Date: Fri, 20 Mar 2015 01:56:24 +0000 (UTC)
From: John Gerald <connectwriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Mickey 4

"At least I was prepared this morning," Mickey said as he opened the
door. "I didn't want you waiting outside again."

"Well, I thought that I should warn you before I left last night. If for
nothing else to make sure that Sara didn't get cold coffee again."

Mickey laughed. "She told me it was really good stuff, at least at one time
in its life, but if she doesn't wake up soon she'll never know," he
replied, smiling. "So come on in!"

Drew knew his way around by now so Mickey didn't need to guide him to the
kitchen. Not that it was exactly labyrinthine.  With only two bedrooms, a
living room, bathroom, kitchen and dining nook, there was never very far to
go wrong in any direction.

"Same stuff as yesterday is still OK, right?

"Like I said, anything is good, Drew. It's all appreciated."

His return was no surprise.  Mickey initially told him that while it was a
thoughtful gesture, he didn't need to spend all that time and effort. But
the sense he got from Drew was that this was really important for him to do
this. He couldn't not do it.

And, if he was honest with himself, he realized that he couldn't be as
discouraging as his personal pride might have demanded.  It was nice to
have this guy around.

The sandwich assembly started almost the moment that the bag landed on the
table. "I'll try to put this together quickly, while the bagel is still
warm. By the way, I got some cheese, too. No need to skimp on the
cholesterol. You'll need it for your recovery."

 "What the heck. What have I got to lose?" he replied, anticipation on his
face.

	***

"Still no Sara?" Drew asked after they had finished eating and he was
starting to pick up the plates.

"I guess not. Sometimes she sleeps in on weekends if she's not slammed,"
Mickey said as he got up to help with the cleanup.

"My roommate never sleeps in. She's always up when I am," Drew replied.

For some reason, Mickey felt a chill. Not that he had any right to expect
anything different. In fact, he had no right to expect anything at all from
him. But if Drew had a girlfriend. `Well...good for him.'

But he still felt himself tripping over his words. "Um...you probably make
a lot of noise when you wake up, huh?  It's, uh...hard to wake up quietly."

Drew looked back as he was moving into the kitchen. "Well, I think that's
true. But in her case, she just wants to eat and is always looking for
food. Dogs are like that. All they want is food."

`Dog?' Mickey thought to himself. `He just said `dog'?

"Wow, that's great that you have a dog. What's her name?"  He said it with
an enthusiasm that almost embarrassed him, but it didn't look like Drew
noticed.

"Daisy. My mom gave her to me on my 10th birthday. She was just pup."

"So you raised her?"

"Oh yeah, or she raised me, one of the two," he responded as he put he
carefully put their glasses into the sink.

Mickey followed behind with a few utensils that he put next to the
glasses. They both tried to keep the noise down but with glass hitting the
tinny metal surface of the sink it was a nearly impossible task.

"By the way," Drew continued, "the bagel and crème cheese don't need to
be eaten right away, so Sara can dive in whenever she wants."  He carefully
folded back the top of the bag and placed it on the tiny area of counter
top that wasn't already covered with a toaster, rice cooker and other small
appliances.

"No worries about her. She'll eat it and be grateful. I'll make sure of
that."

Drew smiled as he wiped down the counter around the sink.  "Anyway, you
were asking me about Daisy. Yes, I did raise her. It was one of the
conditions of my getting a pet. I got to do the fun stuff, of course,
puppies are great. But I had the `business end,' too, as it were," he
joked.

"Cleaning up the poop?" Mickey asked.

"And the pee. And the barf when she got sick.  Everything.  That was the
deal. I couldn't ask the maid to do it - the job was all mine. But Mom gave
me a pretty good little book on how to house train a dog. It was meant for
kids, but even when I look back it was a pretty good primer for adults,
too."

"I'll bet that's a good bonding experience. Go through the hard times with
them and you both remember," Mickey commented as the both went back to the
dining area to do final clean up on the table.

Drew paused for a moment, putting both arms on the back of a chair and
rocking it back and forth on its back legs for a moment.  "Yeah, it was. I
really feel close to her. Probably more than to almost any other person,
even in my family. She's just been there for a lot of my life." He gave a
slight sigh, then continued.

"She's getting older now, slowing down a lot, jumping up on the furniture a
lot less. She has all sorts of lumps on her which, fortunately, aren't
cancerous, at least so far.  But she's a good girl and I take care of her
as best I can.

"What does she do when you're at classes?"

Drew laughed. "That was my one splurge for college. After leaving the dorms
after freshman year, I got a ground level apartment in a house, really a
condo, and brought her here for my sophomore year and we've lived together
since then. I put in a fence and doggie door so that she can go in and out
as she pleases. I also take her to doggie day care a couple times a week
for socializing."

"I never had dog, but I really like them," Mickey replied. "For the dog
owners I know, they are like kids, but I guess without the sass," he said
as he retook his seat back at the table.

"I don't know that. She will bark when things aren't to her liking," Drew
replied, laughing.

"Hey Mickey, now that you're sitting down again, I wanted to ask about the
arm. It looks like you're doing better, but you still had a bit of trouble
with that last bite of food. How does it feel now?"

In order to avoid the struggles of the day before, Mickey had eaten the
entire sandwich open-face style with a knife and fork, thinking that he
could camouflage any awkwardness from Drew.  Even though it was not as bad
as the day before, it still wasn't easy to get the slices into his
mouth. `But how did he even notice?' Mickey thought to himself.

"I've got a bit more motion in it today.  Still not one hundred percent but
maybe fifty percent back to normal."

"Let's see. Can you show me how far you can move it?" Drew asked as he took
the chair that was closer to Mickey.

Mickey slid back in the seat and positioned himself with his feet straight
ahead.  Sitting up ramrod straight, he attempted to raise his arms. Slowly,
like when he did bicep curls in the gym, he was able to completely raise
the fists up to shoulder level.  "See, not too bad," he proclaimed.

"That's good, but you're only bending at the elbow, you're not moving the
shoulder very much. Try to raise your hands over your head, like when
you're doing a shoulder press," Drew directed. By now he had pushed over
the table and moved his new seat even closer to `the patient.'

"Oh, Ok. "I'll try that."  Mickey got his elbows about as high as his
shoulders then stopped. He bit his lip and tried to raise them higher, but
couldn't push even a fraction of an inch more.

"Good! Good! But I'll bet you can do better," he said as he further
adjusted his chair while pushing the table over even more so that he was
now directly in front of Mickey.  "I had a ton of physical therapy when I
was playing football. Not that I'm a professional physical therapist, but I
do know that in all this stuff you try to make incremental progress if you
want to get back in shape. So I've got an idea. Do you mind if I help you?"

"Heck no! Especially if you can save me the physical therapist time,"
Mickey replied as he lowered his hands back down to his sides.

"Good. I'll try not to hurt you, so let me know if this is ever painful,
ok?"

Mickey nodded in consent, but was still anxious.  He wanted to get better,
and, even more, didn't want to be a bad patient.

"I'm going to give you just a bit of push on the bottoms of your elbow to
help raise up your arms. There won't be much pressure, just a touch. But it
might just be all you need," he said.

"I guess that sometimes our self-preservation instincts kick in and we
can't push ourselves as hard as we can actually tolerate, at least that's
my theory," Drew continued, his eyes very focused and serious.  "But go
ahead, see if you can put your hands above your head.

Trying to be the good patient gave Mickey even more anxiety, but he could
at least be prepared for Drew's `electric' touch. With his arms taut and
stretched, a sudden jump could really hurt.

As he began to raise them he watched Drew's hands follow without yet making
contact. But we he got stuck at the same place as before, Drew gave just a
very gently push at the elbow.

There wasn't that same jolt as the earlier times that Drew had surprised
him with his touch, but he seemed to feel a weird tingling where the
connection was made. Luckily, he had a long-sleeve shirt on. He wasn't sure
what would have happened if he had made real skin contact.

Inch by inch, his arms slowly elevated, until Drew pulled back and just let
his fingers hover under the trembling arms.

"Feel the stretch?" Drew asked.

"Uh huh," Mickey, his eyes tightly closed, straining to keep his arms in
the air.

"Good!" Hold it there for a bit.

Mickey winced, but kept his arms up.

"Keep them up...Keep them up..."he said, then paused for a good ten
seconds, allowing Mickey to get a feel for the position

"Ok...we're going to come down now. Are you ready?

"Yup." Mickey drew a breath as he opened his eyes and saw Drew's hands
supporting his own as he slowly moved them down.

"Are you OK?

"Um... yeah, I think so. It hurts, but kind of in a good way, like I'm
stretching something that needs stretching," Mickey replied.  "Should we
try to go higher?"

"Well, we'll just take it in steps, a bit at a time. You're breathing is
getting kind of heavy. Are you sure this isn't too much?"

He hadn't realized it, but he was almost panting and had no idea why. "Oh,
wow, sorry. It hurts a bit, but like I said, in a good way," he
replied. "We should do it again."

"We will. But let's just rest for bit longer," Drew responded.

The exercise went on for the next ten minutes, each time Mickey getting his
hands a fraction of an inch higher, until he could, with effort and a bit
of an assist, get about 80% of his reach back.

"You look like a real expert at this. Is it one of those things that you've
had more experience at than you actually wanted?" he said as he finished
the last set and let his arms hang at his sides.

"That's for sure," Drew replied, letting out a deep breath of air. There
was weariness in his voice as he pushed his chair back and started to
return the table to its original place.

"Didn't you play football, too?" Mickey asked. He regretted the question
after it came out of his mouth. It seemed kind of prying. But he remembered
that Drew's father was a rather famous football star before he made his
fortune in business and suspected that Drew might have been too. He sure
had the build for it.

"Oh, yeah, I did. I really like it. But I just got too many injuries, which
quarterbacks tend to do. Most weren't so bad, but after the second
concussion, that was the end of it for me. Even in the Ivy League, where
it's not exactly playoff level quality, people can play rough.

"Do you miss it?"

Drew thought for a moment. "Yeah, I do. I really liked going in the huddle,
making plays happen, controlling a team. It was great fun. I would probably
have just continued to play through the injuries if it wasn't for my Dad. I
guess I wanted to make by him proud, didn't want him to think I was a
wuss. But he was pretty adamant that I should stop playing. It kind of
surprised me."

"Why was that surprising? He was just looking out for you."

"I know, and that does seem like a natural parent-type thing. But he's just
so hard-nosed about success in business and sports, I guess it was just
surprising that he didn't just tell me to gut it out."

"Concussions are really dangerous. That was the best thing he could have
done for you."

"I think you're right, and he was right. It was just unexpected to hear it
from him, that's all.  Maybe my sister worked on him."

"You have a sister?" Mickey asked. Most people would have known that fact
about the Patterson family, but if Drew was surprised he didn't show it.

"Yeah, I do, just one. Her name is Casey, she's three years older than
me. She and I are pretty close, and she's actually closer to my Dad than
just about anyone. So she goes to bat for me sometimes."

"Well, she picked the right time. You know better than me what a concussion
can do."

"You weren't too far away from one yourself the other day," Drew responded,
looking directly at him.

"I guess he was the size of a linebacker, wasn't he?  But a 16th round
pick, if his agility said anything," Mickey commented, trying to play down
the confrontation.

Drew smiled, but it was one of those weak `I heard you but I don't
necessarily agree' reactions as he put his head down.

"By the way," Mickey said, slowly lifting up his arms on his own just to
keep limber. "What about this basketball league of yours that you
mentioned?"

Drew's head suddenly popped up. "Glad you mentioned it, I've been thinking
about that," he replied, then spoke rapidly, the excitement unmistakable.

 "There's about 10 of us right now, but in winter, when the football guys
are available, we're like around 15 guys, so we can fill two teams in the
league. It's just intramurals, but we all take it pretty seriously. I don't
think being a graduate student is problem. In fact, I know of at least one
other law student and another guy from the business school. Oh yeah, and
another from the architecture school, too.  So you'd be perfect. Our own
ringer."

"Whoa!" Mickey replied, dropping his hands and laughing.  "Don't sell me as
your ringer! I'm an OK player, mostly because I'm kind of tall and can jump
fairly high. But I'm not exactly a great shot. Plus if you've got some
football guys out there that are as big as you I might get pushed around a
lot."

"I'll bet that you're tenacious." Drew said, as motioned for Mickey to try
to get his arm up again one more time.  "Look at those elbows. I'll bet
they seen their share of opponents ribs."

"Don't set the bar too high, that's all I've got to say," he replied as he
again started raising his arms.  "I did play in high school, and it was a
lot of fun. But we barely had a .500 record and got knocked out of the
tournament in the second game."

"Look, you're at least two years older than everyone else. That's great
experience. And you've got the height. And like you said, you can
jump. Maybe you can be center?"

"Ha! First of all, I'm like 6'-3", not 6'-8", so I'm not really a center,
even in intramurals. I can jump, yes, but not THAT high," he claimed with
emphasis," and lastly, I'm probably not two years older than everyone else,
either."

"What do you mean not two years older?" Drew asked, incredulous.

He gulped at first. He rarely mentioned this to people but the conversation
just took a course that he couldn't control.

"Um...I skipped third grade and did undergraduate in three years.  I'm not
sure that my grade school was the best in the world, and for college I just
wanted to save money. And I was kind of young when I started kindergarten,
too. So I'm probably not older than any of the seniors," Mickey responded,
continuing to slowly raise his arms.

"When were you born?" Drew asked, then he said when he himself was
born. Mickey was reaching his earlier peak so Drew again gave him just a
light push on the elbows, just what he needed to set a new record for
height.

"I guess that makes you about a month older than me, then. I was born in
July, and you were born in August," Mickey responded.

"So you're just a young punk?!" Drew said, a playful edge in his voice.

"`Punk' is... not exactly... the word I'd use," Mickey responded, straining
to hold up his arms at the new height.

"`newbie,' `tadpole,' `neophyte,' ..."

" `Methuselah,' `Geezer,' ..." Mickey shot back, his arms shaking, clearly
on the edge of collapse both from the taught stretch and incipient
giggling.

"Since you're so young, maybe playing these games really would be too much
to ask. We usually start at seven in the evening. That would only give you
an hour before bedtime."

Mickey's arms suddenly dropped to his sides as he broke out in laughter in
spite of the pain from the sudden movement.

"Are you trying to bait me?" Mickey asked.

"That's not in my nature," Drew answered, keeping a deadpan look on his
face. But the look suddenly changed as he saw Mickey wince.

"Hey, does that hurt. Jeeze, sorry! I shouldn't have distracted you," he
responded, both arms out to steady Mickey in case he tried to move again.

"No...I'm OK, and you've just given me good reason to get back into shape
as soon as possible.  It will be youth vs. experience. May the best man
win!"

"You're on!" Drew responded.

					***

"So tonight I thought I'd do something really unhealthy and pick up a
bucket of fried chicken. How would that be?"  Drew said as he was preparing
to head out.

"Drew, are you sure? You could just come by, not have to hassle to run out
and get something."

"We've already discussed this, Mickey. You'll get me some goodies when
you're back in shape, which you really don't need to do anyway. In the
meantime, you just need to rest and recover," he replied as he threw his
backpack on and pulled the straps. He pulled on them several times, and it
almost seemed to Mickey like some kind of nervous reaction as much as
simply getting the pack secured.

"By the way, he continued, "Tomorrow I've got classes and some other stuff
to do so I can't stay long in the morning. But I'll still bring breakfast,
and I'll stop by after class and bring dinner again, too."

Mickey sighed, but in a positive way. It was kind of nice that he couldn't
discourage him.

"So what class do you have early tomorrow?" he asked.

Drew hesitated for a moment. "We'll, I actually don't have a class first
thing - my finance lecture isn't until 11:00. But I volunteer at a day care
center a couple days week and tomorrow I'm on duty"

"Wow, that's great that you can get involved in something like that. What
do you do?"

"I play with kids," Drew responded, in a deadpan way, which made it sound
like the most interesting thing that one could do. "It's a great job. We
play a kind of a kiddie football, all sorts of other miniature adult
games. But we also do crafts and dancing, singing, things that kids can
understand and enjoy."

"And adults, too, sometimes." Mickey responded.

"Yeah, and they should do it more often" Drew added.

"How did you get involved?"

"I got recruited last year through the football team, it was the idea of
one of the assistant coaches for the team to contribute kind of community
service. A bunch of guys got involved, but I think I'm about the only one
who stuck with it after that quarter was over."

"Why did you stay?" Mickey asked.

Drew stopped pulling on the backpack straps. "You know, I just like the
kids, I do. It kind of surprised me. I went into it with the same attitude
as most of the guys, you know, kind of an obligation to the coach, be a
good guy, that kind of stuff. But I found that it's really fun being with
them. They're so nice, and so fun.  They aren't from affluent families, and
some of them..." he paused to correct himself.  "Well, most of them, have
family problems. But they're kids and they don't seem think too much about
that stuff, at least when they are at the center. They just want to play
and have fun."

He glanced down at his watch. "Oh, wow, Mickey I need to run. But you'll
see me tonight, he said, as he started moving toward the door. "Try to take
care of yourself OK? "

"Will do. I promise."

"And I believe you. I think." Drew said with a wink as he pulled the door
behind him.

Then, only a second later, the door cracked up just an inch and a sunbeam
came through.

"Fried is OK? You're sure?" came the voice from the thin void.

"Good for me."

"Got it." then the sunbeam disappeared.

After Drew had left, Mickey slumped against the wall, his head hanging
down.  Thinking.

"How was breakfast?" Sara said. Unusual for her, she said it with a very
quiet voice, but Mickey was still startled when he heard it.

"Oh...It was good. He made me a sandwich again," he answered. "He left
stuff for you, too. It's on the cupboard, if you're hungry." He looked
around, almost like he was coming out of a sleep.

"Did you guys enjoy yourselves?" she asked, folding her arms across her
chest as she leaned against the wall opposite of Mickey.

"Yeah, of course.  We talked a lot, just like last night. He even put me
through some physical therapy, trying to get some flexibility back in my
arms. I still feel kind of sore, but I think it will help me to get back to
normal quicker."

"That's good." She responded, then didn't say anything as Mickey seemed to
wander again. It was so quiet that they both could hear all the late
morning sounds outside, from a couple of school kids walking by the house
to neighbors pulling their cars out of the driveway on the way to start
work.

It was almost a minute before she broke the silence.

"You know that you need to be careful here, right?"

"What do you mean?" Mickey asked, a shaky challenge in his voice.

"You know what I mean."

He paused before answering. "I know what you're thinking, but don't worry,
it's just a friendship. I do like him and all, but it's not like that."

"Hmmm..." She responded, almost to let him think about his own words before
she spoke. "Not that I was trying to eavesdrop, but.."

Mickey cut in, "But.." and raised his eyebrows as he looked at her.

"Well it's none of my business, of course. But all I can tell you is that
you'd better be careful. One can't always control who one falls for, no
matter how rational and sensible one tries to be."

"I know, but I think that..."

"You're a smart guy, Mickey. So you're even more vulnerable to your own
rationalizations, which will undoubtedly be clever and convincing. Just be
careful, that's all I'll say. Look at what you might be getting yourself
into."

He didn't answer her immediately, and looked straight ahead again, with
that look he had when she first interrupted him in the foyer.  "He'
straight, I know," he said, resignation in his voice as he sighed at even
saying the words.  "But I'd at least like him as a friend. I think I can do
that."

She turned and started walking back to the kitchen. "We'll see," she said
as she disappeared around the corner.