Date: Sat, 26 May 2007 15:20:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Michael: Part Thirteen

      Some hours later, the three of them were seated around a coffee
table outside the OR, playing a game of cards that was provided
graciously by the hospital.  By merely glancing around, Michael could
tell that they were all wound tighter than a rubber ball.
      The doctor Michael talked to came out, still in his green scrubs.
He wanted to grab the front of his shirt, throw him against the wall, and
get some answers.  But instead, Michael, like Adam and Macy, stood up
nervously, the slippery cards falling from their hands.  They waited
tensely.  If the unthinkable happened, Michael really would snag the
doctor by his shirt.
      "Your brother Paul - it was a little dicey for a while.  We gave
him several units of blood substitute, and it brought his blood pressure
up to a safe range."
      Michael wanted to shout, "get on with it!" but he bit his tongue.
He couldn't do anything else except focus on the words.
      "He didn't go into cardiac arrest," the doctor continued.
"Although there was clogging through his brain.  Fortunately we stopped
all the hemorrhaging."
      "So what's he like now?" Macy forced her breathing to calm, tried
not to go spastic.
      "He's holding steady," the doctor said, tired and amazed.  "If
nothing goes wrong, he should be okay.  He needs to take it easy,
though."
      "Can we see him?" Adam jumped on the question.
      The doctor shook his head from side-to-side.  "Not till he comes
out of recovery, which would be another hour or so.  In the meantime, the
cafeteria is located on the first floor of the hospital.  Go eat, relax,
and come back in an hour.  It's been a long journey today."
      You don't even know half, Michael thought wearily, following Macy
and Adam down the steps.  He could tell that nobody was actually hungry,
despite the fact that they hadn't had anything decent to eat in ages.
Michael's throat still felt clamped up, but it was a huge relief to know
that Dylan would live another day.
      The atmosphere at their small table in the cafeteria was a little
bit more jubilant than it had been around the coffee table.  Macy nibbled
on a cookie, while checking the wall clock every second, a habit she
picked up ever since Dylan was admitted into the hospital.  It was
nearing six in the morning.
      Suddenly, Adam hopped up.  "Let's go," he said.  "It's been about
fifty minutes and that's almost an hour."  Macy and Michael got to their
feet, deciding there was no point in arguing.  Dylan's hospital room was
a double, but the other bed was empty.
      He still looked like death, extremely pale and groggy.  He couldn't
eat, so he had an IV drip.  Michael could tell that the pints of blood
had really helped.
      "Well, they sewed you up," Macy said.  "You're pretty gape-free at
this point."
      "Yeah, I always thought you had a big hole in your head," Adam
half-teased.
      "Guess I'm good to go," said Dylan hazily, trying to sit up.
      "I hear that's what Leonardo DiCaprio says every time he doesn't
win an Oscar on show night," Michael joshed, pushing Dylan back down.
      Macy sat delicately at the foot of the bed.  She looked exhausted,
relieved, and still worried all at once.  Finally, she let out a sigh.
"Boy, that was scary, Dylan.  Never pull that again."
      "Try being on the other side," (Macy shuddered at this prospect)
"Of course, for the majority of the time I was out cold.  Only came to
when it was all over."
      By eight in the morning, the hospital was alive with activity,
except for Dylan's room. Adam and Macy crashed hard on the spare hospital
bed, given what they'd been through in the last twenty-four hours.  The
nurse would check in periodically and on her last visit brought them the
deck of cards.
      Michael sat cautiously next to Dylan, making sure he didn't disturb
any of the beeping machines.  Together they mindlessly played go-fish,
whispering the words "go-fish" as to not disturb the other two.  But
Michael had a feeling that an earthquake would wake neither of them.
      "While you were getting operated on," Michael said quietly, tossing
a card down to the pile.  "I had a thought: What would your parents say
if they knew you were here?  I realized I couldn't answer that because I
don't really know your family history."
      Dylan asked for a queen of spades, and then said: "Michael, I get
along with just about anybody.  That's part of the reason people say I'm
so popular, but I was never popular with my parents.  My father was a
drill sergeant and pressured me to do the best.  Sure, I love playing
sports, the victories, the traveling, everything about it is appealing,
but my father made it so that it lost its appeal.  If I were to lose one
game, he would not speak to me for a week.  As for my mother," he smiled
faintly at her memory, "Perfect in almost every way.  Warm, affectionate
- and unfortunately not my father's type.  Well, she was when they were
first married."
      Michael called victory and threw down his last card.  "So what
happened, if you don't mind my asking?"
      He shrugged his broad shoulders.  "She lives in California with her
sister.  I would have gone with her, but one morning I woke up and she
was gone.  Her plan was to leave after I graduated, but she couldn't make
it.  It's only been two weeks since her departure and I am still blaming
myself."
      Before long Michael felt his eyelids become heavy with sleep.  He
laid his head on the pillow, so close to Dylan's shoulder.  He watched
Dylan's chest rise and fall with his soft, rhythmical breathing.  "Well,
after we find my mom," he yawned largely, "we'll find yours."
      "Why do you think your mom is in Ohio, Michael?" Dylan inquired
after a few minutes.
      But Michael was already fast asleep.

Lifted from the soft pit of slumber at five later that evening, Michael
was in bed, half covered by the sheets.  He opened his eyes and turned to
Dylan heaped beside him.  He was breathing gently; his shaggy hair
straggled untidily over the pillow.  Almost on cue, Adam and Macy came
waltzing into the room, followed closely by a nurse who was pushing
dinner on a cart.
      "We decided to order dinner," Macy said unnecessarily.
      Adam hopped on the bed, causing it to bob up and down, which
ultimately stirred Dylan.  He let out a groan and rolled roughly over
into Michael, forgetting that he was there.
      "Be careful deary," the nurse said, officially waking Dylan.  "You
can't roll too much or else you'll pull the IV out and we don't want to
do that."  She adjusted the IV meticulously as Dylan slowly sat up.  "You
must be a sports player," she observed, then added, "sport players always
heal quickly.  They get so many injuries that their bodies are use to
it."
      "What do you think the chances are of checking out tonight?" Dylan
asked, his puppy-dog brown eyes looking up at the nurse.
      "Oh, I would say that there is a good chance.  Just take it easy
for now, and then I'll give you a definite answer in a few hours."  She
smiled and shut the door behind her as she left the room.
      Staring at the tray of food before him, Michael suddenly felt his
long-last appetite return, regardless of the fact that it was hospital,
but beggars can not be choosers.  He began to scarf down the food and for
a few minutes the room was completely silent, save for the munching and
slurping.  Everyone dug into the food with quick precision.
      Adam paused, his drink to his lips, "Do you realize how long it's
been since we've had any alcohol in our system?"
      "Approximately three days," Dylan answered promptly.  "Which really
isn't all that long."
      "Look who you are talking to," Michael said under his breath, so
only Dylan could hear him.  Dylan flashed one of his rare smiles at
Michael, and it was like the sun coming out.  He felt his cheeks get hot
and his fantasies returned.
      "I wonder what we are doing in school," Macy said musingly, pushing
around the last of her fruit.
      "Professor Gordis probably didn't even notice that we are missing
from his physics class," Adam said lamely, then added, "I never did get
to smash his car in..."
      Michael was ready to concur with the other two that Dylan looked
ready to go.  He had had an additional several hours to rest and seemed
to be back at par.  Before the paper work was cleared, Adam glanced at
Dylan and asked, "You sure you can move?"
      He shrugged, looking tired again, and pushed away the food tray.
"Sure."  He lay back down and shut his eyes.

"Gosh, this here outdoors is somethin' different," Dylan joked as the
four of them left the hospital - for good.  Michael grinned and felt
instant gratification wrap around him.  He felt like punching the air and
cheering that the four of them were at it again, but instead he just
continued to smile like a fool.
      Michael did, however, keep an eye on him.  He had a feeling Macy
and Adam were doing the same, as well.  Michael noticed that Dylan would
wince every once in awhile, but he didn't complain.
      Another fly in the ointment: Dylan was having the same waves of
heat and racing heart he'd had every time he was around Dylan.  His
breath came in little pants, and he was so jumpy it felt as if bugs were
crawling all over him.  He hadn't felt this way about Dylan for awhile.
      For the most part, everything was back to normal.  They were making
their way down the highway with no signs of intrusions from police and/or
Carlos's floozies.  Michael couldn't help but to wonder where they were,
while at the same time he had a growing sense of fear that they will have
encounters in the near future...
      The only thing that had drastically changed while they were tucked
away in the hospital was the weather.  Before, the weather had been
teetering between warm and cold and now it had succumbed to the
coldness.  Biting winds whipped around them, Michael would place every
last dollar he had that in the weekly weather forecast snow would be
predicted.
      "Do you realize I have at least a pint of blood from each one of
you inside of me," Dylan said, shivering slightly.  "Just incase you were
still wondering if I will turn back.  We're bonded by blood, now."
      From then on, as they crossed the highway, they were officially in
the hands of fate.
      Michael couldn't decide if this was a good or bad thing.