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Message-ID: <51225asstr$1116544204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 37 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Thu, 19 May 2005 19:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 37.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mff, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 37 :: Things Blur

I woke up and realized that Pammie's arm was wrapped around my
midsection, just fractions of an inch from my morning erection. 
An erection that started to fade the instant I realized whose
hand it was.

I reached down and moved her hand away.

She woke up at once and laughed.  "Tired, big guy?"

"No, Pammie, I'm just fine.  Well rested.  I thought you said you
weren't interested in sex with me again?"

"Oh, Davey!  I'm a woman!  We change our minds as often as we
change our shoes."

"Pammie, you're my sister's friend.  My parents seem to like you.
 But I'm in the same category as Mercedes: thanks, but it's just
not who I am."

Her fingers moved back, this time extending to my cock, which
wasn't as hard as when I'd woken up.  She ran her fingers over
it.  "Oh, one day I think that will change, Davey."

"Not yet, Pammie," I told her.  I wasn't getting hard.  I grinned
to myself.  I was fairly sure that was going to bother Pammie. 
It did.

She started trying to jerk me off and I once again moved her
hand.

She giggled.  "I kissed Shellie yesterday after school.  She was
more curious than you."

"I'm not Shellie," I told her and sat up on the edge of the bed.
I was getting pissed, really pissed.  "Pammie, if you want to
sleep in my bed while you're here, fine.  But I won't be back. 
I'd rather you slept on the couch, but that's just me.  Wherever
you are, I'm going to be someplace else."

She giggled.  "Sure, Davey.  You say no all the time -- but you
don't really mean it."

"Pammie, you need to get a reality check.  Get up, go in and sit
down and talk to Wanda.  Ask her about someone, who when told
'no,' just keeps on coming.  Tell her how you think it's okay
because the person saying no doesn't really mean it.  You ask her
what she thinks of that sort of person.  I bet you'll get an
earful."

She pulled back.  "I'm not like that, Davey."

"You could sure fool me, Pammie.  What part of 'no, please stop'
haven't you understood?"

I got up and grabbed clothes and underwear, then shortly
thereafter was in the water, swimming.  I shut off the sprinklers
before I got in.  They'd been very effective, I thought, the
water temperature felt ten degrees colder than it had been the
other day.  My balls were shrunken midgets and that brought a
smile to my face.  Pammie should see me now!

It took a fair amount of exercise to get warm, and when I was
finally comfortable, I spent some time just thinking while
methodically putting one hand after another over my head and
kicking my legs for all I was worth.

Mercedes, Shellie and I shared something special.  I wasn't,
though, doing enough to keep up my part of the deal.  It wasn't
that I wanted to hurt anyone, but I was sure that my continued
lapses were doing the job anyway.

And what was this thing about baseball?  I needed to do one of
two things.  Quit, really quit and get over it, or buckle down,
shut up and start doing my best within the framework that I was
forced into.  The problem was, I knew, that I didn't want to be
forced into someone else's framework.  I was comfortable setting
my own limits.  One of these days, I was sure, I was going to
screw up spectacularly and there was every chance that when I
did, I was going to really hurt Mercedes or Shellie, or both at
once.

I'd give anything to prevent that from happening.  Anything at
all.  I remembered a while ago when I'd been going to blurt out
how well Shellie spoke Japanese in Geography class and the flash
of day dream or whatever it was, happened.  I laughed.  Oh, yeah!
 It was like that movie "It's a Wonderful Life" or "A Christmas
Carol."  Was I having visits from the ghosts of Christmases to
come?  I doubted an angel was going to come down and help me with
my love life.

I moved on to experiments on octopi.  We could see if they
recognize colors and shapes.  Put say, a red ball into the tank
and a yellow one.  If the octopus goes to the red ball, it gets a
snack.  Why would an octopus go to a red ball or yellow one for
that matter?  Maybe start out by putting food in the red one and
not the yellow one?  Or maybe something simpler... maybe put some
food in a small bottle with a screw top?  Could an octopus figure
out how to unscrew a bottle if motivated?  Aside from hunger,
what would motivate an octopus?

I thought and thought about it; I was, so to speak, brought up
short when I ran into Wanda.  Literally ran into her.  She was
standing in the pool and I hadn't been paying any attention to
where I was going.  It was all autopilot.

"Are you okay, Davey?" she asked.

I stood up and frowned.  Why was she standing in the pool,
wearing her school clothes?  "Of course.  Why do you ask?"

She looked at me like I was an idiot.  "Because it's nearly
seven.  Because you've been swimming back and forth, up and down
the pool for more than an hour.  Because for the last ten minutes
I've done everything but throw rocks at you to get your
attention."

"Well, you have my attention now.  Sorry, I lost track of the
time."

"Davey, you lost track of a whole lot more than time.  You're
going to have to hustle to get ready for school."

So, I hustled.  I decided I would not stand in the shower and
contemplate what I'd been doing in the pool.  Washing myself, I
was aware once again that I'd pushed my arms and legs too far.  I
was a little wobbly and I had a tremor in both arms.  I laughed
at that, reminded of Chris.  I wished her well; I really wished
her well.

I managed to get in Wanda's car about two seconds before she
headed out, finding myself alone in the back seat.  Emily, I
remembered, was going to the doctor; later Mom would bring her to
school.  Pammie was sitting up front talking to Wanda about
cheerleading stuff.  I yawned and promptly fought that.




At school I sat down next to Mercedes.  "I was thinking about
testing our octopus this morning." I explained my ideas to her
and Mercedes thought they were cool... if nothing else, it was a
place to start.

"How about a control?" she asked.  "How would a control be useful
in that kind of experiment?"

"We could switch colors or something.  Or leave out the food," I
suggested.

She seemed a little dubious, then grinned.  "Now what would be
cool is if they were in the same tank, with that partition you
were talking about, where Mr. Octopus B could watch Mr. Octopus A
do his thing.  What if Mr. B didn't need to be shown which ball
had the food, or if it could open the jar on the first try?"

"Learn by watching?" I said, dubious now myself.

We talked a few more minutes, and then it was time for school to
start.  When we got up, Mercedes put her hand on my arm and
pulled me a few feet away from the door as everyone else headed
in.

"Yesterday, Pammie came home while Shellie and I were still
studying.  Pammie started coming onto Shellie; I got a little
pissed, but then Wanda told Pammie to cool it."

"What did Shellie say?"

Mercedes looked around to see if anyone else was close.  "She's
confused right now, Davey.  She understands why Ellie doesn't
want to be with you and me, but it still hurts, I think, to be
rejected, even if it's not you who is being rejected."

"We'll just have to brighten her day," I told her.

"Now that's a good idea!" Mercedes laughed and I did, too.

At lunchtime I looked across the table at Emily.  "Did Mom happen
to say anything about Chris?" I asked.

"No," she shook her head.  "Dr. Jacoby said that it would be a
while before anyone would know.  On the other hand, I'm fine and
my baby is fine."

"That's good!" I said with enthusiasm, only too happy to have
good news.

"Oh, Davey?  Your mom says your appointment with Dr. Jacoby is
tomorrow at eleven," Emily told me.

"Your appointment?" Both Shellie and Mercedes spoke at once.

"Yeah, I keep forgetting things.  Chris suggested I should see a
doctor about it."

"For forgetfulness?" Mercedes sounded really dubious now.

"You ought to try those memory herbs," Shellie said, a hint of a
giggle in her voice.

"Yeah, well this morning I nearly forgot about school," I told
them.

That brought hysterics to Shellie.  "Oh, how I wish I could put
it from my mind!"

"No," I explained, "I was swimming and lost track of the time,
thinking about all sorts of things... including hungry octopi."

"If I was thinking about a hungry octopus when I was swimming,"
Mercedes joked, "I'd set a personal best time -- getting out of
the pool."

"No," I joshed back.  "I was just practicing in case one of our
octopi breaks out of the tank and does take up residence in the
pool.  And is hungry..."

Everyone laughed.

Rob had been talking to Emily in low tones; the two of them were
paying only marginal attention to our antics.  Now he looked up
at me.  "Emily and I were going to do her interview, finally, at
last, Saturday afternoon in your family room, Davey.  Emily says
you offered to help with the sound."

"Sure," I told him.  "I play poker Saturday night, and now I have
Saturday mornings free to catch up on my studying."

"That was a stupid thing yesterday," Rob told me.

"Yeah, I know.  But what am I supposed to do, Rob?  Take another
look at Jack and tell me again why I should listen to coaches and
do what they say with blind obedience.  Not me!"

"You need to find a middle ground.  The damn coaches need to find
a middle ground.  Christ, why would you want to put chains on
someone who can hit away like you can?  If I was playing you, I'd
want you going for the fences, to advance the runners.  None of
this sacrifice bunt crap."

"What really upset me is the damn bat," I told him.  "I love
wooden bats.  Love, love, love them!"  I grinned at Shellie, then
Mercedes.  "Maybe not as much as I love some people I know, but I
love them.  There is nothing lovable about a chunk of aluminum."

"Amen!" Rob said.  "Half the team is pissed because you quit
again, half the team is pissed at the coach.  You do know that
half the guys in that room had cell phones with them?"

I shook my head.  No, I didn't know that.

Rob chuckled.  "The football coach has an assistant who sits in
the office during a team meeting, dialing one cell phone number
after another for the guys on the team.  If one goes off, it's
two laps around the field, after you finish your twenty
pushups."

"I could live with a rule like that," I told him.  "My dad says I
should go out for football.  Sounds like a better deal!"

"Oh, it is, it is!  For one thing, I'm led to believe that the
football team was a little jealous of our having cheerleaders
along at the exhibition game last week.  It might be Christmas or
Valentine's Day before the baseball team sees them again."

"Aren't half the football team on the baseball team?" Mercedes
interjected a question.

"Yeah, but I think it's the principle of the thing."

When it came time to go to Geography, I walked slowly with
Shellie.  "Was Pammie a problem yesterday?" I asked her.

Shellie shrugged.  "I'm horny, okay?  It was tempting, a little.
But she comes on so strong..."  Shellie looked at me.  "If she'd
taken some time, I don't know what I'd have done."

"You know she's been sleeping in my bed?" I told Shellie.  She
nodded.

"Yeah, well, no more.  I didn't know about Pammie and you until
later, but in spite of her telling everyone she wasn't in bed
with me for sex, now she wants sex.  And I don't... at least not
with her."

"Some people don't like to hear the word 'no,'" Shellie told me.

"I guess.  Pammie's a girl.  I don't imagine she likes it when a
guy doesn't understand it either."  Shellie's smile was the one I
loved.  Braids and smiles; smiles and braids.  I loved 'em!

At the door to Geography I paused for a split second, checking my
messages.  Still nothing on Chris.  Surely, I thought, the
operation would be done by now, right?

Things were back to normal in Geography.  Colonel Terrell had a
million questions; Shellie was ready to answer each and every one
of them in a scrupulously, almost mockingly, polite manner.

PE was a surprise.  The first thing was being called to the PE
office to meet with Coach Delgado.

"You have a problem, Davey.  You have a temper."

"Yes, sir, I do."

"And I'm not used to backtalk from a student.  In fact, I would
go so far as to say I don't like it at all."

I shrugged.

"I had a delegation of players on my doorstep five minutes after
the meeting yesterday.  If I'd thought you'd put them up to it,
I'd have gotten really pissed.  Except, most of them are seniors.
 If you can wrap seniors around your little finger, well, I'd
like to think I know the measure of the men who play for me. 
You're good, but not that good."

"And your point?" I asked.

"Statistics," he said.  "It's an excuse, but not a very good one.
 I have to watch two dozen young men play ball, Davey.  I watch
more than a half dozen pitchers that I'm trying to bring along,
including you.

"So when a player does this or that well, that's good.  I put a
little checkbox in my mind in the right box and look to fill in
some of the other checkboxes.  There are a million skills
required to play baseball well, Davey."

"Yes, sir.  I understand that.  My fielding is average."

"That it is.  Your pitching, particularly when you're upset, is
spectacular.  Alas, I haven't paid as much attention to your bat.
 This morning I sat down with the assistants and we talked about
your hitting.

"Frankly, I think you're getting spoiled, Davey.  The pitching on
this team, outside of you, is not one of our bright spots.  The
hitting isn't anything to write home about, either.  Or, to put
it another way, I think you've gotten lazy, because you seem so
much better than anyone else, you don't have to work at it.

"Yesterday we both did things that, I think, we would do
differently today.  In fairness, I have to admit to being mildly
shell-shocked.  About four yesterday afternoon the Chief of
Police dropped in and let it be known that he thought I was
little short of an idiot for suggesting you be without a phone. 
He'd hardly gotten out the door before the principal was in here
saying pretty much the same thing."

"Sir, normally I'd say that was my father at work.  But not this
time."

"I didn't think it for a second," Coach Delgado told me.  "The
Chief of Police said if I thought that, I should step down.  He
has friends and he's been known to do them small favors... like
getting them out of a 'walking on the grass' ticket.  Nothing
bigger.  The principal was even more candid, saying that a dozen
football players had been in his office a few minutes before
demanding a uniform school policy on cell phones that takes into
account their ubiquity.  That's the word they used, 'ubiquity.'"
The coach laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

"So, I have a little surprise for you.  Get out on the field,
warm up and then take a little batting practice.  After that, you
have a choice: come back to the baseball team or leave.  If you
come back, I'll listen to what you have to say.  And then I'll
make the decision on what you will do.  If you don't like that or
aren't willing to work under those rules, don't come back."

"And why would I think you'd be any more interested in listening
to me than before?" I asked.  "You're the coach; you're used to
getting what you want.  If you're just going to blow off my
opinions, then I don't want to come back."

"Davey, I've had my nose rubbed in it, okay?  You put down three
batters in ten pitches yesterday.  You have an on-base
percentage, an extra-base percentage, your RBI, home run and hit
count stats are incredible.  Personally, I think it's a fluke,
but for the time being I'm going to withhold any judgment.  You
are a very good player, Davey.  Perhaps even a star.  In that
case, why, even the orneriest coaches tend to give that kind of
player some slack.

"Go warm up.  Get ready for batting practice."  He turned around
and handed me the wooden bat I liked so much.  "Hit away.  You
might find it a little more interesting today."

I nodded.  Personally, I thought he was just trying to save his
job, but I did want to play.  He was right about wanting a
do-over for yesterday, too.

I went out and everyone else was done with warm-ups.  I found a
place to one side and went through the regimen as best as I
could.  I was a little concerned that my swimming that morning
was going to mess things up like the chin-ups had the week
before.  At least, I thought, I wasn't going to have to face
Desmond in the ring!  I could stand at the plate all day long and
smack baseballs!

I finished and trotted to batting practice.  Jack was waiting in
line ahead of me and he flashed me a grin.

"Thanks, Jack, I appreciate it," I told him.  He just about had
to be the ringleader, I thought.  Him or Chuck.

"Hey, winning isn't just anything, it's the only thing, Davey! 
You're both assholes.  But, you're our assholes!  You get wiped,
then we move on."

"Is that good or bad?" I laughed.

"Just the facts of life, Davey.  You know what we want to do this
year.  We're going to do it.  Whatever it takes, we're going to
do it."

"Well, I still say thanks."

"Well, you're still welcome."

Jack went up to the on deck circle and I wiggled the wooden bat.
Lucky bat, I thought.  Lucky bat!  I looked up and saw someone I
didn't recognize throwing on the mound.  Not one of our regular
pitchers or coaches.  He was in his mid-twenties, I judged.  What
had caught my eye was a ball that smacked into Trace's glove at
what looked like light speed.

The guy who was batting looked back at Trace, then at the
pitcher.  Coach Delgado was out now.  "You're supposed to swing,
batter!"

"At what?"

Another pitch, only this one seemed to float in a lazy curve
towards the plate.  I grinned.  I could throw like that myself. 
It was frustrating to the batters, I knew.  You felt like you
could take two or three swings at it.  Not really, of course, but
that's what it felt like.

Finally a couple of pitches, medium speed, down the middle.  The
batter punched one foul, then one down the first baseline.  He'd
been told to run it out, but Mercedes was a significantly faster
runner.  No one, I thought smugly, was ever going to tell
Mercedes that she ran like a girl.

Then Jack was up.  Again, the blazing fastball.  Jack ticked it,
but Trace held on.  Another one, and Jack simply missed it. 
Another fastball, inside, forcing Jack back a step.  Then the
lazy curve: that at least, Jack hit, although it barely got over
the shortstop's head.  Still, it would have been a hit.  Two more
pitches, down the middle, easy to hit.  Jack was told to run out
the last, and instead he punched it over the fence.  He came back
grinning and I high-fived him.

Then it was my turn.  I watched the fellow carefully, watching
his windup.  I swung.  Oh gosh, did my hands tingle!  The bat
blew into a million pieces and the ball landed just past
Mercedes, but fair.

I looked at the ruin of the bat, then at the pitcher.  Buddy,
you're going to pay!  Pay big!

A couple of the other players were cleaning up the mess, while I
went to get one of the damned aluminum bats.  Tonight if
possible, tomorrow if nothing else, I was going to go buy a few
bats of my own, with my own money.  This was never going to
happen again!  And no coach was going to take away my property! 
Not ever!

I went back to the plate, and stood, concentrating, swinging the
bat in little curlicues.  The pitcher wound up and threw another
screamer.  This time I hit it right.

I jumped because an air-horn sounded from someone standing behind
me.  "Air raid alert!" someone yelled.

The ball was well beyond the snack bar.  Well beyond.  I grinned
to myself, then turned and grinned to the pitcher.  Okay guy, I
thought, if you think that was interesting, wait until you see
what I do with your floater...

Halfway through his windup I realized it wasn't going to be a
floater.  I rushed my swing and made contact.  The ball went like
a rocket down the first base line, right at Mercedes.  My heart
went into my throat for an instant, but she got her glove up. 
She couldn't hold onto it, the ball caromed off the heel of her
glove, going straight into the bleachers.

Mercedes had the glove off in a second, and was, I thought,
sucking on her hand.

Behind me Trace laughed.  "Oh me, oh my!  I think that one's
going to cost you the next time the two of you are alone
together."

Mercedes put the glove on after a few seconds, and took her
position again.  I breathed a small sigh of relief.

The next pitch was, I thought, the hardest one he'd thrown yet,
and it was inside.  Then I realized what I was seeing.  He was a
lefty and his curveball just looked like it was inside.

There wasn't enough time for a proper swing, but I got the bat in
place anyway.  Talk about your towering fly balls!  It went way,
up... alas, the pitcher only had to take a half step back to
catch it.  It took a while to come down, but I would have been
out.

I swiveled my head on my shoulders, and decided it was time to
take things in hand.  "Try that one again!" I called out to the
mound.

The pitcher grinned and did just that.  I made my adjustment, and
the ball was about ten feet over the right field fence, when it
started to curve down.

The next pitch was another fast curve, but outside.  I looked at
it and put my bat down on my shoulder and smiled at the pitcher
while Trace went scrambling to the backstop to run it down.

Then it really was time for the floater.  I smacked it hard, and
"klonk" or not, the ball flew over the left field fence.  No air
horn though, it just barely cleared it.

From behind me Coach Delgado called loudly, "Run the next one
out, Harper!"

I looked out at the mound.  The pitcher started his windup, and I
studied it intently.  It was totally different than before,
totally.  He kept his hand in his glove for much longer and I
simply had no idea what was coming.  The ball started running
inside and I hopped back.  Except that was his curve again, and
it took the inside corner of the plate.

"Hit away, Harper!" Coach Delgado called again.

The next pitch was just as obscured as the previous pitch.  I
focused just on the ball as it came away from his hand, watching
it spin.  Fastball, I thought.  I swung just as hard as I could
and the ball sailed over the left field fence, just barely fair.
I bowed to the pitcher, who just stood there, expressionless.

I checked my phone on the way to Spanish, being careful to wait
until I was far, far away from the PE locker room and the coach.
Mom had tried to call me, but had left no message.  I promptly
called her back.

"How is Chris?" I asked, nervous, my stomach not in good shape. 
How was I going to deal with this if the news was bad?

"She's out of surgery, so I'd say, so far, so good.  It's too
early to tell about anything else."

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get me through to the end of
the day.  Wanda drove us all home, including Pammie and Emily. 
It was significantly more crowded in her car than it had been in
the morning with three extra people.  I really enjoyed having
Shellie sitting in my lap.  And maybe a few times I ran my hand
over her breasts, and maybe I was hard as a rock and she was
rubbing her bottom on my lap.

Thus, by the time we got home, I was well on my way to thinking
we should have a little time to ourselves first, then study.  I
wasn't brave enough to actually suggest it, though, so I settled
for studying with my friends.  In truth, afterwards, when
Mercedes' dad came to pick her and Shellie up, my biggest regret
remained that Karen wasn't with us.

I kissed my two friends goodbye, hugged them both and then helped
Wanda fix dinner.  Mashed potatoes, again.  How far away Labor
Day seemed!  What a lot of things had happened since then!

At one point, when the potatoes were boiling and Wanda was taking
a break, she came over and hugged me.  "What?" I asked.

"For the hell of it, little brother.  I haven't done enough
hugging lately, including hugging you.  Pammie's been crying in
my ear all day about how mean and cruel you are for kicking her
out of bed."

"I told her she could stay and I'd sleep on the couch."

Wanda smiled and shook her head.  She glanced at the door to the
kitchen and the outside world.  "Pammie's starting to get antsy.
She thought her father would ask her to come back, and that all
would be forgiven.   She talked to her mother, and her mother
kept breaking into tears.  It seems like the good Reverend isn't
in a very forgiving mood and that the only way she's going to get
to come back is to apologize to him and swear she will be a good
little girl from here on out.  Oh, yeah and stop being a
cheerleader because they wear slutty clothes and perform slutty
routines."

"Wanda, what do the cheerleaders do on the bus?"

She looked at me and laughed.  "We help the guys get their rocks
off.  A couple of years ago, we thought we'd reward the
cross-country track team.  Except things weren't quite so
liberated then; too many of them were girls who weren't about to
do anything like that... and too many of the guys as well.  That
might make us sluts in guy's eyes, but not to us."

"Maybe that's why Pammie's father thinks that, too, then.  Wanda,
I don't know the answers to any of this; it confuses me.  I think
people should be allowed to do what they want, if it's not
hurting someone.  But parents who don't control their kids raise
monsters.  I heard that from both you and Pammie the other day
when we were talking."

"And your point?"  The hug had pretty much ended; we weren't
quite to blows... not quite.

"You can't have it both ways, Wanda.  You can't think parents
should control their kids, but object when they do."

"We're a little past that," Wanda said sarcastically.

"And when the little monsters grow up to be Nick Fesselhofs, does
that mean he's past that, too?  What if he'd managed to kill
someone, Wanda?  Right now he'd be on trial, looking at the death
penalty.  This is Texas; execution is what happens to murderers
here."

"I'm not sure I follow your logic, Davey," Dad said from the
doorway.  "But I think I agree with the sentiment."

Wanda turned on him.  "So, you think Pammie should continue to
stay here?"

"I came in at the point Davey was saying he didn't know the
answers to any of this.  Wanda, in spite of my many years of
experience, I don't have the answers either.  I will not send her
back home, if there's the least risk she would be shut away.  Not
going to happen, do you understand?  On the other hand, Pammie
staying here is a temporary solution, because I'm not going to
adopt her."

"What about Emily?" I asked.

"I might not have all the answers," Dad replied, "but there are
some things your mother feels she does know.  Emily is Emily, and
I will support your mother in whatever it is she wants to do in
regards to Emily.  I've never taken in a stray before; I don't
regret it now.  But just because I did it once, doesn't mean it's
going to become routine."

He waved at the stove.  "I do believe you two have things to
do."

Well, I did.  If nothing else, the potatoes were easy to mash.

After dinner I asked Dad if he'd take me bat shopping.  He
laughed and agreed.  While we were on the way to the store, I
talked to him about what Coach Delgado and I had talked about.  
Dad seemed to think that it was about the best I could hope for;
I'd come to that conclusion myself.

There are a lot of choices when it comes to baseball bats, and I
took a few minutes swinging each of them.  Finally I found one I
liked a lot and one I liked a little.  When I went to pay for
them, Dad plunked down his credit card and told me to save my
money for the next time the Amaling sisters came to play poker.

When we got home and were walking towards the front door, Dad
stopped me.  "One little thing, Davey.  One little thing to think
about."

I waited patiently and he held up his watch.  "By my watch we
were gone not quite fifty minutes.  There is a reason I don't go
shopping with your mother very often; that's because she checks
everything in the store, and then thinks about it some more.  You
knew what you wanted, went straight to the right place, checked
things out and made your decision."

"I knew what I wanted," I agreed.

"So does your mother.  The ability to make decisions, Davey, is
quite precious.  Quite precious.  You did good."

I studied some on my own, I wrote down a lot of notes on possible
ways to test octopus intelligence.  When it came time to go to
sleep, Pammie was ensconced in my bed.  I gathered up what I
needed in the morning and went out to the couch.

"You're really not going to come and fuck?" she asked, as I was
leaving.

"Really, I'm not.  For one thing, Pammie, I make love to the
women I'm with.  If it's fucking you want, try taking care of it
yourself."

I turned and walked away, ignoring the pillow that thumped
against the door a second later.  I smiled at the thought.  That
was so like Pammie: ineffectual and late.  Maybe she should have
started addressing her problems earlier?

I lay down for a few seconds, and then I got up.  The second I
put my head down on the pillow, I got incredibly antsy.  I went
into the living room; Dad was reading a magazine.  "Is Mom home
yet?"

"No, she said not until eleven."

"Do you know where she is?  The hospital?"

"It's Wednesday, Davey.  She's with a friend."

I took a deep breath, and then smiled.  "I think I'll wait up for
her, anyway."

I went and fetched "The Godfather" and returned to the living
room to wait.

When she walked in the door, she stood for a second, looking at
me.  I looked back at her.

"If you're going to ask me if I've heard anything, I haven't."

"Surely you'd know by now?" I wasn't quite desperate.  Not
quite.

"Davey, I don't honestly know what's going on.  Usually when
there's good news, it bubbles out like coke from a shaken bottle.
 Bad news isn't that fast, but it goes around quickly too. 
Davey, I haven't heard anything.  I swear."

I nodded, marked my place in my book and went to lie down on the
couch.  I think I had my eyes closed for about a second when I
heard a rustle.  The room was too dark to see who it was, but
someone had sat down next to me on the couch.

"About now, I think you need another hug," Wanda told me.

"I'd like that," I told her.

"Just hugs, you understand?"

I chuckled.  "I understand.  Wanda, I've become a connoisseur of
hugs.  Any time you want one, let me know!"

She snuggled into the crook of my arm.  Once again, it was
amazing how little room she took up.  Doubly so, when you
contemplated how narrow the couch was.

In the darkness I felt her stir a bit, and felt her lips brush my
cheek.  "Sleep, Davey.  You need to sleep."

I faded away on the wings of dreams.  Forgettable dreams,
though.



When I got up Thursday morning, I was careful about keeping track
of my exercising.  I realized as I was standing in the shower
after my swim that maybe part of the problem was that I wasn't
doing any chin-ups.  I really needed to find a place for Pammie
to go.  I wondered what Ms. Weaver would say if I asked her if
Pammie could stay with Karen?  It wasn't a serious idea, though.

At breakfast Mom told me to present myself at twenty of eleven in
front of the school and handed me a note to give the office.

The morning seemed to crawl by very slowly; I hoped Mercedes was
taking good notes, because I was completely distracted, worrying
about Chris.

When it came time for Shellie to go to the Office class and me to
meet my mother, we stopped and talked for a second.  "I hope you
don't mind my being concerned about Chris," I told her.

She smiled and shook her head.  "Not at all."

"She's not really a girlfriend, even if I told her that."

"Davey, that's a terrible thing to say," Shellie exclaimed. 
"That's not something you can pretend to say."

"She's not the kind of girlfriend you are," I told her.

"Davey, we are three people with one heart.  I don't understand
it, but I know thinking about it makes my heart sing, my head
spin and gets parts of me doing some very unusual things.  Don't
worry about it, okay?"

I smiled and she smiled back.

When I got into the car with Mom, I asked the inevitable
question.  "Have you heard anything?"

"No, I haven't.  I tried a few times this morning, too.  People
who would have told me, under normal circumstances.  Davey, Dr.
Jacoby is going to know.  I suspect that she's going to tell you
something unpleasant.  Asking that not to affect you at this
point is a foolish hope on my part.  Just be cool, okay?"

"I will," I promised.

At first, the visit was anticlimactic.  Dr. Jacoby?  Not there, I
was told.  She'd be back soon.  In the meantime, there was a lot
of stuff for me to do.  A dozen tests, including more blood work:
a euphemism for bleeding the patient dry.

When Dr. Jacoby did appear, she was matter-of-fact, wanting to
complete the examination first.  And when the actual examination
was complete, she wanted me to talk about my life history of
late, right down to what I had for breakfast two weeks ago.

I'd promised I'd be cool; this was about Chris.  I was pretty
sure Dr. Jacoby understood a little of what I felt towards Chris
-- I didn't think she was being mean.

Finally, she finished and sat back, looking at me.

"You like Chris?" she asked.

"Yes, doctor."

"A lot, a little?  That way?"

"A lot, not a little.  Not that way, she's a little young."

"Chris did amazingly well," she told me.  "Unbelievably,
amazingly well.  Not only was the growth benign, it wasn't even a
tumor -- it was a fibrous cyst.  The surgeons did superb work and
are confident they removed it all.  Certainly, all the gross
symptoms have vanished."

I was mildly scandalized.  "Her shaking wasn't gross."

Dr. Jacoby smiled.  "Gross symptoms, Davey, aren't what you
think.  In medical terminology it means the most obvious and
apparent... it's not a commentary on their suitability for
dinnertime viewing."

"So, how is she?"

"Just remember that you aren't the only one in the same
position," Dr. Jacoby told me.  "It's not easy for anyone to deal
with some complications from this sort of surgery; not the
patient, not the family.  The growth was in a position close to a
lot of important brain functions.  One of those is memory. 
Davey, Chris doesn't remember very much of the last few months. 
Nothing at all of the last few weeks."

I tried to understand that, but couldn't.  "What does that
mean?"

"It means, Davey, that when you visit her, as I assume you will,
when you walk through the door, the first question Chris will ask
is 'Who are you?'"

For a second, I wanted to cry.  Then I lifted my head up and
looked her right in the eye.  "I told myself I'd do anything I
could to help her.  I've only met her three times.  If she's
okay, then good!"

I still wanted to cry.  I swallowed hard.  "I mean it."

She nodded towards the office door.  "Now, because I don't have
all the time in the world, I need to turn into a doctor-ogre. 
I'll fetch your mother."

I shrugged, my thoughts more on Chris than on myself.

Mom came in, and I saw her look at me, then at Dr. Jacoby.  She
was asking, I figured, if I'd been told about Chris.  Dr. Jacoby
nodded, and then waved Mom to sit down.

"Davey, we still have to get back lab results, this isn't
definitive; I'm just going to hit the low-hanging fruit here...
that is, things you should be doing and aren't.

"I have no diagnosis as to what might be causing memory problems.
 You have abnormally low heartbeat and respiration; this is
abnormal in most people, but quite common in runners and
swimmers; some types of athletes in training.  There are doctors
who think this is bad, but there's no significant evidence one
way or the other.

"However, Davey, you are a little on the thin side, and even the
briefest review of your eating habits reveals that they are
irregular.  You should be eating three meals a day, Davey.  Skip
one if you absolutely must, but stop skipping two and
occasionally all three.  Don't think pigging-out at a meal makes
up for missed meals.  Your body can absorb nutrients just so
fast; exceed its ability to cope, and it goes straight through
you and out the other end, unabsorbed.

"I want you, starting now, to go back at least a week and write
down what you've had to eat at each meal, then keep track of it
in the future, until further notice."  I grimaced.  Still, it was
more like a long-term homework assignment, not that bad.

"I want you to spend some time meditating, if at all possible. 
Go some place where you are by yourself, and then think about
raindrops and rainbows, snow and surf.  Anything at all, so long
as it is relaxing and pretty and not human.

"Exercise, Davey, particularly heavy exercise, results in the
release of metabolic poisons.  These aren't good for you.  It is
important not to abruptly end exercise sessions; cramps are a bad
sign of toxin buildup.  You want to avoid them; you want to
include cool-down sessions as part of your exercise regimen.  Try
to get eight hours of sleep."

"What are you trying to say, Lynn?" Mom asked her.

"Davey says that until school started this year, he hadn't noted
any memory problems."

"Perhaps I forgot?" I said, and felt stupid almost instantly.

"Perhaps.  More likely, it's been the events since school started
that are causing your problems.  Davey, stress, lack of sleep and
poor nutrition can cause every single symptom you've told me
about.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," I told her.  It wasn't as though I hadn't been listening
to her, I had been.  But I was still focused on something else. 
"Am I still going to be able to visit Chris?"

Dr. Jacoby looked at me and shrugged.  "Chris will be in the
hospital for at least seven days, more likely ten.

"Getting back to the topic at hand, Davey, do you understand what
I've told you?"

"Yes, I said I do.  I do.  I'm not sure that 'relax and enjoy it'
is going to work, but I'm willing to try anything."

She looked at me, and I looked at her.  In not so many minutes, I
found myself outside, sitting in Mom's car, waiting for her to
get me back to school.

"I have a question to ask you, Davey.  Lately... well, lately I'm
not sure I know what you're going to do.

"Do you want to visit Chris again?"

"Yes," I told her without hesitation.

"You understand that this is real, right?  She remembers you
today as well as she did last Thursday?  Which is to say, not at
all?"

I looked at my mother and said what I wanted to say, from the
bottom of my heart.  "Did her personality change?"

"No one has said so, so I would have to say, perhaps not much. 
We don't lose part of our experience, Davey, and emerge on the
other side, unchanged.  There's just no way to tell."

"Mom, I met Chris.  You asked me to help her at the snack bar.  I
did.  We hit it off; I made her laugh.  Do you understand that? 
I made her laugh!  I don't make very many people laugh, Mom. 
Then I met her again.  She didn't want my help to read, she just
wanted someone with steady hands to hold the book so she could
read by herself.  The third time I met her, she was terrified. 
In my heart, I can see it a lot more clearly now than I saw at
the time.  She was terrified.  Just like I am, really, deep
down.

"Fate was against her.  She had no future.  Mom, I have no
future, so long as the Hannelore Kimmels of the world exist.  I
can't do much against her, but I can do something for the Chrises
of the world.  As soon as I can, I'd like to meet her again; even
if it's for the first time."

After a few seconds, she looked away.  Then she started the car
and drove without speaking.

I got back to school in time to walk with Shellie to Geography.

"How is your friend, Davey?"

I could only shrug.  "It's odd.  I don't know how to describe it.
 At first, I was happy and pleased that she's going to be okay. 
I mean, who wouldn't?"

Shellie looked puzzled.  "You don't want her to be well?"

I shook my head.  "I don't understand all they did, but they cut
into her brain.  Her memories for the last few weeks are pretty
much gone.  Actually, I guess, they are completely gone.  The
next time I see her will be the first time for her.  She doesn't
remember me."

Shellie paled.  "That's awful."

"Not if she's alive and otherwise well.  I said I'd do anything I
could to help.  I didn't do anything, but is erasing the last
week too high a price to save someone's life?"

Shellie continued walking for a bit.  "I have to think about it,"
she said.  I realized she was close to tears.  I wanted to take
and hug her and tell her I was okay with what had happened.

"Memory loss is a frequent theme in anime," she said after a
minute.  She faced me.  "Usually it's a prince or princess, and a
hostile party caused the loss."

"Not this time," I told her.  "It just happened."

She looked at me.  "After school, Davey... could we hug?  Just
hug?"

I smiled.  "Shellie, each and every day that will always be the
easiest favor to grant."

"Thanks."

The afternoon was the reverse of the morning; what seemed to drag
before now blazed by with blinding speed.  Then we were in
Wanda's car, heading home.  Shellie had my hand wrapped up in
hers so tightly I didn't know if I'd ever get sensation back in
it.

Mercedes smiled at me, before reaching out and touching Shellie's
shoulder.  I didn't hear any words pass, but when we were home,
Shellie, Mercedes and I were left alone.  We snuggled together on
the couch, me in the middle, my arms around my loves, and theirs
around me.

There were no words, nothing.  Just three people holding onto
each other.

Eventually I shook myself.  "We should study something besides
hugging," I told them.

Mercedes leaned close and brushed my cheek with her lips.  "I
don't understand, Davey.  What happened?"

"Chris doesn't remember him," Shellie answered for me.

Mercedes looked at me, then at Shellie.  "That bites," Mercedes
told me.

"I know.  But she's going to be okay.  It wasn't even a week,
Mercedes.  That's what?  I mean, really, what's a week?  I met
her three times... I probably wasn't with her for two hours."

Mercedes giggled, something I didn't expect.  "Davey, I value
each and every minute I spend with you or Shellie.  The time I
spend with the two of you together?  Too precious to think about
losing!  Even a second."

"We really should study," Shellie said.  I looked at her,
thinking there was something she wasn't saying.  I put my hand on
her other shoulder, then hugged her tightly.

For a change it was Mercedes' mom who came to pick them up.  I
walked into my bedroom after they were gone, deliberately locked
the door and sat on my bed.  Dr. Jacoby said I should meditate. 
I had no idea how to go about that, but I figured that it would
have to include sitting on my bed and thinking thoughts of waves
from Blue Crush...

I slapped my forehead.  Shellie hadn't seen it yet!  In all my
goings and comings, I'd never taken her to see the waves! 
Mercedes understood the waves; did Shellie?  It was going to
happen, I thought.  Sunday.  Sunday afternoon.  I engraved it in
my brain and to make sure it stayed engraved, I got up from my
bed and wrote it with large letters on a sheet of notebook
paper.

I was still sitting on my bed when a soft knock on my door roused
me.  "Davey, are you okay?" Wanda asked through the door.

I grinned.  "Just following the doctor's orders," I called.  I
did feel better.  I stood up and went to the door and opened it.

"I was afraid you'd gone all spacey like yesterday," she told me,
obviously apologetic.

"Doctor's orders," I repeated.  "I'm stressed, I'm not eating
right.  I'm supposed to take it easy and meditate."

She smiled.  "Now that's my idea of a prescription!  Next time
see if you can get her to add sex three times a day on top of the
rest!"

I stepped close, wrapped my arms around her for a second and
squeezed.  I ran my hands briefly over her breasts, then down to
her ribs and started tickling her.  Wanda, my wicked big sister,
who had previously routinely reduced me to helpless tears and
abject surrender, was helpless in my hands.

Victory was so much more fun than losing!

Dinner was fun, too.  Mom smiled at Wanda.  "A while ago I heard
laughter and squeals from Davey's room.  Imagine my surprise when
I peeked in, that such noises could come from two people who
still had all their clothes on!"

Wanda laughed.  "Mom, you told me when I was twelve and taking
entirely too much pleasure from tormenting my little brother,
that I should enjoy my advantage while I could, because I had six
or seven more years left before Davey would turn the tables on
me.  You were right, Mom.  The tables have turned."

Mom smiled at her fondly.  "Moms are usually right, dear heart."

Wanda nodded.  I was a little surprised to see a matching nod
from Emily.  I grinned at Emily; I was very sure Emily was
thinking about my mother and not hers.

When dinner finished, but before anyone left the table, Mom
looked at me.  "Davey, it's time to choose.  Come to the hospital
tonight, or let it go."

"Hospital," I told her.

"Even if you walk into Chris' room and she doesn't have a clue
who you are?"

"Even that," I told her.  I wasn't really that confident that I'd
be able to avoid tears; it hurt.  It simply hurt.  But it was me
feeling sorry for myself when I should be happy that Chris was
okay.

Mom told Wanda to put the leftovers away for Dad, and then we
were off, Mom and I, to the hospital.

This time there were no warnings and admonitions.

Mom stopped at the nurse's station and conferred with the nurses,
before she turned to me.  "It will be a few minutes, her parents
are with her."

"No hurry," I replied.

Still, it was the better part of a half hour before they came
out.  Mom walked up to the woman I recognized from before, Chris'
mom.  Mom talked to her for a minute, motioning at me once.  The
woman smiled slightly at me, then nodded.

They left before my mother motioned me forward.  We walked into
Chris' room, and she was sitting up in bed, reading a book,
cradled in her lap.

I nearly lost it then.  She was just a few pages into "Sandry's
Book."  I'd helped her read the first part; the last time I'd
seen her, she'd been nearly finished.  Now, she was just
started.

She looked up at me and smiled, then smiled twice as hard at Mom.
 Chris lifted the book.  "Someone must have been here earlier,
Mrs. Harper.  I already have a book."

Mom smiled gently.  "I was, Chris.  Hope you enjoy it.  Chris,
this is my son, Davey."

She smiled at me and held out her hand.  I walked woodenly
forward and shook hands.

She didn't let go; instead, she stared at me, long and hard.  "I
can see it in your face.  I should remember you."

I shook my head.  "In the best of worlds, you wouldn't be here. 
This is the world you have.  I'm content, Chris, to shake
hands."

"I'm not stupid," she said.  "I woke up yesterday afternoon and
felt fine."  She held up her right hand, and it was solid, not
trembling in the least.  "I know what must have happened; I don't
remember it."  She picked up the book, lofting it in the air.

"I saw the bookmark.  I know I've read it before.  But I don't
remember it.  I don't remember you."

"I'm a Johnny-come-lately," I told her.  "Not even a week.  Last
Friday I flipped coke in your face at the football game.  Sunday
I came to help you read."  I grinned at her.  "We also serve,
those of us who simply hold our hands still.  Tuesday night I
came to wish you luck.  You wished me luck, too."

She sighed.  "I don't remember anything about the last few weeks.
 It's tearing my parents up.  I've lost almost a month and it's
tearing them up."

I realized she was a little angry at that.

"Memories are personal, Chris.  When they told me you wouldn't
recognize me today... it hurt.  It really hurt.  You like to
think of yourself as memorable.  To be just gone... it's
humbling."

"It wasn't my choice," she said, angry now at me, too.

"I know and I understand.  Chris, it was me feeling sorry for
myself; for what I lost."

"What did you think you lost?" she asked, curious.

I contemplated that.  "I know it was a short acquaintance, but I
thought I had lost a friend."

"We were friends?" she asked, now unsure.

"I thought so.  You thought so, too.  Chris, that was then and
this is now.  A new book," I waved at the book she'd been
reading.  "I have to remember that, just as you have to
understand that I've read from the book, too."

Chris glanced at my mother, sitting on a chair, ostensibly
reading a magazine.  Neither of us believed she wasn't
listening.

A nurse came in then and two seconds later, barely time to wave
goodbye, we'd been ejected.

Back at the car, she reached out and tugged my arm.  I stopped
and looked at her.  "Half the time lately, Phil is firmly
convinced you're hanging on the edge of a cliff," Mom told me. 
"Teetering on the brink.  The rest of the time he wants to lead
your cheering squad."

"I've done one or two things that weren't too smart."

"In hindsight," she added.

"I don't think it matters," I told her.

"Well, I told Phil that ice skating is a family trait, even on
his side of the family.  We can skate the edge of any brink with
aplomb.  You're doing just fine, Davey."  She hugged me, hugged
me tight.

She grinned wanly under the oddly colored lights of the parking
lot.  "If people will let you," she announced, "you'll do just
fine.  Just fine."  She opened the car door and I got in, while
she walked around her car.

I thought we were going home; after a very short bit, I realized
we weren't going anywhere near there.

We pulled up in front of a trailer, well south of the air base. 
"Come along, Davey."

I'd kept silent, curious at first, then I realized where I was
being taken and kept silent even more firmly.

I climbed out of the car and followed her.  She knocked with her
bare knuckles on the door; after a second, the door opened.  She
waved me forward, ahead of her.

I was unprepared for what happened next, even if I'd decided I
was about to see Karen again.  With a sob, Karen launched herself
off her seat on a couch, wrapped her arms around me and hugged me
tight.  I held her in my arms, unsure what to do.

After a second, she pulled back.  "Sorry, Davey.  It's not been
fun."

"I'm sorry as well, Karen.  I'm glad you are okay."

I saw Ms. Weaver and Ms. Churchwood standing in what looked to be
the kitchen.  Colonel Terrell sat on a counter, looking totally
unmilitary.  His daughter was sitting cross-legged on the floor,
in one corner.  I had no idea what she was doing.

Of all the people I expected might speak, it was Colonel
Terrell's daughter who spoke, with words I didn't expect.  "I
take it, Karen, he's not one of the ones you want dead?"

Karen looked at her, and then looked at me.  "No, not Davey."

I'm not sure what possessed me, just then.  An evil spirit?  A
good spirit?  I don't know.

I reached out and patted Karen on the bottom.  "I'm spoken for,
anyway."

She laughed, as did everyone else.

I turned to my mother.  "I assume there is a reason why I'm here?
 I thought the idea was that I could look anyone in the eye and
say I had no idea where Karen had gone."

"Davey, this is harder than I thought," Karen told me.  "I don't
know what to do.  I can't stay here and go back to school, you
understand?"

I shuddered.  Yes, I could understand that.  The town of San
Angelo was proving to be more liberal than I'd thought, but I
doubted if they were going to be liberal enough to accept a gay
girl taking refuge from her preacher father with gay teachers.

My mother gestured at Colonel Terrell.

For a second I stared at him, then at Karen, then at his
daughter, then at my other two teachers.  I swallowed.

"Sir," I said to him, "I'm just a kid.  But this... this would
be..."  Words failed me.  There was just about no way that
everyone in town wouldn't assume he was having sex with Karen. 
Odd how the previous accusations of her being gay would vanish!

"Above and beyond," he told me.

"Yes, sir."

"It's something Marines do, Harper."

I nearly went to my knees.  "Sir, do you trust me?"

He looked at me without expression... and without saying
anything.

"I've been reading 'The Godfather.'  I think I've figured out a
few things, sir.  Let me ask a few questions tomorrow.  It might
be, sir, that this can all be worked out."

"Worked out without us being involved?" Ms. Weaver asked.  "I
know I sound like a cynical opportunist, but there are a limited
number of times we can get the axe as beginning teachers.

"Yes," I told her.  I was thinking it was a really good idea. 
Really good.  I kept looking at it, over and over...  I'd thought
western dress was a good idea, too.

"Son, you've never really impressed me," he told me.  "You're
loyal, which is good.  But you let others carry the bat for you,
on occasion."

"Sir, sometimes other people need to carry the bat.  Sometimes
they need someone to run interference for them.  Can you take
Karen to see Dr. Lynn Jacoby tomorrow?"

"A doctor?" he pursed his lips.

"Yes.  You know, a doctor who has seen a few rapes in her day. 
One who would tell everyone what's not happened.  Then I want to
speak to the Chief of Police; I'd like him to go and interview
Dr. Jacoby, and then 'find' Karen with you.  If you agree."

"The Chief of Police?" the Colonel said, not quite sneering.

"Oh, Davey knows him," Karen said.

"Indeed, he does," Mom confirmed.  "And the good doctor Jacoby. 
Although I'm sure she has a raft of morning appointments, Davey
is right: she would see Karen in a heartbeat."

"And this would do what?" the Colonel asked.

"The Chief would know Karen wasn't molested.  So long as you
don't molest her..."

I was interrupted by bitter laughs... not just from the Colonel,
but his daughter as well.

"Davey," Colonel Terrell said, "do you know what a prostate is?"

"Lying flat on your back, sir."

I wasn't sure why, but every adult in the room was roaring with
laughter.

"Davey, the prostate is a male gland; it's part of the equipment
you need to perform sex.  In older men, it frequently swells;
equally frequently, it becomes cancerous.  Mine, however, is
merely swollen.  There is an old saying, Davey, that booze giveth
the desire and taketh away the ability.  A swollen prostate,
Davey, just does the latter.  Mine is badly swollen and is
probably pre-cancerous.

"In the great scheme of things, Davey, one would have one's
cancer operated on."

I could only nod.  Chris came to mind.

"Prostate surgery is Russian roulette; the numbers are very bad,
Davey.  One chance in three you'll never get it up again.  One
chance in three you'll be incontinent: you'll spend the rest of
your life peeing your pants.  And one chance in three you'll be
doubly incontinent, shitting yourself from then on as well. 
Modern medicine has ways of alleviating the latter two problems;
alas, not even Viagra works on the former."

His daughter laughed.  "You can see his eyes, Dad!  Total
information overload!"

Karen had stayed with me, her arm around my waist.  Now she
looked up at me.  "You think it will be okay, Davey?"

It was Colonel Terrell who answered her.  "Girl, I told my
daughter she wasn't some sort of freak; I meant it.  I told Janet
Churchwood she isn't either, nor is her friend.  I mean it, do
you understand?  Whatever I have to do to protect you, I'll do."

"If you give me a number," I said, speaking to the Colonel's
daughter, "I'll be in touch about where and when you should bring
in Karen for an exam.  I don't think it should be your father
bringing her in."

She grinned at me.  "My father low-balls you, you know.  He
thinks you are pussy-whipped by a girl in your class.  My father,
in spite of his recent heightened consciousness, is still back in
the dark ages."

"That would be Shellie," I told her.  "She doesn't much like
authority figures, and your father is the major figure in her
universe just now.  She is trying to make adjustments, but if she
was a guy, she'd pee on his pant leg."

I turned to the Colonel.  "Sir, I was proud to stand up for
Shellie.  Proud.  But before school started, the only times I'd
seen her were a few times in elementary school.  I've since come
to admire her greatly, but the first time I stood up for her, it
was simply because I thought you were dumping on her for no
cause."

"To encourage the others," he muttered.

Mom laughed and nodded at me.  "Ralph, my son, in spite of
fervent denials to the contrary, is a chip off Phil's block.  Ask
him his least favorite management style."

Colonel Terrell laughed.  "Taking names and kicking asses, I
imagine."

I blinked.  Okay...  how did he know that?  It had been too quick
for my lack of a poker face to be part of it.

Karen let go of me.  "Davey, if you say it's okay, it's okay."

"I won't let anything happen to you," I told her.

I reached down and picked up my cell phone and dialed Blade's
number.

"Blade?" I asked.

"No, it's Willy Coy, Davey," the voice on the other end said.

"Are you looking for Karen Grissom?"

"Yes," he said without elaboration.

"Tomorrow morning, if you were to have a representative at Dr.
Lynn Jacoby's office, the person who's been sheltering her will
bring her in for an exam.  With the understanding that the
sheltering part won't change, if there are no problems with the
exam."

"That's odd, Davey.  We had come to a conclusion about who was
sheltering her and it was a number that exceeded one.  At the
present time we have more important things to do with our time
than to investigate vague hunches."

"Well, tomorrow morning at Dr. Jacoby's won't be vague.  Could
you coordinate with Chief Ortega, too?"

"We can do that.  You understand, I'll be sending a medical
doctor tomorrow?"

"I understand," I told him.

"Pity about your friend, tonight, Davey.  But then, like Karen,
she's safe."

"Sir, I know you think you're doing the right thing, but
sometimes you come across like you're playing God."

"The chooser of the living and dead," he told me.  "That's if we
do our job right.  Do our job wrong and a lot of people just
die."

Later, I was sitting on the couch, staring into the blackness of
the night.  Just what had Willy Coy meant, when he'd said he was
the chooser of the living and the dead?

Scary!

<1st attachment end>


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