Crunch

Chapter One



I regained consciousness through a curtain of pain. Breathing hurt. I tried to lift my head. Hurt. Right arm moved okay. Left arm. I screamed. Let's not do left arm. Right leg hurt but not too bad. Left leg. Another scream. I was being cradled. And a soothing voice. I KNOW that voice.

"Don't try to move, Dave." The voice was soft, feminine. "I hear the ambulance. It's close."

I opened my eyes. Good! They still worked. I saw the face. Ronni. Pronounced "Ronnie". As in "Veronica". My seventeen year old next-door neighbor.

Okay. Inventory. I was hurting. Bad. Left leg. Left arm. Chest. Something warm running into my eyes. Things were NOT good.

The flashing red lights and incessant whooping of a siren became pervasive. I heard voices. Running. Shouting. I tried to see what was going on and the world disappeared again.

The next time I came back, I was in a room full of bright lights and very concerned faces and there was a mask over my face.

"Are you with us, Mister Johnson?" asked a voice somewhere off to my left.

The best I could do in response was a punctuated groan.

"Just relax. We're working on your arm right now." Then to somebody who wasn't me, "Dump another load. We need him out."

I felt a coolness and then a burning in my good arm and the world went away.

The next time I woke up I was in the recovery room. There was a nurse, my sister, and Ronni. I tried to squeeze out a simple "Hey" but I guess it came out a grunt more than anything else. 

All three were immediately at my bedside. The nurse spoke first. "Welcome back, Mister Johnson. Just relax. The doctor will be here in a minute."

Then my sister: "Hey, brother," she said. "You're getting better."

Considering that I could still remember my previous inventory of assets, I didn't want to think of how bad things were, if this was "better".

And finally Ronni. Soft voice that I've known since it was seven. "Oh, Mister Dave, I was so worried."

And the doctor walked in. He shined a penlight into my eyes, listened to my chest, then stood where I could see him. "Well, Mister Johnson, you've had quite the afternoon, but you're going to be okay."

I made a noise that must have passed for a question.

"You've got a concussion, scalp lacerations, four fractured ribs, a serious laceration of your lower lower arm, and your tibia and fibula, that's your lower leg is a complex fracture. All on the left side. It's gonna take a while, but you'll get everything back in service in the next few weeks."

Finally my tongue and lips worked enough to get a decipherable sound that must have been interpreted as "what happened?"

The doctor looked toward my sister Jan and Ronni. "You know better than I do. What happened?"

Ronni stood by me, her hand touching my good shoulder. "Mister Dave, you were working near the road when that pickup truck ran into you."

Okay, so THIS is what it feels like to be run over by a truck. I grogged back to semi-consciousness. The nurse came back in, then an orderly, and I barely remember being wheeled up interminable hallways to be slid rather carefully onto a bed in a hospital room. Pain meds in my IV kept me teetering over the edge of consciousness.

I remember the nurses making rounds every hour, and each time I blinked to consciousness I saw somebody sitting in the corner. Ronni.

While I'm talking about being unconscious, let me tell you about Ronni. She lives next door. Ten years ago when I moved in to the house I live in now, a happy young husband with a very pregnant wife, Ronni was there, seven years old, visiting to see who the new neighbors were. She was ten when the wife left, taking my little girl with her. And now here she was, sitting in my hospital room. Ronni. Hopelessly plain, ordinary Ronni. Look up "brown-haired girl" in the dictionary, and there's Ronni. Not memorable in any fashion at all, at least from the outside. Five-six, a hundred thirty, maybe forty, brown eyes. Face was freckled, prominently. Hair was brown. Just brown. Not blonde. Not red. Not jet black. Brown. Quirky smile, though, with slightly crooked white teeth. And a nose with a non-standard kink in it. She'd finally passed through puberty in a fit of lankiness and came out the other end with legs, her best feature, and a pleasant figure with feminine hips, rather narrower than optimum, and breasts, again, rather less than needed to qualify for a swimsuit issue of a sports magazine.

That's who was sitting in my room when I finally awoke in the morning. I was hurting. I managed to croak, though, "Hi, Ronni."

Soft voice. "Hi, Mister Dave. How're ya feelin'?"

"Like I got run over by a truck." I tried a smile. I guess it showed because I heard a tiny hint of a giggle.

"You did, Mister Dave. Well, not run over, but pretty well smacked."

"What happened. Did anybody see?"

"I did," Ronni said. "You had your weed-eater out to trim around your mailbox when that truck came around the corner and lost control. It hit you and knocked you into my yard and it ended up hitting our tree." She took a breath. "Mom called 9-1-1 and I got to you first. You were bleeding and unconscious and I held you until the ambulance got you."

"What about the driver?" I wheezed. It hurt to take a really deep breath.

"Drunk. Just came from a barbecue an' had too many beers. Air bags saved him. He walked to an ambulance. He's in jail right now."

"Nice," I croaked.

The floor nurse came in her rounds at that time. "Hello, Mister Johnson," she said. "Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?"

It was worth another shot. "Like I was run over by a truck," I said. I tried to laugh. It hurt.

"Niiiice," the nurse said. Turning to Ronni, "Is he what, a comedian or something?"

"He tries," Ronni said. "Makes more money bein' an engineer."

"No doubt," the nurse chuckled.

"What's going on with me, nurse? I can't move..."

"You shouldn't move right now. You have a set of taped ribs, and you're bandaged and splinted on your left leg, and you've got a couple of dozen stitches in your scalp and down your left arm is stapled and stitched."

"How long am I gonna be here?"

"That's between you and your doctor, but usually with the kind of breaks you have, the swelling's got to go down and you don't show up with an infection, and that's a few days." She finished her assessment of me. "Would you like some water or some juice?"

"Water. Just a sip."

"Let me get it for him," Ronni said. She put a straw to my lips and I took several tiny sips. And it tasted wonderful.

"Not too much," the nurse said. "Just wet your mouth. You don't need the fluids while you're on the IV. And you're due for another painkiller in an hour."

So that's what life was for the next three days. Several co-workers dropped by for obligatory visits. And my sister and Ronni took turns. Ronni was gone for a couple of hours at a time to change clothes. She snuck out to eat at the hospital cafeteria. And she stayed. When I was awake, she talked if I wanted to talk. Her mom and dad came up to see me, too, and I was too out of it to talk, but I overheard the conversation in the hallway.

"Dad, I AM going to stay here. His sister has things she needs to do. I'm out of school. This is okay, really, Dad."

Her mother's voice was softer. "Ronni, I know he's your friend, but babe..."

Ronni interrupted. "Yes! He's my friend. He's helped me with homework and stuff and he's... my friend. And he needs somebody to stay up here."

"Okay, Ron," her dad said. "You win."

"Careful what you win," her mom said.

And Ronni was back in my room. I looked like I was asleep. I was on the verge, but the conversation woke me. She walked to my bed and her fingers traced my brow at the bandage line. She tugged a corner of the sheet. And then her fingertips touched her lips and then mine.

Oh, and the second day into my little hospital adventure, it was time for a sponge bath. Instead of evacuating the room, my sister AND Ronni stayed. Ronni said, "In case I need to do this..." and you should've seen the look on my sister's face.

I also got the catheter removed, perhaps the most unpleasant thing that EVER happened to my dick. Well, you have to realize that babies don't remember circumcisions. THAT might have topped the catheter removal. Just the right amount of Demerol let me hobble, with assistance, to the bathroom for the first time to relieve myself. THAT burned like the fires of Hell, too. Was anything going to ever feel good again?

Ronni was hovering outside the bathroom door waiting on me. "Okay, Ron," I said. "I'm done." When she came in to help me, I was trying to tug the hem of that damned hospital gown down.

"Let me get that," Ronni said. I stood paralyzed as she reached down to tug the hem over my exposed dick. Never mind the fact that eroticism had NO place in the event, the idea of... well, you know.

She straightened up. "Can't have you flashing passers-by," she smirked. "And I've already seen it." She put an arm around my waist. I put my right arm around her shoulders and she helped me hobble back to the bed. We pirouetted and I awkwardly sat my butt on the edge.

I tried twisting myself to lie down, but her help was necessary. She was careful with my left leg as she turned me lengthwise and then rearranged my gown.

"Comfy?" she asked.

"Yes. Thank you, babe! But I'm gonna need a pain-killer before long."

"Be right back," she said. She left and returned. "They'll be here in a few minutes, Dave. And your doctor's on the floor, too."

"Good," I said. "We need to figure out how all this is gonna work. Only half of me works."

"We'll figure something out, Dave," she said.

The doctor did come in. He poked and prodded and questioned. Finally, he said, "well, all things considered, another day in here, then you can go home. We'll get you set up with a home health nurse to come by and check on dressings and stuff. How're you set up for help around the house? You're single, says here." He tapped my chart.

Ronni didn't miss a beat. "Between me and his sister, we'll take care of him," she said.

The doctor looked at her. "He's gonna need round the clock care for a few weeks, ma'am."

Ronni just smiled. "It's summer. I'm out of school, so I can do it."

The doctor left. Lunch arrived. I tried to eat with only my right hand. It can be done. Especially if you have Ronni hold food in place so you don't have to chase it down with your fork. And open your cold drink. And blot up your mishaps. This was shaping up to be loads of fun.

I tried walking. You can walk with one good leg IF you have two good arms. When you don't have an arm to hold a crutch, you're pretty much screwed. That was me. Left arm hurt like hell. With help I made it to the toilet.

I also tried talking to the policeman they sent by to gather information about the accident. Turns out he was the same guy who showed up at the accident. "I'm Patrolman Frank Harmon," he said, extending a hand.

"Hello," I said. I shook his hand. "That one still works."

"You look better than you did the other day," he said. He saw Ronni. "Hi, young lady. You did a good job of taking care of him." He turned back to me. "Not much for me to do with this one. The tracks leaving the road to where he hit you, his final resting place, a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit... open and shut case. Have you gotten a lawyer?"

"No. Do I need one?"

He smiled. "If I was you I'd talk to one. Rich kid spending daddy's money on a new pickup truck. Gets sauced and runs off the road. And you get in the way. At least make sure you get all your medical bills paid."

"You're right. I'll call one." I hadn't thought of that.

One more day in the hospital. Sister came in to relieve Ronni. After Ronni left, my sister Deb said, "I just finished cleaning up your place and feeding your cat and emptying his litterbox. And me and Terry moved things around as best we can so you'll have room to maneuver. And Home Health Services came in and installed a trapeze so you can get in and out of bed with one arm. Your neighbor, Ronni's dad, built you a wheelchair ramp."

"That's a big help. I don't know how I'm gonna do this."

Deb said, "Uh, your young friend said she's gonna help."

"Ronni's a good kid," I said. I've known her for ten years. Since she was seven."

"You wanna know something?" Deb asked.

"What?" I answered.

"I'm probably not the one to tell you this, but she's... she's got a big crush on you, Dave."

"Ronni? You're kidding."

"I'm NOT kidding. And YOU'RE blind."

"She never said anything, Deb. Nothing."

"Believe me. I've been sitting with her a lot the last three days, Dave. She's a jewel."

"I know that part, Deb," I said. "But the part you just said makes me nervous. And I NEED some help for the next few weeks until I can at least walk around." I thought for a second. "She TOLD you she had a crush on me?"

"No, not in so many words, Dave," she said. "But trust me. Women know these things."

"I think you're wrong," I said. "I've lived next door to her for years. When her dad took that overseas job, I took care of stuff around their house for them while he was gone, and I used to play catch with her when she was learning to play softball, and I went to her games and stuff like that. Maybe she thinks she's paying some of that back."

Deb eyed me. "Uh-huh. Okay. Forget I said anything." She sat there and watched as I drifted off into a demerol haze.

I heard voices: Deb and Ronni. "Oh, now there's two of you," I said.

"Yeah," Deb answered. "Ronni's gonna stay while I go home. I need to fix dinner and do wifely duties before Terry fires me."

"You're getting kinda old for that "wifely duty" thing," I quipped. "And I know you can't cook for crap..."

Deb laughed. "I can cook just fine, and I'm not dead yet and we shouldn't be having this discussion in front of Ronni anyway."

Ronni jumped in. "I've heard worse than that. At least it's wifely duties and not something else. Mizz Deb, thanks for watching 'im while I was gone. I feel better with a shower and Mom's cooking."

Deb said, "Oh, no problem, Ronni. He's my brother. I'm obligated, you know."

"Oh, that makes me feel MUCH better, that I'm an obligation instead of a fellow human for whom you feel adoration."

Ronni's next words were, "Oh, Mister Dave, she can be obligated. I'll do the "adore" part." And then I guess she thought about how that sounded, because she giggled like it was a joke.

Deb looked at me knowingly and winked. 

"Look, while you two are discussing my place in the human race, how about helping me to the bathroom. I need to go," I said.

Deb said, "We can do that? Number one or Number two?"

"One," I said. "About to pop."

The two of them helped me turn sideways and then stand, supported on both sides, then we made our way to the bathroom.

"Turn your heads," I said. That got me two giggles as I tried to uncover my dick with one hand. I was proud that I could still find it, and that with one hand I could aim, pee and shake, then drop the hem of that stupid hospital gown.

"Done," I announced. I and my support team moved back to the bed and they laid me out. "Might wanna see if there's another painkiller on tap," I said. "Moving around hurts."

"Okay, I'll stop by the nurse's station and tell 'em. I'll see you tomorrow. Ronni, call me if you need anything." And she left. 

Ronni kicked her shoes off and sat in the chair beside my bed. "So, you feeling better now?"

"I hurt like the dickens when I try to move," I said. "But it'll get better..."

She smiled. "I know it will. You'll be as good as new, the doctor says."

"You talked to the doctor?" I asked.

"Yeah, me an' Mizz Deb did. And we talked with the home health people about getting you a nurse to visit at your house, and to get that trapeze thing for your bed, and a wheel chair."

"What am I gonna do with a wheel chair? You need two arms to run one of those things."

"It's not for you," she said. "It's for us. Makes it easier to move you around. But you'll be hobbling around in two or three weeks, anyway. The doctor said you had a clean break on your leg and it's gonna heal fast. Your arm'll be sore but you can use it sooner."

"That's nice to know," I said. "I hate being helpless."

"Oh, don't worry," Ronni answered. "I... We'll take care of you."

The nurse walked into the room with a syringe. "Mister Johnson, this is your last one of these. When this bag is empty, we're pulling your IV. You can take pills for pain after that."

"You're taking away my FRIEND?" I quipped.

The nurse looked at me. "See? You're on the road to recovery. Your asshole function is returning..."

Ronni laughed.

I felt the nectar enter my vein and I drifted off. I woke up when dinner showed up. Ronni provided much needed assistance. At least I still had my right hand. And Ronni. Chasing macaroni around the plate with one hand was an exercise in futility. Together we accomplished the transfer of hospital food to my mouth. After the meal, Ronni took off to go to the cafeteria to feed herself. In twenty minutes she was back.

"I'll pay you back for the cafeteria, Ronni," I said. 

"I'm not worried," she said. "Miss Deb gave me some money."

Since I was awake, we talked, small talk, her finishing up her junior year of high school, the end of softball season, where she was an all-star player, her family travails, local events. Ronni was intelligent and personable. And friendly.

We turned on the TV and watched a couple of shows together, too. The pillow speaker, though, had her leaning against my bed so she could hear, our heads only inches apart. And I could smell hints of perfume. Something happened on the screen and we both laughed simultaneously.

I turned to look at her and she turned at the same moment and with the distance only inches between our faces, I thought I sensed an almost electric tension. We both froze for a second. It looked as if she was thinking. Finally she smiled gently and giggled one more time.

"That's just funny," she said.

"Yeah," I answered, trying to de-escalate a moment that I wasn't really sure had actually escalated. "I wonder who thinks up those things?"

She smiled, "Sometimes life is funny like that, you know..."

"Yeah?" I questioned.

"Yeah. Turns and twists and stuff. Sometimes the thing you're looking for isn't the thing you're happiest finding. What's the word? Serendipity?"

"Good word," I said, musing to myself about how many seventeen year old girls had vocabularies that included "serendipity", much less knew what it actually meant.

A commercial interrupted the entertainment. Ronni got up and went to the bathroom. I heard water run and when she returned, she had a warm, damp washcloth. "Hold still," she directed, and she washed my face. "Better?" she asked.

"Much better," I said. "Thank you."

She put the washcloth down and her fingers massaged my temples. "Mmmmm," I moaned. "That feels REALLY good." It did. Single for years, and essentially celibate, a touch, especially a caring touch, was almost a cause for celebration.

"I thought maybe it would help you relax," she said. "I remember Momma doing this to me when I was sick."

"It works. Best thing I've felt in years." And I was being truthful.

Ronni smiled. You know, a smile makes a woman beautiful. Plain young Miss Ronni. And a smile and I saw her beautiful.

She moved around the bed to my damaged left side. My hand was still swollen and discolored, partially due to the antiseptics , partially due to bruising. She touched my hand gently. "Does this hurt?"

"Don't try to bend it, but your touch feels good."

She stroked my hand and fingers gently. "This okay?" She looked at me, a soft smile curling the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, it does. Can you squeeze, gently? "

She put my hand between hers and squeezed. "Like this?"

"Mmm-hmm," I said. "Just kind of massage it." The hand did feel better. The arm throbbed, but the hand felt better.

For a couple of minutes she ministered to my hand. "Should we try your foot?" she asked.

"That's worth a try," I said.

She pulled the blanket off my foot. I wiggled my toes.

"They still work,' I said.

She extended a finger to my toes and I did my best to grip it. I groaned when I realized that I'd moved the broken leg.

Giggle. "That's what you get for trying to grab me," she said. "Now be good." She massaged my foot. A foot massage would have had me moaning with pleasure on any day, but Ronni's fingers produced waves of pleasure and I said so.

"It's good for your circulation," she said. "I read about it." She paused. "And I talked with the nurses."

"I'm sure it does some good besides making me very happy," I said. "You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

"I'm glad I can help," she smiled. She raised the blanket from my damaged leg. "Wow," she said.

"What?"

"You've got a mess there."

"A mess?"

"Yeah, your leg's all kinds of colors. That splint thing stops halfway up your thigh."

I had a thought pass through my head. If she could see half-way up my thigh to my bare leg, and I had no underwear on, then... but what was the point of that thought train? I abandoned it. "I can't bend over to see," I said.

Wry smile. "I can see. Take my word for it."

"I'll take your word that it's not too bad. You didn't puke. Or turn colors."

"If I was going to turn colors, that would've been yesterday when they showed me an' Mizz Deb how to give a sponge bath." Smile.

"I hope I don't have to depend on you for that too awfully long."

"As long as you need, Mister Dave."

And a little more banter and small talk and I dozed off. The last image I had was of Ronni curling up in the chair under a hospital blanket.

I drifted in and out of slumber every time the nurse made her rounds, and every time a nurse came in, Ronni, jumped up to stand beside her, and while the nurse was logging my data, Ronni's hand was gently on my shoulder or stroking my face.

Breakfast came. With help. Nearing lunch, I was being wheeled to the entrance where Deb was waiting with my SUV, my magic carpet home. It was not without pain that I slid into the back seat sideways. Ronni loaded a few belongings and we were on the way home.

Pulling up to the house, the marks were still in the yard from that fateful day, and it would be years before the bark healed over on the tree that finally stopped the truck. When we came to a stop in my drive, Ronni got out and went inside the house and returned with a wheelchair. I noted the presence of an obviously hurriedly built temporary ramp over my front steps.

With help, I eased into the wheelchair and got pushed up to the front door. My big orange cat was looking out, waiting for people to return and restore his life to proper balance. He reluctantly moved out of the way as I was pushed through the front door and into the bedroom.

Ah! There was MY bed. Queen-sized, with a perfect mattress. And now with a framework over it with rails and a trapeze bar. I felt good enough to tell my sister, "Deb, you oughtta get you an' Terry one of these!"

"Beast," she said, laughing.

I reached up with my good arm and pulled, trying to ease up out of the chair on my own. With one arm pulling and one leg pushing and the help of Deb and Ronni, I was sitting on my own bed. Ronni supported my injured leg as I swung around to lay back. And I was home. And I felt the bed bounce as my cat arrived to receive his rightful petting. His dissatisfaction was obvious when I only devoted one hand to this task.

"Well, here I am," I announced. "What now?"

"The home health people are going to install another trapeze over your recliner," Deb said. That'll give you TWO locations. Me an' Ronni will feed you and bathe you for a couple of weeks before you can remove those splint things long enough for a bath. And in about six weeks you'll be rid of them, and life goes on."

"And I'll owe both of you big time," I said.

"Of course you will," smiled Deb, "Just like REAL life..."




Chapter Two



Deb planned to leave me in the hands of Ronni for the evening, admonishing Ronni that if she needed help to call her, or if needed, 9-1-1. I requested to be helped to my recliner. I figured that it was as comfortable as the bed, and at least I would be in the middle of the house instead of stuck in a room off to the side. The three of us managed this task without much more than the expected trouble and I kicked the chair back to elevate my feet. Ronni passed me the remote control or the TV and I turned it on as Deb departed.

The door closed. Ronni was sitting on the sofa next to my chair. She was close enough for my hand to touch her if I reached in her direction. I leaned my head back against the chair's headrest and sighed.

Ronni immediately perked to attention. "D'ya need anything, Mister Dave?"

"No," I said, "well, yeah, Ronni."

"What?" she questioned.

"I need you to drop the "Mister" part. Save some words..."

"Okay, but I was being polite."

"And I KNOW you're polite. And I appreciate it, but if you're gonna spend time here..."

"Okay, I don't mind. Makes you sound, well, different, you know. Like, "Mister Dave" is Mom and Dad's friend. Just plain "Dave" is mine."

"I'm glad you're my friend. You've been a big help already. I know you were the first to get to me..."

"What was I supposed to do? Jump up and down and scream like a silly girl?"

"I never thought of you as silly. You've always been pretty level-headed for your age. Even when you were seven. I'm glad you got there. It was surreal, opening my eyes and seeing you holding me together."

She smiled. "Thank you. I was scared shitless. Your head was covered with blood and your arm was spurting blood and your leg was bent funny. I thought the best thing I could do was hold you up until others got there. You were a mess."

"Still am," I said. "Have you seen my head with the bandages off?"

"Uh-huh. Looks like you got the mange where they shaved you to stitch you up."

"Sounds attractive," I said. "There goes my summer employment as a male model." That comment got me some giggles. I always did like hearing her giggle, even when she was seven. I turned my head to see her smile. "Thank you," I said. "I love to hear you laugh."

"Dave," she said, "You've been making me laugh and smile for ten years. Thank YOU!"

"Ron," I said. "You can go home for a while if you want. I'm gonna be okay here. All I'm doin' is watchin' TV. I'm good for an hour at least."

"I don't need to go home, Dave. I brought a change of clothes and my nightshirt and a book. I think I'd feel better if I just stayed with you." She smiled.

"Okay then, babe," I said.

She caught that. "BABE? You called me "babe"?"

"Sorry. It just slipped. Friendly term, that's all..." I back-pedaled.

"No guy's ever referred to me as "babe", Dave."

"Then it's a sad sample of guys around you, Ronni."

"I'm pretty sure it's a representative sample, Dave. I'm too tall and my hair's just brown and my eyes are just brown and I don't have one of those figures that guys drool over."

It occurred to me at this time that just perhaps those painkillers were reducing my judgment a bit. This was a conversation presenting ideas that existed in my head. I was Ronni's next-door neighbor and almost like an uncle or a big brother, almost twenty years her senior in age. I'd watched her grow and she never did shed the tom-boy shtick. Her extra-curricular activities in high school included girls' sports, volleyball, softball, that sort of thing, and from her and her parents' reports and my own observations, she was pretty good. I didn't however, see a parade of guys coming to take Ronni out.

I knew Ronni's report card was good, too, and some of that was my fault. She'd long ago learned that her mom and dad's academic skills weren't always up to helping too much on high school work, especially math, and I'm proud to say that I was her choice for help. Being single and alone, I was a constant invite to every event in her life, including many of her sports adventures. I was the oddball "team parent" because I was there when her own dad was off working out of town or overseas. But I never felt like Ronni's parent. I always felt like I was just privy to the life of a delightful young lady.

And in all those experiences, apparently there were some feelings that were being exposed by the application of prescription drugs. But the exposure was inside my head, I thought. Except I'd just uncorked the bottle.

"Don't worry, Ronni," I said. "Somewhere along the line the right guy will learn about you and find you perfectly gorgeous."

"Most of 'em think I'm a lesbian," she said.

This was much further into this line of conversation than Ronni and I had ever been. Sure, we talked. You don't coach a kid through high school math and science and English and social studies without talking. I knew she was a great talker, and I liked to think that I might have had a bit of the credit for her vocabulary and conversational skills. But our talks to this point had never strayed into her personal life, other than her opinions about her teammates and teachers.

"Why?" I asked. I was already part-way to the answer. She confirmed with that supposition with her first statement.

"Because I play sports, and you know, EVERYBODY knows that girls that play sports are all big lezzes. Unless they're big sluts to show they're not big lezzes."

"They used to say the same thing when I was in school, Ronni," I said. "And it was stupid, then, too."

"But... I'm not a slut, either, so according to the formula, I must therefore be a lez. I mean, I've gone out on a couple of dates, but they weren't much. You know, movie and dinner at the mall food court."

"Nothing wrong with that, Ronni." I took a deep breath and dove off into the subject. It must've been the drugs. "A lot of people get confused about the difference between sex and love and end up with everything from regret to babies."

"I know," she said. "I know three girls in my class this year that had babies, and I've heard that there were a bunch who got pregnant and got abortions."

Yeah," I said, "And that's just the physical side of things. No matter what they say, most people don't want sex, they want love, and even if one partner is thinking "No strings attached", there's a pretty good chance that the other one is HOPING that there is a connection that lasts longer than the physical connection."

"I think I believe that, Dave," she said.

"I think a lot of people believe it, Ronni, but they go jump off into something anyway."

"And they get messed up." Ronni's voice carried a sound of surety.

"Yeah," I said. "And usually it's the girl. Guys are notorious about using girls, but some guys get messed up, too. Getting used is no fun. I know."

"Your divorce?" she said.

"Yeah, that. And a couple of tries after that." I sighed. The divorce. Not a pleasant thing. "Don't get me wrong, Ronni, because there are two sides to every story, but finding out one day that your wife thinks the grass is greener with an old high school boyfriend... And tearing your life in half. That's painful."

"You never talked with me about it, Dave," she said.

"Why would I? You were a kid. And it's an adult thing."

"I understand. But now we're talking about relationships. And I'm seventeen, and SOMEBODY oughtta talk to me about this stuff," she huffed.

"It's your mom's place. And your dad's."

"They kinda do talk about it, but I learn a lot by watching them. Especially with Dad having to go work like he does. But they seem to hang in there."

"They do, don't they?" 

It was true. Ronni's dad was a specialty welder and in constant demand for his skills with exotic metals and techniques. He was often on the road, sometimes for a week, sometimes for a couple of months, and Ronni's mom was faithful, always waiting when he got back. I filled in for many "man around the house" functions while Alex was gone, but only as a handyman. Rena, Ronni's mom, was a gem. One of the side benefits of my relationship with this family was that I was a frequent invite for backyard parties and barbecues and home-cooked meals, and of course I had Ronni as a friend.

"Seeing your mom and dad makes me kind of jealous," I said.

"She's tried fixing you up, Dave," Ronni said.

"I know," I said. But I'm picky. You know how I am about my music and my reading and stuff like that, and I don't want to marry somebody who's not compatible. And a lot of divorced women have a lot of baggage. It's back to that "getting used" thing. I... It just has to be right, Ronni. And you know old man Bailey next door?"

"Yeah, I know him. Nice old man. His wife makes cookies."

"Yeah. Good cookies, too. But he and I were talking over the fence one day and he said, "Dave, I'm not meaning to be nosey, but are you one a'them gay people?". I think he meant well, but was just curious since Trish left and there's not a parade of women out of the door of a single guy."

Ronni laughed. "Oh, that's just great. Here we are, the lez and her gay neighbor..."

"I'm not gay, Ronni," I said.

"I didn't think you were, Dave. But I ain't a lez, either, you know... but it's funny..."

And there was a knock on the door. Ronni bounced up and opened it. I heard her say "Hi, Mom! "

And Rena's voice. "Is he awake? Can I see 'im?"

"I'm okay, Rena. Come in!"

Ronni escorted her mother into the house. Rena was carrying a pot. "Chili," she said. "Your recipe. You can eat with one hand."

"Oh, wonderful," I said. "My first meal since the hospital."

"Ronni can help you eat," Rena said.

"Rena, I want to thank you for loaning me Ronni. She's been a jewel."

Rena smiled. "I couldn't stop her, Dave. You know how she is. You're her buddy. And you always help us out. How're you feeling."

"Like I got run over by a truck."

"Dave! That's horrible." She chuckled. "But I guess horrible jokes are a good sign."

"I hope so. How's Alex?" 

He was out of town for a couple of weeks on a project, leaving a couple of days before I returned from the hospital. Those things brought in good money, even if it was in intermittent lumps.

"He's doin' fine. He said tell you he hopes you do okay, Dave," she said.

"Good," I said.

"Ronni," I said, "are you going to help me eat this?"

She smiled. "Sure, Dave," she said.

"Uh, hon, that's 'Mister Dave'," Rena corrected.

"Oh, Rena, I told her to cut the "Mister" part. She's old enough. And she's been by me for the last week."

"Uh, okay, Dave. I just don't want her being impolite."

"Ronni? She's the most polite young lady I know of. And I'm lucky to be her friend."

Rena looked at Ronni, then me. "Well, she practically demanded that we let her stay here to take care of you, you know..."

"I didn't know."

Ronni interrupted, "Well, you needed somebody, and Mizz Deb can't be here all the time and I'm convenient..."

And I finished her sentence. "And like my best friend in the whole world."

Ronni smiled. So did her mom.

And Ronni finished, "And this is what I want to do." And she smiled sweetly with that crooked smile that was completely unique to Ronni, and that I'd enjoyed for a decade.

Rena asked Ronni, "Baby, is there anything else you need?"

"No, ma'am," Ronni answered. "I brought a change of clothes and my nightshirt so I can stay here tonight." She looked at me with an expression that I couldn't quite decipher.

Rena got up to leave. "Okay, then, baby. Take care of Dave." She looked at me. "You're in good hands, Dave. See you in the morning, okay? I'll bring over some breakfast."

"Thanks, Rena," I said. "I owe you big time."

"No you don't, dear. We're neighbors. For all the times you've helped when Alex was out of town and all... and it's what neighbors do."

“Okay, lady," I said. "And thank you for loaning Ronni to me."

Rena tittered. "I'd be careful about that, Dave. You know how if you feed a stray cat long enough, it moves in..." and on that note the door closed behind her.

And there was a cat-like grin on Ronni's face. Make that a Cheshire cat.

Ronni pulled a TV tray and a chair up next to me and spooned her mom's chili into my face, alternating it with sips of lemonade, and that was dinner. Quite satisfactory, especially after a week's worth of bland hospital fare. She left me for a few minutes and I heard kitchen noises, then she came back and ate her own bowl of chili beside me as we watched a movie on TV.

"When you finish, babe, I'm gonna need to go to the bathroom."

"Okay, I figured it wouldn't be too long."

"No hurry, though."

"Oh, I'm not hurrying. And you're gonna need a sponge bath, too. It's been a couple of days."

"I know," I said. "I feel sticky."

"I guess you do. We'll do the best we can. The doctor said that after you've been in that splint thing for a couple of weeks you can take it off long enough to get in the shower. Until then, though, it's gonna be me or Mizz Deb." She smiled.

"You're okay with that?" I asked. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I mean, you don't have to..."

She gazed at me like I had a horn growing out of my forehead. "Dave," she said, "We're both adults here. And this is purely clinical. I've already helped at the hospital so I know what to do. And so now I've seen... you know..."

I still had some trepidation. "'Cause if you want, we can get Deb..."

Giggle. "Now THAT'S kinky! You'd rather your SISTER wash you than ME!"

"I don't want you scarred for life, smart-ass," I retorted.

"Thinking about you and your sister might REALLY scar me..." she giggled.

"Alrighty, then, baby doll, I'm all yours," I said. Her face flashed a strange look before settling onto a laughing response.

"Be nice," she chuckled. "I know where your ice-maker is..."

"You wouldn't do that to a poor ol' cripple now, would you?"

"Only if I'm forced to..." Her eyes twinkled. "Let me get this stuff put up, then we'll get you to the bathroom, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "And I can hear the icemaker..."

Giggle. She got up and did more kitchen things and I heard the dishwasher start up. She was back in front of me, lowering the footrest of my recliner. Getting me up was a bit of an exercise punctuated by a couple of painful events as I worked out what I could push and pull with, but finally I was vertical and leaning against her. She reached for the wheelchair.

"I think that's more trouble than it's worth," I said.

"Humor me," she countered. "Give yourself time." She helped me ease back down into the wheelchair and pushed me to the bathroom. It was another battle to get me onto the toilet. She unsnapped my hospital pajamas and I wriggled so she could get them from underneath me. She was kneeling in front of me as she did this, and I could only imagine what she saw as the pajamas came loose. "Clinical" she said earlier.

The aftermath was more titters as she tried various approaches to basic sanitary needs. Finally I said, "If I can just lean on you to the left, I think I can do that myself." I waved my right hand.

"Oh, okay, I like that better," she said. "It's different when it's a one year old..." her eyes connected with mine. "MUCH different."

"Sorry," I said. "You have no idea how embarrassing this all is. I hate being helpless."

"Oh, get over yourself, Dave. We gotta do what we gotta do. And I'll be okay..."

"At least you're not rolling on the floor laughing."

That got laughter and a smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Dave. I'm an innocent young girl and I have no point of reference whatsoever." And she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Oh my goodness. I fear that I am in the clutches of a smartass."

"Clutches? That's a good one. Just keep it in mind, mister," she giggled. "Now, while we're all worked up an' everything, you want to do your sponge bath?"

"As long as I don't hear the icemaker," I laughed.

She maneuvered me back into the wheel chair then spread towels on my bed before we strained and grunted me back onto the bed. The next step was her appearing with a basin full of warm water, some soap, and a washcloth.

Now up to this point I was still pantsless from the bathroom trip, but the hem of the pajama top was mercifully long enough to cover my crotch. But the top had to come off. And Ronni was unsnapping the sleeve to get it off my damaged arm. And Ol' Pokey was there in open view.

She stood back to admire her handiwork. That pajama top was off, the special snaps allowing it to be removed without resorting to pulling it over my arms. "There," she said. "I can throw that one in the laundry when we finish and put you on a fresh one. Now be a good boy and let's get you all clean." She draped a towel over my crotch. "Decorum must be maintained," she commented.

I enjoyed her touch as she carefully washed my arms and chest and pits and both my hands. She regarded my face. "I... uh you NEED a shave..."

"I am going to have some trouble doing that, Ron," I said.

"I'm scared to do that," she admitted.

"Why? Don't you shave your legs?"

"Uh-huh," she admitted.

"Same thing, babe," I said. "The razor and shaving gel is in the bathroom. It's best to do it while my face is still damp."

"Okay. I'll try. But I'm not promising much." She left and came back, and in a few minutes, with surprisingly few "Ouch!" and "Oops!" sounds, I FELT like I was shaved. Giggle. "You're not even bleeding that much..." giggle. "At least compared to the other day..."

I laughed with her.

"Now roll over on your stomach," she said. She assisted me with that move and then washed some more. "Okay, that's done," she said. As she rolled me over onto my back again, her eyes connected with mine. "Well, buster, it's TIME. Lemme go change the water."

I was laying on my back, naked except for soft casts on my left arm and leg, and the hand towel she'd draped over Ol' Pokey. She came back in. "Here we go," she said. She looked into my eyes as she slipped the towel away. And began a very workmanlike and technical cleaning. No giggles, no titters, no "Ewwwww!" (fortunately). She washed everything as if she had been doing exactly this sort of thing for years.

"Just like a baby," she said. "Except more of it." Of course. Ronni was a sometimes babysitter.

"Just curious, though," she said. "I didn't know guys shaved there. I mean, I've heard of girls, you know, that bikini problem, but guys?"

"Uh... I dunno how many other guys do, but I like how it feels cooler and cleaner." That was a little embarrassing. I didn't say that it was something started by my ex-wife and I liked the habit. And further, Ol' Pokey knew we were talking about him and he stood up.

Her eyes widened. "Uh, no baby ever did THAT."

"Sorry,' I said. "Sometimes it has a mind of its own. I didn't do that on purpose." And the embarrassment made Ol' Pokey lay down.

"I'm sorry, Dave. I just didn't expect it." She looked at me. And there was a light sprinkle of perspiration on her forehead.

"That's what I was worried about, Ronni," I said. "I'm hopelessly normal and there are such things as reflexes. That's one of 'em. And I never meant to embarrass you."

"Uh, no, Dave... I shouldn't be embarrassed. I've been kind teasing and playing, and then when there it is... Well, it startled me."

"Sorry." That was all I could think to say.

Ronni, on the other hand, had shifted modes. "So, is that normal size?"

"What?"

"Simple question. Is it normal size?"

I was a whopping six inches. "Yeah, pretty much normal."

"Oh. Okay. I mean, since I SAW it, I thought I'd ask."

"Well, it is..." Now I was the one feeling the flush of my face turning red.

"Oh, now YOU'RE embarrassed, Dave. I'm sorry."

"Oh, just help me get my pajamas on." I paused. "Pants first."

She giggled. A little bit of wiggling and a few groans later, I was again chastely clad in convalescent pajamas.

"Wanna go back in the living room?" she asked. "That way I can straighten the bed and then take my shower. Okay?"

"Sure, babe," I said. We worked me off the bed and back into that wheelchair, and then reversed in the living room to put me back in my recliner.

Once I was situated, she asked, "Comfy, now?" 

"Yes, Ronni. Thanks."

"Oh, poo!" she laughed. "thank you." And she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"What's that for?" I asked, startled. No, it wasn't the first kiss I'd ever gotten from Ronni. I could remember a few dozen pecks over the years from an excited little girl over birthday presents and winning games . But none of these was evident now.

"Because you worry about me. You care how I feel." She smiled at me.

"Of course I do, Ronni. You're my best friend."

"You keep saying that, Dave. What about the people you work with?" she looked at me, those brown eyes soft, questioning.

"Oh, I have a lot of good friends, Ronni," I said. "You saw some of them visit. But who's here, taking care of me, when she could be out having a life this summer?"

"Dave, who comes to my games and who played team dad while Dad was overseas? I owe you. Besides, you're always here when I need you."

"Go take your shower before we start cryin' and huggin', babe." I said. She left. And left me thinking. Fifteen minutes later I heard the water stop running, then the sound of a hair dryer. Then another fifteen minutes for jawline-length brown hair to be brushed and dried to a shiny completion.

And Ronni walked in. I'd seen Ronni in a lot of different outfits over the years, jeans and a blouse or a shirt, or one of those abbreviated shorts and jersey things for softball or volleyball, or even a bathing suit, and she looked good in a dress, from a cute seven year old going to church with her mom and dad ten years ago to an understated formal for prom a few weeks back.

None of those prepared me for Ronni in a nightshirt that was essentially an oversized, overlength t-shirt. Oh, to be sure, it covered her from her neck to almost her knees, but it was cotton and underneath, well, I could see that she had panties on. And no bra. And long, athletically-formed legs. Not grotesquely muscular, just firm and well-shaped. I was trying not to stare.

"Whew!" she said. "I feel soooo much better! I needed a bath."

"Yeah, I know how good it felt when you finished mine," I said.

"I can imagine. Do you need anything, babe?" she asked.

"Nope," I said. "Relax. You've done plenty for me today." I didn't say 'including getting my heart rate up with that nightshirt'. And "babe". She called me "babe". "Here! Get the remote and find something for us."

She picked it up after I tossed it artlessly with my good hand and started punching through channels. Finally she found something on "Animal Planet" that looked good. We watched together for an hour, then started another episode in the sequence, and then it was bedtime.

"I'm gonna need a couple of those pain pills, Ron," I said.

She got up and retrieved the medicine and a glass of water. I took my medicine. She helped me into the wheelchair again and wheeled me to the bathroom. "You need to tinkle before you go to bed, so you won't have to get up at night, babe."

"You're a smart lady," I said. Instead of trying to sit again, I used Ronni's arms to help me to a standing position and then fumbled at the fly of my pajamas until I got my dick out. As I was peeing, I glanced over. Ronni's eyes were turned away. Finishing, I gave it a couple of shakes and managed to get it back inside my PJ's, then with minimal effort I sat back down and let Ronni move me to my bed. She turned back the covers and we worked my damaged body onto the bed.

"Uh, Ronni," I asked, "I forgot to ask you. Where are you planning on sleeping? There're blankets and pillows if you want to use the sofa. Or you can use Brittney's room." I kept my daughter's room intact for the rare occasions that she was over for a visit.

But Ronni had a different idea. "I'm sleeping in here, Dave," she said quietly. "In case you need something during the night."

"Uh, Ronni," I stammered, "in the same bed? Your folks..."

"Mom trusts me, Dave. And I trust YOU, not to mention the fact that you can't hardly scratch yourself, much less try to have your way with me..." she smiled. "So relax. I won't kick you. I don't move much in my sleep."

"You're serious?!?!"

"About you... uh, taking care of you? Yes I am." She walked to the opposite side of the bed and turned on a lamp, then turned off the overhead lights. And crawled into my bed. As she stretched her legs under the covers, she asked, "Do you like music on when you go to sleep?"

I could feel the painkillers beginning to work. "Yes I do. If you punch that clock radio..."

She punched. "Oooohhhh, late night classical. I listen to this..."

She was on my right side. I felt her hand reach for mine, grasp my fingers, and squeeze. "G'nite, Dave. And by the way, this is the first time I've been in bed with a guy..."

"Ronni, that's..." I started.

"Oh, don't get worked up. You KNOW what I mean... g'nite." She giggled and I felt the bed move, then her breath against my cheek, then a chaste kiss. And I drifted off. I could always blame the strange dreams on the drugs, right?
