Date: Sat, 7 Jan 2017 21:04:54 +0000 (UTC)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mickey 19 (Revised)

"When do we get to see you next?" his mother asked.

Hesitating, he glanced at Drew, who answered, "We'll be back at Christmas,
for sure," before reaching into the back seat to clear space for Daisy.

"There's your answer," Mickey replied

Nate and Midori were going to leave early the next morning, but Mickey
wanted to get a head start on the distance and the weather because of the
10-hour drive ahead of them.

"I'll see you soon, Mom, OK?" he said as he gave her a hug. "Christmas is
only in a couple weeks away, so we'll be back before you know it." He knew
the goodbyes were hard on her so he always made sure the he to emphasize
the returns rather than the departures.

"I'll be ready, "she replied before stroking Mickey's face. "And good luck
in the competition," she added.  "I know that you'll do well."  Mickey had
told her earlier that he had been selected to represent the school at a
national moot court competition in Washington in the next few days.

"Whether I do or not, we'll still be back for Christmas!" he emphasized,
squeezing her hand.

She then turned to Drew, who said "Don't worry, I'll take good care of him
and bring him back in one piece."

"I'm not worried about that," she whispered as she pulled him close. "I
know you will. Now, just take care of yourself.  He needs you."

"Me too," he replied, returning her embrace.

"And you!" she said to Daisy a moment later, staring back at the two
marbled eyes that were gazing at her. The eyes then fixed themselves on
Mrs. Deringer's hand as it slowly moved toward her pocket.

"And for being such a good girl, you get one of these." as she took a piece
of leftover turkey breast out of her pocket, unwrapped it, and offered it
to her.

Daisy snapped up the turkey, then licked her hand to savor every last
morsel.

As Mrs. Deringer and Midori watched Mickey maneuver Daisy into her
now-usual perch behind the passenger seat, Nate pulled Drew aside.

"Drew, um..," he began, hesitation in his voice, "I have to apologize to
you for what I said when you got here last week. I should have just
accepted Mickey's judgment that you were a good guy and all, but, um...,
you know, I'm a bit protective, I guess.  But I'm really sorry that I said
that," he continued as he reached out to shake Drew's hand.

Instead of returning the handshake, however, Drew pulled them close and
hugged him. "I wish that I had a brother like you!" he whispered in his h
ear.

For a moment, Nate couldn't speak.

"And I'm glad that he has someone like you," he finally answered. "He needs
the discipline," he said, chuckling.

"OK! Time to hit the road!" Mickey proclaimed after settling Daisy in the
back seat, which meant providing her favorite braided chew toy. "I want get
close to Washington before it gets dark, so we had better hustle if we're
going to make it."

Drew drove as they pulled out of the driveway.  Mickey sighed.

"What's the matter?" Drew asked. as he shifted into drive, He glanced at
Mickey as he accelerated.

Mickey exhaled again.  "I just want to come home.  I've had just about
enough.  I've been away for nearly half of my life.  I just want to come
home.

He continued, looking at Drew. "I know that it's not home for you, babe,
it's all pretty new. But I hope that you do get used it, and, you know,
maybe it gets to be something like home for you, too."

"It already is," Drew replied as the car picked up speed.

						***

Sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, Mickey pulled off his socks and
tossed them into the nearby hamper, just inside the closet. He had become
accustomed over the past several weeks to how quickly it seemed to fill up
when it captured dirty clothes of two people.

"What are you thinking," Drew asked, kneeling down in front of him,
planting his hands on Mickey's lean runner's legs.

"Does it look like I'm actually thinking?" he responded.

"Yes, it does. So what's going on up there?" Drew asked, raising up his
right hand and knocking on Mickey's forehead.

Mickey raised up his own hand and hung on Drew's outstretched arm.  He
lightly stroked the blond hair on that coated Drew's skin.

"I like it here at school.  The classes are interesting and we've got a
great circle of friends. That's all good," he said, a mild, calm tone to
his voice. "But I want that something better would happen with your family
and all. That still bothers me, I wish we could do something."

"I know," Drew said.  "There's not much anyone can do, "I know that you're
concerned, but I think that there's something else on your mind," he said
as he gave his head another knock.

Mickey sighed.  "I'm never going to be completely at peace because I know
what all of that means to you," he said, before pausing.

"Except for all that stuff, which going to be hanging over us for a while,
I really felt good going back home, seeing my Mom, Nate and Midori and
being there with you. It was great.  I just hope that you're happy
there. That's the only thing that would make we want to go somewhere else,"
Mickey said.

"Well," Drew responded, "I think you know that I had a really good time. I
like your family, they really made me feel welcome. and seeing how happy it
made you made it even better for me. So don't ever worry about how I fit
in. I think I fit in just fine."

Mickey smiled at him. "I hope it helps that your land is lots closer to
there than it is to New York," he said.

"That's just a bonus, OK?" he replied. It already feels like home," he said
as he leaned over and kissed him.

"My mom really likes you," Mickey said. "And Nate does, too. I'm glad that
we got him straightened out."

"He didn't need `straightening out,' as you call it," Drew countered.  "He
didn't change at all.  He just got a bit educated," he said, glad that the
double entendre was getting a smile out of Mickey

"By the way, ready for tomorrow?" Drew asked.

"Uh huh" Mickey replied, his eyes' looking far away, as he continued
stroking his arm.

						***

"Nervous?" Drew asked, his voice echoing in the empty bathroom at the
hotel.

Mickey's cheeks pillowed up before he exhaled. "I just hope that they
aren't all depending on me to carry the team. I don't know some of this
appellate stuff as well as I should. Parker and I work together well as
teammates, and so do Akim and Maryam, but this is the big leagues,
hardball," he replied, his voice reverberating from the hard tile surfaces
on the walls.

"I've never been here to DC before, so at least we got a free hotel out of
it," he said before looking at Drew. "But, to be honest, I guess I miss
home again already. I liked having everyone together at Thanksgiving so
much."

"Me too," Drew said.  He started to smooth out any conspicuous wrinkles on
his suit, dragging both hands slowly over Mickey's arms, finishing off with
a tug on the end of the sleeves.  Drew thought that the suit was an
absolutely perfect fit, but it didn't do much to soothe Mickey's anxiety.

Despite their limited funds, they had bought Mickey this new Brioni suit,
especially for job interviews.  It was clearly appropriate for this
occasion as well and was the one expensive purchase the Drew had insisted
on for Mickey, especially for the employment search. It was the kind of
splurge for his partner that made selling his car well worth it.

"I know that you're concerned," Drew said, not wanting to use the word
`nervous.' "But this is the kind of stand-up stuff that you've always been
good at, something that you really like."

"The back and forth of ideas really is kind of fun, I like the way that
opinions evolve, that a person says things as part of an argument and
advocacy that really only jelled at that very moment.  Spontaneous
inspiration.! That's kind of cool to me. But there's a lot at stake here.
I mean, this isn't just me intellectually jerking off in class, but I'm now
in front of an audience of important people.  And there are three are
teammates that I can't let down and we're representing the school. I guess
that's where I feel the pressure."

The faculty selected all of you to represent them in this competition.
Someone believes in you," Drew said, moving his hands up around Mickey's
neck to unruffle the bright, white collar of the button-down shirt. Like
many of his clothes, it was something that he had carefully preserved from
Middlefield, though Drew could see that it was wearing out.

"Well, you'll at least be the best looking one up there," he continued, now
moving his hands down Mickey's back to stretch out any final wrinkles, and
occasionally reaching down and subtly pinching his butt.

"Oh gosh, not now!" Mickey pleaded. "I don't want to...whatever...in these
nice new pants," he whispered.

"Sorry, it's just hard to keep my hands off you," Drew replied softly.
"But from now on, all business," Drew said before stepping back and looking
at his formally attired man.



In terms of Mickey's image, Drew felt that it was just right.  And he
couldn't help feeling that Mickey looked smashing in it.  His Mom had once
remarked about how good his Dad looked in a suit because the dark, warm
gray wool had matched his eyes.  That became Drew's standard for suit
selection. So, whether that was truly the right criterion, he couldn't help
felling that the dark suit brought out the best in Mickey's hair color and
eyes.

Mickey deliberately breathed in and out as he nervously pulled at the
bottom edge of the suit, gently crunching the material in his hands. With
all that was happening around him, he couldn't help but notice how soft the
material was. `This is what nice clothes feel like' he said to himself.  It
reminded him of the many lifestyle discoveries he had made at Middlefield,
where a whole new world had opened up. 'And look where you are today,' he
said to himself.

"I guess it's now or never. Let's go," he said before Drew gently grabbed
his shoulders and aimed him at the bathroom door.

"Just do your best!" were the last words he heard before being thrust into
the auditorium.

						***

The national moot court competition would soon begin.  As in past years,
some of the nation's most prominent judges were in attendance including the
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. If that weren't intimidating enough,
Mickey had seen a video of last year's competition and was more than awed
with the entire event. He smiled to himself, recalling how he had pictured
one of last year's students as a Christian being thrown to the lions in a
Roman Circus and now he was one of the `Christians.'

After the first round of debates, Drew thought that the questioning was
brutal, at least from his perspective as an outsider. The arguments of each
team were torn apart by the judges, including the other pair from Mickey's
school. Their score was only slightly above the cut, and if Mickey and
Parker couldn't give a stellar performance the entire team could be quickly
eliminated from championship consideration.

Glancing up at the audience, Mickey could make eye contact with Drew, even
though he was halfway up the seats in the large auditorium.  `Just do your
best,' he imagined hearing him say again.

Parker went first. he seemed to parry the challenges well, and stuck to the
strategy that the team had agreed on. In spite of his own trepidation about
being on stage, he seemed to be holding up well.

But then, suddenly, it started to unravel.

Parker was asked a question about an arcane case in international law.
"Why wouldn't the holding in that case be applied to your client's case,'
the judge asked? The thrust of the question being, of course, was that
their clients had no case.

Before Parker could answer, another judge added a twist to the question,
positing a hypothetical situation that demanded both a command of law and
the ability to quickly work up a cogent argument. Mickey remembered the
case vaguely, enough to fake an answer, he told himself. But being on stage
in front of the entire academic legal world, including a Supreme Court
member, could cause anyone to freeze up.

After several more rapid-fire questions from the judges it was time for
Parker to step up with an answer. But whether from inexperience, anxiety or
stage fright, or a combination of them all, he slowly, laboriously replied
with an almost apologetic response.  And he seemed to abandon some of their
team's major arguments.

Mickey watched the debacle with dread, like observing a car accident unfold
before his eyes. With every word that came out of Parker's mouth Mickey
could see their case crumbling. And he not only had to follow up this
disaster with a hostile court that had them on the defensive, but most of
their arguments had now been surrendered. None the less, he couldn't let
his team down and this was their last chance.

Mickey put his hand on Parker's shoulder before he stepped up to the
podium.

"Sorry," Parker said quietly. "I've thrown you to the wolves.

"Lions," Mickey replied, getting a quizzical look from Parker.

Mickey pulled on the bottom of the suit jacket as he started to step toward
the podium.

He had barely positioned himself, trying to adjust the height of the mike
from the much taller Parker when the judges stated bombarding him with
questions.

In reply, he could stretch out what little he knew about the case into
almost a minute's worth of speaking. And, in contrast to most of the other
participants, he didn't always stop or become deferential when one judge or
another tried jump in with a new question. He knew that they were just
testing him, seeing if they could throw him off balance.  His only hope was
to create at least one coherent argument that he could push back with.

His aggressive strategy was almost on the edge of a breach of protocol.
But he relied on the old sports adage, THE BEST DEFENSE IS A GOOD
OFFENSE. Not only had Mickey determined not to give up, he also began to
see an angle to recover their team's argument. And even though he may not
have been the best advocate in a spontaneous situation, Mickey had
recognized the clarity and strength of the case that Parker had been able
to make in the written briefs.

"What about this?" the famous appellate judge asked him before making what
he thought was a particularly cutting remark, seeming to demolish Mickey's
position.

"In that case, I would refer to ..." Mickey responded. He wasn't even
exactly sure what case he was going to cite when he started the sentence,
but in the last split second an example popped into his head.

"But in Smith V. Maersk Shipping," Mickey said, referring to a famous case
that, though not perhaps the best answer, got him into a case that he knew
well from one of his seminars and was on much firmer footing. All he could
hope for was that the Judge would go for the bait.

The other judges looked at the inquisitor with wry smiles while the
attacking judge sat back in his chair, arms crossed. He then looked down at
Mickey and suddenly stretched his bald head over the bench.

"Sounds plausible, but you forget that...," he retorted, citing a point
that he thought would bring Mickey down.

Then he did a curious thing. As he was finishing, he looked at Mickey, then
seemed to look up at the audience, about where Drew was sitting. Then he
looked back at Mickey with what seemed like a wicked smile.

`Damn!' Mickey thought to himself. He realized that this guy was tight with
Drew's stepmother.  She had contributed to his elections when he was a
state judge and they were both well-known anti-gay marriage advocates.
Mickey's jaw clenched.

As the Chief Justice rolled her eyes, Mickey's antagonist was drawn into
the case.  And while the justice, with his long experience, could certainly
outmaneuver Mickey with general case law, he was continually thwarted as
Mickey could cite this particular case's arguments almost line-by-line.

As he continually hogged the questioning amongst the judges, it seemed that
he had become almost obsessed with taking Mickey down.  A few of the other
judges seemed to getting annoyed or irritated, tapping their fingers on the
bench, or looking out the windows. Another appellate Court justice was just
about to speak when suddenly there was a long buzzer.

Time had expired.

Mickey gulped.  So many thoughts ran through his mind. `Did his arguments
actually make sense? Did he do his team any good? Would these judges think
he was too combative?'  And: `Did he just piss-off one of the most
important legal figures in the country?'

He was the last of their team to present, and, after the entire squad
thanked the judges, they stepped off stage and back into their seats to
watch the other teams perform. And wait.

						***

At the end of the evening, while the judges withdrew to a makeshift Judge's
chamber to confer and tally up the scores, Mickey and his teammates sat
despondently on the edge of the stage.

"You did the best you could, Parker. That happens to everyone. You wrote
the best brief by far, and that's the biggest reason that we're here,"
Mickey said

"That's right! Maryam, added. "You had the best written brief at the
regionals so we wouldn't be here without you."

"Thanks, everyone," Parker responded, his eyes red. "But I'm really not
sure I should be a litigator, at least in the courtroom," he joked. "I like
being behind a desk and writing and strategizing.  But I guess I just have
a hard time in front of a group, and being spur-of-the-moment. I like to
mull things over but maybe too much."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of!!" Maryam contradicted. "Like I said,
we wouldn't be here without you," she added, pulling him close as they
formed a circle with each other.

						***

During the awards ceremony, they all forced smiles and gave congratulations
to their arch-rival school from the north, who took home the winner's
trophy. Surprisingly, they finished third out of the 12 teams, a miraculous
finish considering their major stumble.

All of them gave Parker hugs and pats on the back when he won third place
for Best Brief. Mickey and the rest of them hoped that it would be a
something of a salve to his wounds.  'He really was a talented writer and
strategist,' Mickey thought to himself. 'But maybe they had all asked too
much of him for what this competition was about.'

After a few more awards, the row of judges then turned toward the crowd as
the Supreme Court Justice pulled the microphone stand toward her face.

"Finally, last but not least, we would like to announce the awards for best
oral presentation," she said. As was tradition, she was exercising her
prerogative as the senior judge to give out the award of her choosing.

After compliments to all the participants for their stellar efforts, she
announced the winner of second place, who happened to be a member of the
winning group. Her teammates cheered her wildly, and it took all of the
Justice's firm courtroom manner to regain control.

"Every year I do this there are surprises, which is what I enjoy the most
about this event," she stated, looking at the crowd. The students hung on
her every word.

"This year was especially rewarding. I hate to use the analogy, but, as far
as the competitive aspect goes, this was a real horse race.  When we read
the briefs, I thought that many of them were unusually well argued, which
made me really anticipate the oral arguments. And I wasn't
disappointed. The competition was fierce and strong, and I want to again
congratulate the winning team," she said, stepping back and raising her
hand to the four winners standing by her side.

There was another round of applause as the victors savored their triumph
yet again. Mickey's team gave them their due and clapped just as
enthusiastically as everyone else, as painful as it was to not be on the
stage themselves.

As the applause began to subside, she again surveyed the crowd and stepped
back up to the microphone.

"And as I was saying, it's now time for, what to me, is one of the most
important awards for gauging young talent. The ability to think on your
feet, especially in front of a crowd, is a critical skill for all lawyers,
especially in a courtroom setting," she said.  "All sorts of talents are
necessary to be successful, but I have to admit, this one has a special
place in my heart," she continued, alluding to her own long career as a
courtroom prosecutor and a judge.

"So, without further delay, I'm proud to announce, that, by unanimous
decision, except one," she said, glancing at the glowering appellate judge
only a few steps away, "the winner of the prize for Best Oral Presentation
goes to Mickey Deringer."

He couldn't believe his ears. But before he could even react he was mobbed
by his teammates.

"Congratulations!" "Great job!" he heard repeatedly. The nice words seemed
to echo around him, but they didn't seem to make any sense.

"Um... thanks!" was all he could say as he felt hands all over his
shoulders and arms, jostling him back and forth until he almost lost his
balance and had to step back.

"Go! Go!" Maryam finally said to him, pushing Mickey toward the stage. He
just looked around, disoriented, until he finally figured out which
direction to go and made his way toward the stairs and the bright lights.

						***

The recognition was unexpected to say the least, especially the opportunity
to shake the hand of a Supreme Court Justice. Mickey practically leapt off
the stage to meet Drew, who was waiting for him in front of the first row
of seats.

Although it was their pattern to be circumspect in public, no PDAs, Drew
couldn't help but give Mickey more than just friendly hug. Running his
fingers through Mickey's hair (and feeling the sweat that soaked the edges)
was a lot more of a reward than any of his teammates could give him.

As they separated, Mickey suddenly froze in place and stared at him.

"What's the matter?" Drew asked.

Mickey's head turned and he gave Drew almost the strangest look the he'd
even seen from him.

"Are you OK?" Drew asked again?

Shaking his head like he was coming out of a trance, he nearly stumbled as
he let go of Drew.

"I..."  Mickey started.

"You...?"

Mickey looked at Drew. His mouth seemed dry, but he licked his lips for
moment.

"She asked me if I might like to clerk for her."

"That's fantastic! Drew answered. Even though he wasn't a law student
himself, it was common knowledge that clerking for the Supreme Court
Justice was the pinnacle of academic achievement.

The dazed look on his face was understandable, Drew thought. But this was
not a look of surprise and anticipation. It was almost dread.

"What's the matter?" Drew asked.

"I just thanked her and all, but I didn't make any commitment, I mean how
could I. But..." he paused, and to Drew looked shaken.

"This is the top of the profession, Mickey. I mean, I don't have to tell
you that. It seems like you'd be overjoyed to hear it, but you don't look
that way- you look..."

Drew moved toward Mickey, who was standing stiffly. His only reaction was
to rest his head on Drew's shoulder.

"I turned down three ivy league schools to go to Wesleyan because I could
do it in three years. It was a great place, but I just wanted to get
done. If I could have done law school in two years, I would have done that,
too"

He continued. "I don't know one law student who wouldn't kill for this. I
feel like maybe I'm crazy, but honestly...

"You want to go home." Drew said, completing his sentence.

"I do."

As Mickey's head was on his shoulder, Drew looked up and saw what seemed to
be an almost familiar figure leaving the auditorium. A large hat was on
this head, and his collar was turned up, so he couldn't see the guy's
face. But he almost looked like...