Date: Sun, 2 Jul 2000 14:39:56 -0500
From: Willy B <haztech@email.msn.com>
Subject: Flip pt3

"Flip"
Part 3

        "Flip? You done yet?" Philip felt Bill shake his boot in the hot
blackness of the trailer house. His left shoulder ached each time he moved
and his body was trying to replenish the layer of sweat that had converted
to steam, under his clothes, when the heat layer had slammed into him from
above.
        "No, I'm OK," Philip replied as he started forward. He felt he had
been well and truly `cooked', but the dim glow of more flames that needed
killing drew him toward them.
        "Good!" Bill yelled from behind him, pulling more hose into the
house. "Engine one is checking the rest! Let's go!"
        Philip shook his head a little as they turned a corner toward the
collapsed end of the building and opened the nozzle again, confining, then
pushing the intense heat and flames back into the area it had already
destroyed. He hadn't even been aware of the others when they'd entered
behind him to continue searching for the lady's baby she'd been screaming
about, but was glad it wasn't him. He was sure when he'd accidentally
dropped the heat layer down to the floor of the living room that he'd
killed any chance for an unprotected person to survive! He could only hope
that the rest of the house hadn't been affected.
        "Don't go any more!" Bill yelled in clipped `shorthand', stopping
their forward motion when they finally reached an area of collapse and he
felt the soft, wet, fire-damaged floor. "Back up! Hold what we've got!" He
knew other lines were working different angles from outside. The danger of
another attack working against them was punctuated once when they were hit
by a stream of water as they backed out to give the others a better shot at
the remaining flames.
        "Out of air!" Philip felt his face mask start a rhythmic vibration.
He couldn't hear the noise from the low pressure warning over the noise of
the power saws that some of the crews were using now to cut up the aluminum
roof and debris that hid the last of the flames.
        When they emerged from the smoldering wreckage, Philip saw his gear
still steaming from the heat and water coating its surface. The reflective
material on his sleeve was charred in places and the rest had bubbled out
of shape, exposing the tan Kevlar material underneath.
        "Fuck! Oow!" Philip spun away from the glove that landed on his
shoulder from behind when they reached the engine. He felt if he was
`cooked' before, he was branded now when the hot material was pressed into
his flesh.
        "Hold off!" Bill barked suddenly. "Give him a chance to cool off
before you try to help!"
        "Sorry, Flip," Peter said. He and Jeff had managed to catch a ride
with the tanker after they said their hurried goodbyes at Philip's
house. He looked at Philip with respect and envy. Flip was the first of
their group to `dance with the devil', as they put it.
        "Tell you what, Peter...," Bill drawled. He had finally shed the
gear that had encased his head, "...pack out and take a couple of pikepoles
over to command. You can help overhaul this bastard."
        As he watched Pete scamper away - well, `scamper' wasn't the right
word, 'lumber off' was better for someone as large as Peter - he helped
Philip start to get out of his gear. He'd been pleasantly surprised to see
that Philip hadn't taken a swing at Pete. Flip was showing more control
than he'd expected. That hand on his gear had to have hurt some.
        "You did a good job." Bill watched the scowling teen for a
response.
        "No, I didn't." Philip stared back at the trailer, reliving the
events. "I fucked up!"
        "How?" Bill sighed. The boy was running into a truth of their
field. He could only do so much, and all his wishes sometimes couldn't
change the outcome. "Look.... Take the airpacks over to the cascade for
refilling and then report to rehab." That would keep him occupied if they
found a body. "We'll talk about this later, but I want you to think about
what you did right as well as wrong. I'll want to know both, not just the
mistakes!" The boy really had done OK. Bill wanted to make sure he saw that
as well, otherwise he wouldn't be able to function next time. And there was
always a next time!
        "My baby!" The lady's voice cut through the night, diverting
everybody's attention.
        Philip watched incredulously as one of the firefighters pulled a
mongrel out from its hiding place under the trailer.
        "This reminds me of two more rules." Bill smiled at Philip.  "One.
When I give you a compliment, take it for what it is. And two." He shook
his head, grinning, "Make sure the `baby' is human! Now go!"

        "So, are you our token firefighter tonight?" The female medic
clucked at Philip as she taped the sterile dressing over the small area of
blisters on his left shoulder. Its white color contrasted sharply with his
red floodlit skin. She smiled at the boy's broad back. He looked like he'd
spent hours in the sun right now. The fire must have been a lot hotter than
she'd imagined or he'd stayed in too long. Probably both.
        "You need to learn your limits. We don't need to take you in." She
gave him her best `scolding mother' voice. They were on the same team, so
she hated having to treat one of her own if she felt she didn't have to.
        "Yes, ma'am," Philip mumbled. `A dog!' he thought. `All that for a
dog!' He let the thoughts slip away. He'd have done the same, regardless.
Well, he hoped it would be better next time. He reviewed everything that
had happened again and again, but at least the positive was starting to
balance the negative.
        "Damn, it must have been hot." Peter and Jeff collapsed next to
him, covered with burned insulation. "Hey, Flip, I'm sorry if I caused
that." Peter indicated the bandage.
        "It's OK." Philip pushed himself up to rest on his elbows, looking
at the others. "But Bill did give me a week off because of it." Actually,
Bill had given him the choice of a week off or go to the hospital for a
doctor's release when he'd seen the second degree burn. He wasn't happy
with Philip's choice, but didn't push it this time.
        "I thought you guys were going to the dance." Philip tried to
change the subject away from his pissed off station captain, but was
confused by their presence. "Aren't your dates going to be mad you stood
them up?"
        "No. I called on the way to the station." Jeff interjected.
"Besides, they knew we were going to stop by your house first to see if you
wanted to go. I'm glad we did, otherwise we'd have missed this."
        "You stopped by my house?" Philip stiffened. His fought his anger
down. He thought he'd made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. He
suddenly didn't trust them. They knew he wouldn't go to a dance; why were
they really there?
        "Yeah, I hope you don't mind," Jeff quickly began, to diffuse the
tension that suddenly filled the area. "We just thought you might go with
us this time. We know you don't usually go out, but I thought we could make
up for your not having a birthday party or anything!"
        "No. It's OK." Philip dropped his head, amazed that his lack of a
celebration still bothered the group so long after the event. He had to
stay calm. "Thanks for asking, but I wouldn't have gone. I'm happy the way
things are. Just do me a favor and don't go to my house any more."
        "Why?" Peter spoke up, confused and angry at the out of hand
rejection. "We've met your mom, she's nice and didn't mind us being there.
Flip? Why are you acting like this?"
        "Look!" Philip struggled as his temper rose to the attack. "I don't
need you or anybody else around! I don't need anyone!" He quickly grabbed
for his shirt and stood to leave. "I'm gon'a go help roll hose."
        Philip silently cursed his temper again as they worked to put the
engine back in service. He had to work with Jeff and Peter, but why did
they have to pry into everything? He'd have to apologize again. They were
just trying to be friendly and he had jumped down their throats for it. He
was so tired of being alone, but could he handle the rejection he was sure
would come if anyone ever really got to know him? It was easier to go right
to the rejection part on his own terms, but that wouldn't get him anywhere.
        "Ah...," he began as he guiltily approached the others. "I'm sorry
I said what I did...."

        "Mom?" Philip called as he stepped out of his shower, wrapping a
towel tightly around his waist. He felt better now that the reek of burned
wood and plastics that permeated his clothes and skin had been washed down
the drain.
        "Yes?" Margaret Nevins answered, keeping her voice light. She'd
stayed up, waiting for him again, and had been distressed to see his ragged
form drag through the door. She didn't think she'd ever get used to his new
occupation, but took the attitude that no news was good news. If being part
of the fire department was how he and his friends chose to burn off their
excess testosterone, at least it was better than worrying if he'd get hurt
in another fight at school. "What can I help you with?"
        "Could you tape this down?" Philip kept his hand on the dressing as
his mom came into his room. He hoped she wouldn't say anything about it,
but needed her help to keep it in place. He couldn't reach it by himself.
He smiled shyly at her concerned look. "I got burned a little. Please
don't. It's not bad, I promise."
        "OK." She let it pass. He almost seemed proud of the wound, like
he'd passed some unknown rite of passage. "Two of your friends came by
tonight. You should invite them over more often."
        "I didn't invite them this time," Philip said quietly. "They just
stopped by on their own. I told them not to any more."
        "I don't mind." Her heart fell as his attitude reasserted itself.
"They seem to be very nice. You could have worse friends, you know."
        "They aren't friends," Philip wearily replied. They were back to
this old argument again. "I just work with them at the department. I won't
be inviting them over."
        "All right. I'm done." She put the tape down and absently ran her
fingers through her son's short damp red hair. "Are you going to live your
whole life alone?"
        "I don't know," Philip shrugged, not really knowing how to respond
to this new question. "I guess so. You never found anyone after Dad left."
        "But I didn't run and hide from everybody." She watched for a
reaction. "I still go out, have friends over. You know that." She turned to
leave the room. "Good night, Flip. I like that nickname. You'll have to
tell me how you got it from your `not friends'."
        Philip turned off the light and rolled onto his stomach. Somehow
he'd patched things up with Jeff and Peter. At least they didn't hate him
yet. Now if his mom would just let him be. He couldn't push her away like
the others, there were limits to that, but he knew she would hate him too
if she ever knew all his feelings he'd kept to himself for so long.
        As he tried let himself drift off to sleep, he could almost feel
Mike's hands on his shoulders massaging out the kinks in his muscles like
they had done over three years ago. Best friends forever, but it hadn't
turned out that way after he'd moved. He envied Mike for the courage to
face what he couldn't face, wouldn't face. He so wanted to talk to him
again, but hadn't for over a year. Where would he start? Would Mike even
want to? Mike had his own life, had moved way beyond anything they'd shared
as kids.
        And what about Marty? Philip felt he was being stupid, drawing at
straws. Marty didn't even want him as a friend. Why did he care if Marty
didn't like him? He'd just have to deal with that in a few hours anyway.
        He rolled over to look at the photograph of Mike and himself again,
looking for comfort in the image he could barely see. His heart skipped a
beat. The photo was moved from its usual place. His fists tightened as he
tried to figure out how it had moved. He forcibly unclenched. Maybe his mom
had moved it. He'd just have to ask in the morning.
        Nothing else was out of place as he scanned the rest of his
desk. Jeff and Peter hadn't said anything about his room and he couldn't
sense an intrusion, but if they had invaded it? He'd have to somehow ask
Bill if the order to never hit another member applied all the time or just
around the department. He knew he was going to swing at somebody if they
had entered his room. He forcibly shoved his head into the pillow. There
was no way he would get any sleep tonight!

__________________________________________________________________________

        Philip actually felt pretty good as he circled around the hospital,
helping that morning. His mom didn't say anything about the photo but she
had cleaned up after him that night. So she had to be the one who'd moved
it.
        Everybody else in PT was on their lunch break as he wandered the
floor where Marty's room was located. He finally built the courage to stop
by and quickly made his way there. Maybe the kid was just having a bad day
before.
        "Whatcha doing?" Philip quietly entered, noting all the papers and
open school books on the roll-away table.
        "School work!" Marty looked up, startled. "Not that it'll do me any
good." His black eyes grew even darker when he saw his visitor. "What are
you doing here, asshole?"
        "I'm volunteering here." Philip rocked back. "Why am I an asshole?
What did I do to you?"
        "Look, asshole...," Marty sighed with mock fatigue, "...you come
here like you're some hot shit that doesn't stink, looking for `thank
you's. `Look how special I am.' I don't need that shit! You helped save my
worthless ass, so what!"
        "That's not why I'm here! Dickhead!" Philip felt his blood rise to
his face. "I stopped by to see if you wanted some company. But all I get is
your shit. Feeling sorry for yourself. `Look at me, I can't do anything!'
That's bullshit! You can still do anything you want to. So stop being such
a dickhead!"
        "Yeah, right! I can do anything!" Marty's voice grew louder as he
wound up. "Tell that to my diving coach the next time you're at the pool.
`Cause I won't be there, asshole!"
        "Well, I won't be there either, you dickhead!" Philip turned and
left, his frustration boiling over. "I can't swim anyway!" He stomped away,
wondering why he'd even tried. And what was the big deal about pools and
swimming anyway? He didn't even own any trunks now and the ones he'd had as
a kid had never seen water! If the jerk wanted to jump off a wall into a
pool, then let him!

        Philip made sure he was elsewhere when they went to pick up Marty.
He'd had enough. So he continued his assigned shift into the late afternoon
running other errands. He thought he would get away without having to see
him again until the head therapist handed him a wheelchair and Marty's
chart.
        "Hey, dickhead," she called out, smiling. "The asshole is here to
take you back." She watched as the two chagrined teens approached each
other. They'd had no idea just how small a community a hospital was.
Everybody had heard about the display upstairs. Right now the betting in
the break room was evenly split between the two killing each other or
ignoring each other. Her bets were placed elsewhere, but if they did kill
each other? Oh, well. She'd pick up the pieces and move on. Marty deserved
a good kick in the pants anyway, if he was going to ever accept what had
happened to him. They could help him physically, but the rest was up to
him.
        The two silent boys eyed each other as Philip pushed the chair into
the elevator, doing their best to ignore each other.
        "Is it true you can't swim?" Marty finally broke the strained
silence. "I mean, everyone knows how to swim!"
        "Not me!" Philip replied curtly. "Never had a reason to learn. I
grew up in the desert." He watched as the other digested the
information. He needed to change the subject away from him. "Tell me why
you said your school work wouldn't do you any good? You want to go to the
next grade, don't you?"
        "What good will an education do me in prison?" Marty let his
bitterness through full force. "That's where I'm probably going."
        "Why?" Philip was confused and felt his concern reassert itself as
he positioned the chair so Marty could move to his bed. "Who told you that
you're going to prison?"
        "The DA told me I would be charged." Marty wiped his eyes as he sat
on the bed. "Why? I'll tell you why." His tears streamed past his fingers
as he thought about his family. "It's because my mom and sister are dead
and they have to blame someone. So why not the `little white trash faggot'
that was driving...that did it!"
        "But...but it was just an accident." Philip's mind couldn't
understand why someone would attack Marty. He'd lost so much already. `It
wasn't fair,' his thoughts screamed at him. "Why would you go to prison?
You're younger than I am. What about your dad?"
        "Only rich people have `accidents'," Marty's voice broke with
emotion as he whispered. "And I'm old enough they moved me to adult court.
Besides, I don't even think my dad cares one way or the other." He quickly
rolled onto his stomach and surprised Philip by baring his sharply defined
ass. "Don't you think I'll be popular?" His words dripped with fear-tinged
sarcasm.
        "Why do you say that?" Philip exhaled slowly.
        "My uncle told me what happens in prison." Marty rolled back and
grimly smiled. "I think he's looking forward to it! I'm the `white trash
faggot' that killed his sister, after all."
        "Would you stop saying that?" Philip couldn't believe what he was
hearing. "You are not a `white trash faggot'. Who told you that?"
        "Everybody!" Marty shrugged his shoulders as he looked off into
space. "Well, except my dad, but like I said, he doesn't care one way or
another." His eyes found their focus in Philip's. "They're probably right
about me, but I'll be dead white trash before I go to jail."
        "Don't do anything stupid." Philip fought back the panic he felt.
"I'm sure it won't come to that!"
        "Why?" Marty's eyes turned cold again. "Why should you care? You've
already done your part. You kept me alive for this. Isn't that enough?"
        "Yeah, I helped keep you alive!" Philip snapped back. Irritated by
the mood swings. "Deal with it and don't fuckin wimp out! And stop being
such an asshole!"
        "No, you got it wrong...," Marty sighed as he lay back against his
pillows, "...I'm the dickhead. You're the asshole!"

__________________________________________________________________________

        "Will no one stay awake with me? Peter, John, James!" Philip let
his voice trail off as Mr. Craig waved him silent that Friday afternoon.
        "OK, look, everybody!" Mr. Craig yelled from the empty auditorium.
"First. The apostles are supposed to sound drunk during the last chorus!
And Flip! You're being technically accurate in your singing, but you need
to let go with some more emotion. Let it out! I've heard it in the other
pieces you've done! `Gethsemane' is the most emotional part you sing as
Jesus in this musical." He waved his arms to dismiss them. "All right,
everybody, we'll see you Monday after spring break for our first dress
rehearsal."
        "Hey, Flip! Shouldn't that be undress rehearsal?" a voice from the
wings sounded, to everybody's laughter.
        "Flip? Can you see me for a moment?" Mr. Craig watched his choice
for `Christ' descend into the auditorium and approach. "OK, Flip. What's
wrong? It's like you're someplace else."
        "I'm sorry." Philip just shrugged his shoulders. "Someone I know is
in trouble and I can't help. I'll try to get into character better next
time." He'd told his mom about Marty, but neither had thought of anything
they could do and it dragged at him like an anchor.
        "Is there anything I can do to help?" Mr. Craig examined his
obviously upset lead tenor closely.
        "No," Philip whispered and looked at his watch absently. "Whatever
was going to happen, happened a couple of hours ago." He hadn't been able
to help himself and had called to learn that Marty was supposed to appear
in court that morning to find out if he'd be charged as he feared.
        "OK. Go on and get out of here." Mr. Craig slumped down into his
chair as he watched the boy leave. "And try to relax and enjoy your spring
break. I'm expecting a lot from you! Don't be afraid of the character
and...ugh...get some sun! We don't want to have to put on your makeup with
a paint roller!"

        "So what did Mr. Craig want?" Philip found himself cornered by Mary
Laughlin as he tried to leave.
        "Nothing, we just talked about my part." He tried to avoid her
questioning glances. She was taking her part as one of the crowd of `press'
in the musical way too seriously. He figured the part was perfect for her,
as she was also on the school paper.
        "Well, I think you're doing a good job." She continued to tag along
as they headed for the exit. "I think he was just hoping to see more of you
in the part. Especially between you and the other characters, Jesus'
relationship to Judas in particular. You must have something like that you
can relate to." She brightened suddenly. "I know! Maybe a close friend,
like you and Mike!"
        "How do you know about Mike!" Philip spun at her savagely, the
blood draining from his face. Someone had been in his room other than his
mother.
        "P...P...Peter told me." She stepped back from him, frightened at
his reaction. "He said he must have been a good friend when you were
little."
        "Well!" Philip positively spat at her. "You tell your boyfriend to
meet me behind the bleachers when he's done with practice!"
        "Why?" She was shaking at Flip's display of temper she'd heard
about but never seen. "I thought we were friends. That Pete was your
friend!"
        "Not any more, we're not!" Philip stormed away, leaving the
distraught girl behind. "I don't need friends who spy on me! I'll be
waiting for him!"

        The completely agitated boy stalked back and forth through the
gravel under the bleachers. His temper was in complete control as it forced
all other thoughts from his mind.
        "Flip? I'm sorry." Peter spoke quietly as he, Jeff, and the others
stepped within his sight. "Mary told me what happened. I shouldn't have
gone into your room. All I can do is say I'm sorry."
        "It's too late for that! Motherfucker!" Philip screamed back. "We
never were friends! I don't need friends like you!"
        "Com'on, guys," Jeff pleaded as he stepped between the two. "You
can't fight each other. What will Bill say? Why don't you just accept his
apology and let it go?"
        "Bill's not here!" Philip spun away from Jeff to get some space,
"You probably put him up to it," and swung, connecting below Jeff's right
eye!
        The rest was a blur to Philip as Peter connected with the side of
his head and followed rapidly with punch after punch to his body. He dimly
remembered his own answering fists as they flew before he was forced to
collapse to the gravel by a hammer blow between his shoulder blades when he
stumbled.
        The others moved quickly to separate the combatants as Philip tried
to regain his breath that had been ejected from his body.
        "Flip! Stay down!" one of the group holding him said. "We're not
going to watch you two kill each other! We joined as a group, we still are!
OK, Peter made a mistake, but this stops now!"
        "Fuck you, Jamie!" Philip gasped. "Get off me!"
        "No!" the youth over him yelled. "You don't want friends? Fine! As
far as we're concerned, you don't exist any more! Except at the fire
station!" He stared his warning into Philip's eyes.  "None of this gets
back to Bill ever!" Jamie glanced from one to the other, then at Jeff, who
was still rubbing his cheek. If any of this got back to Bill, he was sure
they'd all be thrown out.
        "All right! It's over!" Philip quieted his struggles; at least he
could breathe again. "Now get the fuck off me and leave me alone!" He felt
the others release him and slowly stood to watch them leave. He pulled his
shirt up to wipe the blood he felt running from the cut over his eyebrow,
and stumbled out into the gathering darkness as he headed for his car.
        His mom would be pissed at him for fighting again, but there was no
way he could hide what had happened from her even if he wanted to. He
crawled into the front seat and watched the others drive out of his private
life for the last time. The pain was worth it, he thought silently. Even if
he did lose!

        Margaret quietly finished putting her groceries away. Philip would
be so surprised when his visitors finally arrived. She'd been talking to
them over the phone for a week, but had said nothing to her son about
it. They wanted to surprise him. She'd even taken the day off to pack his
bag for him and made him a set of swim wear by having a pair of his old
jeans meet her scissors. She'd had no idea what he would want to wear at
the beach, but cut-offs were always in style as far as she could tell. He
was going this time if she had to throw him out!
        The doorbell brought her out of her determined thoughts as she
hurried to the door and peered through the peep hole. She scrutinized the
two young men waiting outside. They were both blond, although the slighter
of the two, with his familiar features she recognized immediately, was much
darker than his heavier muscled companion. They were both dressed in shorts
and plain white T-shirts, perfect for their destination. She quickly opened
the door and smiled at the two warmly.
        "Uh...Mrs. Nevins?" the slighter one began, shifting nervously from
one foot to the other.
        "Of course, silly!" She reached out and pulled him into her
embrace. "It's so good to see you, Michael! I could never forget you." She
pulled back and extended her hand to the larger boy. "And you must be
Steven! I don't remember you as well as I do Mike, but then you were both
about that high...," she put her hand about shoulder height, "...last time
I saw either of you. Please come in. Philip should be home soon from his
rehearsal."
        "So, tell me," she began after they were settled in the living
room, "are you and Steven together?"
        "No. He's as straight as an arrow," Mike said wistfully. He was
feeling more at ease now that they were finally face to face. That Flip's
mom accepted his orientation had come as quite a relief to him when they'd
started their phone calls. "Although, I keep asking him if he wants to
learn." Mike smiled as his old friend playfully punched him.
        "Like I said before...," Steve retorted, "...you can be my `best
man' this summer. That's all!"
        "Congratulations, Steven!" She was enjoying the by-play between the
two. It's what she'd expected to see around her house when Philip had
entered high school and was her biggest disappointment when it never
happened. "When's the date?"
        "June thirtieth," Steve announced proudly. "I'd like you to come.
I'll make sure you get an invitation."
        "Ah...Mrs. Nevins?" Mike interjected, interrupting the two. "You're
certain Philip doesn't already have plans with his friends?" That had been
his greatest fear when he'd decided to reestablish contact with his old
friend. It was something he needed to do, according to the counselor he was
seeing for his apparently self destructive behavior. That's why he and
Steve had been able to assure Philip's mom that the trip would be drug and
alcohol free.
        "No. I'm certain he doesn't have anything planned," she sighed.
Maybe Mike could help her son. "From what I've seen, he doesn't have any
`real' friends to do anything with."
        Mike shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he let that news sink
in. The last time he'd been with Philip, he'd been outgoing and friendly to
a fault. What had changed? The sound of the back door opening and closing
brought him out of his thoughts as his heart began to pound. The boy whom
he'd fallen in love with all those years ago was here! He had given up on
Philip ever loving him back, but hoped to at least become friends again. He
didn't mind another straight friend; he and Steve had been best friends for
two years now. He hoped Flip did accept him like his mother had said!

        Philip quickly moved through the back of the house to enter his
room through the bathroom. He had no idea who the big green truck belonged
to, and didn't care to see who his mom had over. The only good thing about
it was that she'd be too preoccupied with the visitor to bother him for a
while, give him a chance to clean up so maybe he wouldn't be grounded for
too long. He quickly shed his bloody shirt and threw it under his bed until
he could figure out a way to clean it. The bruises hurt, but didn't look
too bad. He finished his quick appraisal in the mirror and turned to wash
his face off.
        "Philip! You'll never guess who's here to see you!" His mom's
excited voice broke the calm. He slowly turned, a condemned man facing the
inevitable.
        "Oh, Philip!" Margaret felt her excitement come crashing down as
she saw his battered body. She'd so hoped that all this was behind him, and
what would Mike think? They had driven so far to pick her son up for a week
at South Padre. She slowly collapsed onto his bed, absently kicking his
packed suitcase, and put her face in her hands. "What am I going to do with
you?"

End of Part 3

My thanks to ED for his assistance with the story.  Jonathan, thanks for
the discussion and ideas about this story.

I'd also like to thank everybody for their E-mailed comments. Let me know
what you think so far. I'm still a rookie at this writing thing.