shirt, counting the threads. Anything to not look like he was staring at
Drew's dick in the mirror.

After Mickey maneuvered Drew back through the hallway and to the bedroom,
Drew practically collapsed onto the bed as Mickey finally released his
grip. At the same time Daisy jumped up and lay beside him in what looked
like a practiced move.

Helping him to maneuver into a comfortable position, Mickey asked, "Are you
OK now? I think I should get you some water. You're probably really
thirsty."

"I'll get that Mickey, just help him get settled there," Casey said, again
not waiting for her brother to answer as she quickly headed for the
kitchen.

Lying on the bed which faced a large, bay window with a view of the front
yard, Drew stared through the curtains at the faint outline of a maple tree
that bordered the property. The situation was beginning to sink into him
and he didn't care about whether there were reporters stalking there or
not.  And he could hardly bring himself to look at Mickey.

"I should have told you about this, Mickey. It only happened to me once
before, so I thought that may it was just an anomaly, so I didn't want to
worry you. But..."

"No worries, babe," Mickey interjected, his concern for Drew overcoming any
anxiety.  "The only thing that we need to do now is go to the doctor and
see what we need to do if this happens again, and maybe prevent it if we
can. In the meantime, you just need to rest."

`Did I just call him babe,' Mickey then thought to himself.

Drew gave a knowing smile back to him. "Well, I've got tomorrow to get back
on my feet. I should be OK to hit the classes on Monday, no problem" he
proclaimed. "It will just take me a day or two to sleep it off," he
continued. His eyes caught Mickey's skeptical look.

"Really, I should be OK." He paused then said, "babe," as he rolled over on
his side where Mickey couldn't see his face.

"Sweet talk will get you nowhere," Mickey admonished him. "We'll make that
decision on Monday. In the meantime, I'm going to make sure that I have
someone to cover all of your classes on Monday in case the doctor orders
you to bed."

"What was that all about?" Casey asked later as they left Drew alone to
sleep.

"He thinks that he can charm his way out of this," Mickey replied.

"Don't be so sure," she replied.

						***

After Drew had fallen asleep, Mickey still felt uneasy. He went to the
kitchen to retrieve his laptop, along with a bottle of water to continue
his watch. Just to make sure he was prepared for a long haul, he packed up
his power cord, too.

"He'll be OK," Casey said as he was about to open the door to the bedroom.
"You can relax now, or take care of your work. He just needs to get some
real sleep. And besides, Daisy is in there with him."

"But what if he needs me later? He might need to go to the bathroom again?
Or maybe he gets hungry and needs something to eat. I feel like I should be
there."

"He might need all of those things, Mickey. But he knows that you're here
and where to find you. And he knows that you won't be going anywhere soon,"
she said as she took his hand and led him back out to the kitchen.
"Besides, Daisy can watch him, too. She'll let us know what's going on."

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked as her hands started opening and
closing cupboard doors, surveying what he had for cooking or making any
kind of food.

"He's usually pretty good about keeping stuff around, but there's not much
here," she continued.  "And where did all his booze go?"

"He, um...got rid of it all the other night," Mickey responded.

"Why? she asked.  "He always throws the best parties and needs that stuff."

Clearing his throat, Mickey said, "a couple days ago, something happened
and I asked Drew not to drink around me. I shouldn't have done that, but it
was a ...bad moment. Some stuff happened when I was a kid, and I don't
drink because of that."

He told her about what had happened that morning, how he had met the
neighbor and then confronted Drew about it.

"Thanks for telling me this, Mickey. I had no idea. I know it's kind of
awkward," she said, not wanting to get into all the details that he had
only alluded to, "But I think that you're learning a lot about my brother."

Mickey just smiled back. "Yes, I am," he said before taking a quick glance
into a couple of the cupboards himself.

"By the way, are you hungry?" he asked.

"Maybe a little, but I've got some breakfast bars with me if you'd like
one. I always grab a bunch before getting on the train, in case I get the
munchies."

"So what about you?" she asked again.

"No thanks, nothing for me right now. But Drew's going to be hungry when he
wakes up, so I was just thinking that we could make something that you'd
both like," he said.

"I don't cook a lot, but I think I know what he likes, and I could try to
put something together. Do you like spaghetti and meatballs? I noticed that
was one of the things that he seemed to have a lot besides sandwiches, even
at lunch."  He went on to describe how Drew would often eat the spaghetti,
raising his fork over his head and slurping the noodles from the bottom up.

She smiled at his story, but was amazed at the details that he had picked
up. It was the type of thing that she used to laugh about when Drew and she
were growing up, and since then had considered it a private joke, just
between them.

"Sure, that would be great. We'd have to go out and get stuff, but it
wouldn't take too long."

"Great, I think he'll like it," he replied, for the first time with some
excitement in his voice. "But I'll need to google some recipes to do the
meatballs, I don't really know how to make them."

"That's sounds like a job for...me!" she responded. "I'm an expert in all
things meatball. I love to cook."

Mickey smiled back. "Well, that leaves me with the pasta. I know how to
cook that already," he joked.

"Fancy salads are a favorite of his, too. That wouldn't be hard to do
either," Casey said.

"Oh, yeah, he loves to heap it on!" Mickey responded in agreement as he
grabbed his laptop and stylus and started writing down the shopping
list. "let's see, he likes red onions better than the white ones, and
romaine lettuce, and ...hmmm...he always picks the cherry tomatoes from the
salad bar in the dining halls rather than slices, and shitake mushrooms,
those are his favorites."

"Oh yeah, we can't forget ice cream!" he proclaimed before opening the
freezer door to check the stock.  "Good - he doesn't have any, so we can
get him some fresh stuff. He likes any kind of chocolate, especially
chocolate velvet, and maybe something with peanut butter, too. And, let's
see..." he said, his eyes going into his rumination mode, "if we could get
some whipped cream, and maybe a banana, and also, um... maybe some nuts. He
loves lots of stuff on his cones.  And...oh yeah, speaking of cones, we'll
need some of those, too. He likes waffle cones, big ones, but any size will
do. But if they don't have waffle cones...

She just stared at him as he went through in his mind all those things that
she recognized as her brother's favorites, and even a couple things that
she didn't know.

After they had sorted out the rest of the menu, Casey said, "It's probably
best if I go to the store. I'm less recognizable if anyone is still out
there. And if Drew wakes up, he'd be really glad to see your face."

"Not more than yours, Casey. He was so excited that you were coming down, I
can hardly tell you," he countered.

"I know, Mickey. But, right now, you are exactly what is best for him," she
said, no regret at all in her voice. "I feel like he'll be in pretty good
hands."

He just smiled back, then glanced toward the bedroom.  "Oh yeah, one more
thing. You might want to get some treats for Daisy. I think that would make
him the happiest."

						*** Never having made
meatballs before, Mickey became an eager student, especially when she told
him that Drew would `love `em.' Casey had bought fresh pasta, so that was
pretty easy to prepare and left plenty of time for Mickey to be a mostly
full-time sous-chef.


While he was at the kitchen island chopping onions for the meatballs, Casey
was right behind him, looking under the cupboard for bowls or pans to mix
ingredients for the sauce. Like Mickey, she was well organized and had most
of the items lined up before she had even started, the containers of
oregano, basil, parsley, pepper salt and others arranged like soldiers on
the far side of the kitchen island, opposite Mickey.

"Mickey, could you reach that for me," she said, motioning toward a bowl on
the top shelf.

"Sure," he replied as he put down the knife and reached up to get the
simple white mixing bowl. Even he had to stand on his tip toes and stretch
to reach the top shelf, but was finally able to retrieve it.

As he was pulling it down, she mentioned a couple of girls she knew who had
gone to Middlefield at about the same time. "I've been doing background
checks on you," she confessed, a bit of embarrassment in her voice.

He laughed.  "No worries, I would expect nothing less than to be rigorously
vetted," he joked.

"The girls that you mentioned, I mean, I think that they were a year or so
behind me, maybe in Andrew's class," he replied.  "I didn't know either of
them well, but I hope that they gave me decent reviews."

She took the bowl and started mixing olive oil, tomatoes and some of the
spices that she had lined up.  "Needless to say, they spoke very highly of
you," she responded. "One of them even called you a `Star'," she teased.

"A star?  Me? I wish! She probably said it because of the grades, I guess,
that kind of stuff. But that isn't such big deal. I mean, I'm not bad at
taking tests, but it doesn't' really mean anything. I sure wasn't a star on
the basketball team or anything else there," he replied as he went back to
cutting the onions.

"Don't' get me wrong, I mean, gosh, I loved it there and I made some really
good friends. But a star? I don't think so."

She momentarily glanced over at him as he continued chopping. The two girls
who knew of Mickey thought that he was a top student and even confessed to
being a little intimidated by him. Granting the slight deference often felt
towards upperclassmen, she sensed from both of them that there was
something exceptional about him not just as a student but as a
person. However, he seemed genuinely unaware of any `model student' label
that anyone had for him.

Or maybe, she thought, there was another aspect of him that affected him
more. She had noticed that, even with their warm greeting, he always seemed
to position himself so that the unscarred side of his face was almost
always facing her. Even now, where he had somewhat awkwardly positioned
himself as he cut the vegetables.

She put the bowl down and, after quickly washing her hands, she went over
to Mickey. "Can you put the knife down for a second?" she asked.

"Sure, but why?" he responded.

Without saying anything she put her had on his hips and guided him to the
other side of the island. She was surprised how narrow they were,
considering that he was about the same height as her brother.

"Work over here, she said."  I can getter a better view of what you're
doing.  I'd hate to have you lose a finger."

He smiled back at her before reaching over for the knife and continuing his
chopping. Keeping his eyes focused on the half chopped onion, he thought
that might be the reason that his eyes were watering. But at least it gave
him an excuse to stop and wipe them on his sleeve.