Date: Fri, 20 Oct 2017 22:31:48 -0400
From: Bill <mgtbill@aol.com>
Subject: DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR SUMMER     Chapter 7

DYLAN'S SUMMER AFTER HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR


Chapter  7


by  Donny Mumford

While in the shower Wednesday morning I'm thinking about last night's
chance meeting with Ray Reeves. It pisses me off that I'm even thinking
about him but the coincidence of running into him at the basketball game
after previously spending time with Sonny hit me like a double whammy. It
sort of transported me back two summers ago.  As time passes most of us
tend to think back on mostly the good aspects of our long-ago experiences
while conveniently pushing the negatives to the back of our minds. That
must be what subconsciously happened during my brief encounter with Ray. It
messed with my head making me see Ray as a confident, attractive and sexy
guy. Actually, he's become all those things on the surface, but it's what's
under the surface that gives me pause.

Hell, there have been times during the past five months when, in my weaker
moments, I've missed Ryan Wilcox and briefly consider mending fences with
him. Of course, Ryan would require me to give in to him totally as if any
differences between us were all my fault. It's always been his way or the
highway, as that tired expression goes. Both Ryan and Ray were, for varying
amounts of time, significantly dominant figures in my life, mostly because
of sex. They made me feel very desired while they became ever increasingly
dominant until I finally had enough of their bull-shit and said, 'NO!'.
After that it all began unravelling in both situations.

Actually, the same thing happened with fat Carl going way back to my junior
year of high school. In all three relationships, it eventually got to a
point where I wouldn't take the humiliation any longer and I was like, 'Go
fuck yourself!' Later I began missing the sense of being desired and
dominated and so I second guessed myself into giving it another try. And
with all three relationships I hit the final brick wall, so to speak, where
I didn't want anything more to do with any of them. It's more complicated
than that obviously, but that's the bottom line. I suppose some may think I
need to include Willie to the threesome but no; Willie's basically a much
nicer person than the other three. Inherently nicer and we have had a few
very nice reunions over the years. Fat Carl holds zero influence on me now
but there still appears to be a degree of lingering interest for Ray and
Ryan. The mind works in weird and mysterious ways.

After thinking all that, I'm not taking Ray up on his invitation to
Friday's cookout and I'm not going to try mending fences with Ryan. Those
ships have sailed, so screw lingering interest! I learned my lesson too
well to think it would work again with them. Sure, I'd like to see the
posse boys of old at the cookout but not enough to get mixed-up with Ray
again. There's an 'out-of-sight, out-of-mind' component in my feelings for
Ray and Ryan that falters when I'm in their presence and they're on their
best behavior. As far as sex with Sonny goes, ours has always been a
harmless random relationship. While Sonny enjoys, our sex play he's
ultimately not fixated on me like the others were. Even with all of Sonny's
bluster about how much he likes or loves me, I've never felt any serious
desire on his part for me. Like I said, it's just a game with us two.

Anyway, my main focus this summer is going to be on my real boyfriend,
Robby, and my messing around with bus-boy doesn't contradict that. Bus-boy
is strictly for light entertainment. The chances of that leading anywhere
are minuscule to zero. After all, when you get right down to it there's
only one chance in ten he's gay and he's already said he's not. But even if
he were what are the chances we'd be compatible enough to form a
relationship? I'm merely entertaining myself during the bus ride to work.

After a breakfast of OJ, a fried egg sandwich on toast, and coffee I make
my lunch and put it in my back pack. Wearing the backpack over one shoulder
I light my after-breakfast cigarette while walking to the bus stop. What's
the point of me waiting until I get there to smoke it and thereby
antagonizing mustache-man? Coming down the steps from my condo I see he's
already on the bench reading his newspaper. Because I left the house a few
minutes later than usual mustache-man got to the bus stop before me. Fuck
groundhog day.

Finishing my cigarette ten feet from the bench, I step on the butt while
watching the traffic fly by on Center Street. Feeling a bit conspicuous
just standing here, I take my cellphone from my backpack to use as a
prop. Glancing up I see fat-ass making her way down the sidewalk from the
other direction. Her and mustache-man probably live in the same condo
complex I live in. There are other buildings in back of ours and others
further around the bend on Center Street.

Fat-ass exchanges trite weather comments with mustache-man and, as I roll
my eyes, I realize I've missed the boat on something obvious. I don't need
to use my cellphone as a prop. Swinging my backpack around in front of me I
start going through it until I find my earphones. Why didn't I think of
this before? I'll listen to music off my iPhone. That's the perfect way to
appear occupied and thereby discourage any unwanted conversation.

After getting the earphones connected I listen to random music I've
downloaded over the years. It's also kind of cool-looking wearing
earphones. The bus shows-up on time and I follow fat-ass onto the bus and
then drop exact change in the money machine. I brazenly walk down the aisle
and sit right next to bus-boy. For a split second, he looks over at me
frowning, and then goes back to looking down at his cellphone. Ha, he knows
I can see it's not even turned-on so bus-boy makes a rude sound and puts it
away and looks out the window. Ha ha, caught ya! Faking that you're doing
something with your cellphone is the oldest trick in the book.

Smirking, I look at the back of his head and confirm my assessment from
yesterday that he needs to wash his dark-brown hair. Also, in my opinion
his hair is too long for the hairstyle we both have. Maybe he isn't aware
that cleanliness is next to Godliness, but then what's Godliness mean
anyway? Hmmm, I may have misquoted that idiom. I'm listening to an old rock
star whose pictures are disturbing so I avoid looking at them whenever one
appears in Rolling Stone or People magazine. I like some of his songs
though. It's Tom Petty singing, "I'm learning to fly but I ain't got
wings. Learning to fly is the hardest thing..." Still looking out the
window, bus-boy mutters, "I can hear that and I don't care for that song."
I take out my left earphone and ask, "Were you talking to me?" He goes,
"Why did you sit next to me? I don't like to be bothered." Grinning, I go,
"It's no bother." He turns to face me now, and mutters, "You know what I
meant."

He has very big dark eyes and a cherub's face. Cute small facial features
with perfectly bow-shaped pouty lips and very fine short dark hairs on his
upper lip; the very early beginnings of a mustache. HA! He also has two
red, sore-looking ache blemishes on the side of his forehead and for all I
know there's always a frown on his face. His perfectly shaped eyebrows are
furrowed, so I ask, "Why are you frowning?" Looking away again, he mumbles,
"Leave me alone, okay?" I turn up the volume of Tom Petty's song and hold
the earphone near bus-boy's right ear and in ten seconds he covers his
mouth with his hand and barks out a laugh. I'm staring at him while
grinning and unconsciously smelling the back of my hand. He pushes the
earphone away and asks, "Who are you going to pretend my brother is today?"
I chuckle, "Hey, I used that clever ruse because I wanted to meet you. Bus
rides are boring so I was entertaining myself." He smirks, "At my expense."
Shrugging, I go, "Well yeah, it'd have to be at someone's expense. Why not
yours?"

He sort of straightens up in the seat and looks right at me, "Are you that
hard-up for friends?" I say, "No, I just need a bus-buddy. I have other
friends but no bus-friends and I don't like the people at my bus stop,
so..." He shakes his head, muttering, "I like solitude before a day of
work." I go, "Oh yeah, whaddaya do for work?" He closes his eyes shaking
his head slowly. Omigod his eyelashes are long and curl-up; bus-boy is a
pretty boy. A girl wouldn't need artificial eyelashes if she had bus-boy's
eyelashes. He has a swarthy completion; almost tan but not really. Smooth
skin except for those two pimples or whatever they are. Doing a big noisy
exhale, he says, "My last name isn't Ryan, but my first name is... um, so
you had me off balance for a fraction of a second yesterday when you asked
if I was Buddy Ryan's brother." Nodding my head I smile at him, not even
remembering that's the name I used. I still don't say anything though and
he does that furrowed eyebrow frown again, asking, "Are you gay or
something?" I go, "Yes, I am. How'd you guess?" and he says, "You're
probably lying. I don't know whether to believe you or not, but if you
really are gay you're barking up the wrong tree with me. You're wasting
your fucking time." He has a sincere sounding cute voice.

I don't say anything and after ten-seconds, he says, "I work at
Staples. Um, in the print-services department." I nod but still don't say
anything and a minute goes by before bus-boy finally mumbles, "Sorry if I
hurt your feelings. I'm Ryan Gagnon. If you absolutely insist on it, I
suppose I can be your bus-buddy." Well, he's agreed to one-half my ultimate
goal... heh heh. No, I'm just kidding. I still don't say anything although
I do hold out my fist and after two-seconds he bumps it with his smallish
fist. Why does he have to have 'Ryan' as a first name though? Yeah, well I
learned something: by not saying anything I've gotten more information from
him than anything I could have said.

Trying not to grin, although I'm enjoying myself, I continue saying nothing
so Ryan bumps my arm with his elbow, looks at me and asks, "Where do you
work, and do you have a name by any chance?" The bus comes to a stop and I
realize I've got another boner in my pants. It's caused by the motion of
the bus and maybe a little-bit by my new bus-buddy. I tell him my name, and
add, "I work for Dickers and Son, Inc. in the Human Resources
Department. Just for the summer and then it's back to college." He goes,
"Oh, a big-deal business man, huh? You don't look old enough." I ask, "How
old do I look?" He shrugs, "You look like you're seventeen or eighteen but
since you're a businessman I'll guess you're twenty or twenty-one." I go,
"Ouuu, good guess! I'm twenty-one and my birthday's in August. That means,
Omigod, I'll be twenty-two before the end of the summer." He asks, "How
much do you make?" I go, "How rude of you to ask that question!
Five-hundred a week." He mumbles, "I hate you." I go, "Why, how much do you
make?" He says, "I've been working for Staples since graduating high
school, so that's a little over a year and I haven't gotten a raise
yet. I'm a copy and print associate and make $9.36 an hour which is $374.46
per week... before taxes. I take home a little over $300 a week." That's a
fairly low wage I guess, but I don't want to diss him, so I say, "That's
not bad," and he makes another rude sound, then mutters, "Bullshit it's
not..."

Hmmm, he graduated last year so he's at least nineteen. It's kinda funny
that once I got him started talking I can't shut him up now. Not that I
want him to shut up. I ask, "Do you live at home?" He nods, "Yes, which is
why I'm able to save money to eventually get my own place. Meanwhile I
insist on paying two hundred dollars a month to the 'rents for room and
board." I go, "Jeez, that's nice of you," and he goes, "Dad doesn't think
so. He insists I pay four-hundred dollars a month," and he covers his mouth
with his hand and laughs again.

Our stop is coming up so I stand, saying, "You're going to be an excellent
bus-buddy, Ryan. Um, you wouldn't happen to have a nickname, would you?" He
gets up too, mumbling, "No. I don't like nicknames," and then, as the bus
stops abruptly, he stumbles into me. I grab his arm to keep him from
falling and he mumbles, "Sorry, um, thanks," and I go, "No problem, that's
what bus-buddies do. They look out for one another." He mumbles, "Oh, I
didn't know that. I'm shy to a retarded degree so you're my first
bus-buddy." I go, "I don't think we're supposed to use the word 'retarded'
anymore." He goes, "Who says?" and I go, "The political correctness
police. You could get dirty looks and maybe even a lecture from some
know-it-all person who is probably watching and listening to you right
now." He goes, "Oh fuck, I don't want to get you in trouble by associating
with the wrong kind of bus-buddy." I go, "Ha, don't worry about it. We're
bus-buddies for life now." He mutters, "Oh gawd, I was hoping it was just
for the day."

As we follow others getting off at our stop, I mutter, "Yeah, on second
thought your political incorrectness could get me in trouble. I should
probably re-think this bus-buddy thing." We go down the three steps getting
off the bus as Ryan says, "Let me know tomorrow what your decision is. Do
we continue being bus-buddies or do you dump me." I chuckle and then say,
"You don't seem shy to me." He holds out his small fist, mumbling, "Well I
am, see you tomorrow." I tap his fist with mine and he goes, "Hey, do you
know if there's an opening at your company for a job that pays like yours?"
I shrug, "I don't know, but I'll ask. See you tomorrow."

He goes off to the right and I head straight up the sidewalk at a steady
pace, but I'm not jogging. No need for that anymore as I'll be in the
office a good fifteen minutes before Carl. My boner recedes as I'm walking
away from the bus stop and, dammit, I wish Ryan had a different first name!
I need to think of a nickname for him; maybe one derived from his last
name. Too bad I can't remember what he said it was. You know, if some kid
has a last name like 'Spasollie' ya call him 'Spazz'. Jeez, he is really
cute though, and there's also something very sexy about him. I felt like
hugging the shit out of him. Just hugging him. I wonder if he's reminding
me of someone subconsciously? If so I can't think who it is.

Walking up the front walk to the office I'm thinking thank God for bus-boy
because in the last two days I haven't seen another guy worth glancing at,
never mind fantasizing about all day. If I don't see Rob at work I go a
whole day from the time I get up, go to the bus stop, watch fifty people
get on and off the bus, check out everyone I see in my quarter-mile walk to
work, and then spend all day seeing lots of people at work without seeing
another age-appropriate guy who interest me. Obviously, I mean another cute
or sexy guy. Just bus-boy, which is why seeing Robby occasionally at work
is such a treat. Cute sexy guys in my age-range are very rare. They were
much more prevalent when I was in my teens googling other teens.

In the office I go to Carl's room, or should I call it his office? I don't
know what to call it. It's where he says my, um, work station is. Dropping
my backpack on my work station, which is basically space on a long
table. My 'space' is about six feet down and on the other side of Carl's
work station.  I go next door to the Human Resources room for complimentary
coffee and a donut. As soon as I walk through the door the youngish-looking
blond-headed girl jumps up and comes over to stand too close to me
again. She's the one who embarrassed me by saying I needed to chip-in for
the donuts yesterday when that was all total bull-shit. She says, "Hi
Dylan. What kind of K-cup do you want this morning? Hot chocolate, tea, or
coffee?" I do my automatic smile as I subtle move a step away from her,
muttering, "That's okay, um, thanks but I'll get it myself," and she stands
between me and the Keurig machine, "You remember my name, don't you?" I'm
getting pissed, "No I don't! I'm not good with names and I've watched
sixteen hours of tutorial videos the last two days, so I'm trying to
remember all that." One of the older women says, "Leave Dylan alone,
Eileen."

Eileen looks at the lady and says, "I'm helping him," and then to me, as
she wraps her arm around mine, "Aren't I helping you, Dylan?" Without
waiting for a reply from me she puts a Styrofoam cup on the ledge of the
Keurig machine, sticks-in a K-cup and presses a button, saying, "I chose
Morning Breakfast Brew for you this morning, Dylan. Let's look at the
donuts now." She lets go of my arm and as I'm rolling my eyes she picks-up
a vanilla frosted donut and put it on a napkin. She has extremely long
fingernails. Holding out the napkin and donut, she says, "I had a vanilla
frosted this morning so I know you'll like it. It's very sweet and just
right for you." I mimic bus-boy's furrowed eyebrows frown while taking the
napkin and donut. Eileen's at the coffee-maker again, asking, "Cream and
sugar?" I'd rather have had the chocolate frosted donut, but I nod to her
question about cream and sugar as I take a bite of the donut. After fixing
my coffee she hands it to me and I mutter, "Thanks," and walk out blushing
to a chorus of giggles from a number of the women. I hear the older, stern
woman say, "C'mon ladies! Get back to work," and someone says, "But he's so
adorable it's..." and the door closes.

I'm sweating a little after that abuse. Sitting at my, um, table I drink
the coffee and eat the overly sweet donut thinking about the new Ryan, the
bus-boy Ryan, and why I was a little hot and bothered by him this
morning. Strange, especially since he's not gay, and I totally believe he's
not. He claims he's awfully shy too; he said he's shy to a retarded
degree. Ha ha! Yeah well, he did seem shy at first, but then, BAM! he
wouldn't stop talking. Asking me about personal stuff too, like how much do
I make? Who asks that?

I'm finished the donut and coffee wishing I could grab a smoke somewhere
when Carl comes rushing in red-faced, asking, 'Has anybody been asking for
me, Dylan?" I shake my head and he goes, "Good! Oh, and g'morning to
you. Have you had coffee yet?" I mumble, "Yeah, I finished, um," and don't
say... ten minutes ago. He nods and rustles stuff around on his work
station and finally plops a glossy folder in front of me. The title of it
reads: 'Your NEW Dickers and Son, Inc. Benefit Package.' As I stare at it
Carl adds a stack of printed pages, saying, "Glance through this stuff
while I get a coffee." I go, "Yeah, sure," and he hurries off. Jesus, I
feel exhausted just watching him. Why the fuck doesn't he leave for work a
half hour earlier? It's stressful dealing with his rushing around because
he's always late. It's nerve racking.

Carl comes back with a coffee and donut. He's seemingly calmed down a lot
as he stands at his desk eating the donut in three bites, his Adams apple
bobbing with each swallow. Done the donut he slurps his coffee and pulls
his chair down the table until he's across from me. Slurping his coffee
again and thereby driving a nail in the back of my neck, he picks-up the
glossy folder and says, "These brochures are being mailed-out to every
employee later today, along with this letter," and he hands me a letter
from the CEO telling everyone there's a new benefit package that will be
in-place September 1st. Carl slurps more coffee driving the nail further
into the back of my head, saying, "You'll hand one of these to the
employees you talk to today and tomorrow. They'll be getting one in the
mail too but their mailed copies won't get to them for a couple of days." I
nod, "Okay, I understand."

Another long slurp as I suppress the urge to knock his hand and spill his
hot coffee all over him and everything else. He goes, "The brochure says
that a representative, who's a benefits expert, will personally explain and
take you through our new and improved benefits step by step." Looking up I
mumble, "Expert?" and he goes, "That's you. You're the expert." I go,
"Yeah, well I guess so, I got a 96 on the test." Carl does his laugh, "Heh
heh heh", and his coffee breath floats over and almost causes me to
hurl. Done laughing, Carl takes another long slurp of coffee and I stand up
grabbing the back of my head and massage my neck and gritting my teeth. He
looks startled, "What's wrong, Dylan?" I mutter, "Just a cramp. I'm good
though, no problem."

Sitting down I hold my breath as he goes, "Oh, by the way, don't mention
the test to anyone, okay? That's between you and me. It was for certain
regulations you don't need to concern yourself with." I nod and then put
the back of my hand against my nose and mumble, "Sure, I understand,"
although I'm not at all sure that I do. Apparently, Carl's big on taking
short-cuts but so what, so am I. He looks at the next piece of paper while
taking another long slurp of coffee. I spot a pair of scissors on his work
station and picture in my head sticking the point of the scissors down hard
on the top of his head. I mean, fuck, the coffee should be cooled off
enough to be drinkable by now so why's he still slurping it?

Carl sucks on his teeth and then uses a finger to dislodge a piece of donut
that was between his gum and his cheek. It's on the end of his finger as he
examines it; icing I think. He slurps it off his finger and holds up a
paper with columns of numbers, explaining, "You'll go over these two pages
of changes. Everything is written in plain language so that we can all
understand what the changes mean in laymen's terms. Everything you explain
to the employees from these two common-sense pages," and he holds both of
them up, "Is backed-up in the brochure by incomprehensible legalese talk
that satisfies regulation requirements." Smelling the back of my hand I nod
and he goes on, "You should take about thirty-minutes per employee making
sure each one understand this dumbed-down version. It's all they'll care
about. Also, in the brochure it explains how the company is spending an
extra twelve-million dollars per year upgrading the
benefits. Twelve-million over the millions the old benefits already cost
the company." Now I can't stop watching Carl's Adams apple bob up and down
with his every word. It almost defies the law of gravity. And when I force
my eyes to look away from that I stare at his strange hairdo with the
transplanted hairs that form a sparse widow's peak. The sparse hairs from
the transplanted widow's peak then stretch over his bald head to join the
horseshoe of thick hair around the sides and back of his head to form a
stubby ponytail. And Carl's only in his late twenties. What a shame!

Mercifully finished his coffee, Carl goes over everything on the simplified
two-page summary sheets and then, as practice, he's want to be the first
person I give the presentation to. I start and he goes, "No, Dylan. Don't
start right in. Smile real friendly like and introduce yourself as a
specialist hired by the company for the summer to install this new benefit
package. Be super friendly and ask how they're doing. Chat 'em up a little
like you're on their side." I go, "Sure, but they'll know I'm not a
specialist or expert. Everyone in the next room knows my total experience
is watching tutorial videos for two days. That doesn't make me an expert
and I'll feel like a fool saying I am one." He says, "Yeah, yeah, I know,
but that's just nine people in the Human Resources Department. No one else
in the company knows. Well, the managers know, but..." I'm shocked, "I need
to give this thirty-minute presentation to each manager? How many are
there?" He goes, "Only twelve on the second floor. They're vice presidents
actually and they all have one or two managers under them. Don't let titles
bother you though. It's the same presentation for everyone, starting with
the owner/CEO down to the mailroom boys." Mailroom boys? I'm like, "Oh, how
many mailroom boys are there? Just curious." He goes, "Two full time and
one part-time, but they're not really boys. They're all older than you. Um,
how old are you anyway?" I tell him and he goes, "Really?" like I'd lie
about it. Ignoring that I'm like, "Oh, speaking of the mailroom, do you
know if there are any entry level openings at the moment? There's this guy
I know who's looking for a job." He shrugs, "I don't know about any
openings, Dylan, but ask next door." Oh yeah, human resources... dummy!

I need to give Carl the presentation three times before he's satisfied and
he tells me that this afternoon I'll begin by giving the presentation to
each employee in Human Resources before beginning with the general
population, as he put it. I don't think he totally trusts me yet. It's
lunch time when we're done. A goofy-looking guy taps on the door jam and
Carl looks up, mumbling, "Hey, George, wassup?" George, in an annoyingly
nasally-high-pitched voice, asks, "Ready for lunch, Carl?" Carl nods and
then bites his bottom lip looking at me, and then asks, "Ah, did you bring
your lunch, Dylan?" I nod, "Yes, I'll just eat it here if it's okay with
you." He looks relieved that I won't be joining them. Well screw him, I
don't want to spend forty-five minutes with those two anyhow. Carl gets up,
saying, "Sure that's okay, I'll meet you back here at one o'clock," and he
goes off with George.

I wasn't about to mention me eating lunch with the boss's son, but oh man
do I ever need some relaxation time with Robby! I need some pumping-up too;
some morale boosting. Robby doesn't respond to my text though, so I end-up
eating at my work station. Oh well, peace and quiet is the next best thing
to eating lunch with Robby. I'm almost finished my bag lunch when Rob calls
to tell me he needs to have lunch during a meeting. No problem. Not having
the balls to go outside for a smoke, I kill time going over the
presentation again. I'm still feeling nervous about actually doing the
interviews for-real starting this afternoon.

Wait a second: before doing anything, else I need to take a piss and wash
my face and hands. I go into a stall in the men's room and immediately hear
the lavatory door open and recognize Carl's voice as he comes in. Good
thing I'm in this stall. He's saying, "Yeah, he seems smart enough, but
he's so fucking young-looking. And now Baxter just told me I'm to send him
to Dottie when I'd done training him." George goes, "So what's your
problem? You've done your part." Carl whines, "What's the boss-man gonna
think when he sees this kid is the one introducing the
twelve-million-dollar improvement to our benefits package? What if he
thinks I hired him?" George's high-pitched voice says, "Yeah, from the
quick look I had of him he does look like a baby but have you ever seen a
more handsome kid?" They're both at the urinals as Carl raises his voice,
"I don't give a shit how good-looking he is, I'm afraid he won't be taken
seriously... and he's representing me!"

Oh man, what a prick he turned out to be! I thought he was a good
guy. Weird looking, sure, but I thought he was on my side. George says,
"Yeah well, look at it this way...  you didn't hire him so how can they
blame you?" Carl whines, "Nobody seems to know who the fuck hired him so,
by association with me, old man Dickers will think it was me." George
chuckles, "The shit you get yourself into." Carl mumbles, "And, dammit, I
do feel kinda bad for the kid, but he looks like a fucking high school
student and..." George interrupts, "Jesus, Carl, tell him to wear a suit
and tie. That'll help overcome his baby face, and anyway since when did you
start worrying about anything but your own ass?" Carl says, "That's what
I'm worried about! What the fuck do ya think I'm talking about? This new
benefit package crap is one more shitty job they figure... oh, give it to
that asshole Carl."

At the sink washing their hands, apparently off the subject of me, Carl
goes, "And goddammit, if that prick Baxter catches me coming in late again
and gives me any shit at all I'm quitting. I wanted that Westborough office
job from the start." The other guy says, "I'm trying to get you
transferred! Jesus, do you gotta bitch about everything? It'll take a
while." As they leave Carl's saying, "Thanks, George, but can't ya get it
pushed through sooner, like the same time you're transferring there. Jesus,
I live two miles from the Westborough office and so.." and the door swings
closed. I wasn't taking a shit in here by the way. I just prefer pissing
behind closed doors in public bathrooms when by myself. When I heard the
lavatory door open and those two losers came in I merely sat on the toilet
seat to wait it out.

After my piss I'm washing my hands thinking, 'So Carl's worried I look too
young for the job, huh? He's probably right too, but tough shit! I've got
the job and I'm not giving it up for something like my bus-buddy's $9.36 an
hour job.' Carl's at our work station when I get there. He smiles, saying,
"Shall we try it one last time, Dylan?" I give him the full presentation
one last time and he says, "Okay, that's good. Um, I know you're not going
to like this, kiddo, and I'm really sorry about it, but to help the
'expert' image a little bit I'm going to need to insist you wear a suit and
tie while doing these interviews, or at least a sports coat and tie.

I hate when someone calls me 'kiddo', and no one here wears a tie except
for the second-floor VP's." I go, "Aah, jeez, Carl! Really? That blows,
dude." He says, "Yeah I think it does too, but I got the word from
management." Liar! He continues, "Remember we're the transition team for
these new benefits, you and me are the entire team, kiddo." His Adam's
apple bobs like a cork in the ocean. Running his hand over his bald head,
he goes, "So, ya know, whatever you do reflects on me." He's actually
whining saying, "You're representing me." I shrug like, it is what it is,
and he goes, "Okay, good, you'll wear a suit. That's settled."

He stands, saying, "Another change of plans. Do you know Dottie Scouser?" I
go, "Mr. Dickers' administrative assistant?" He nods, "Yes, you're to
report to her now and she'll give you the first month's schedule of
interviews and, um, I guess she'll explain where the interviews will take
place. I had you going from employee to employee, but Dottie is sort of a,
well never mind what she is. She'll probably change the plans I've spent a
lot of time setting up. I was just told you're to see her so, ya know. Oh,
um, be sure to emphasize I insist on a professional suit and tie for you
during the interviews. Okay?" I mutter, "Sure, and should I go there now?"
He seems happy to be getting rid of me as he enthusiastically goes, "Yep,
and good luck. Off you go. Check in with me each morning and we'll have a
short meeting reviewing how your interviews went the previous day in case
somebody asks me how's it's going."

I stand now too, feeling nervous. Carl hands me some review sheets and a
handful of brochures, saying, "I don't want you carry these things around
in a backpack though, that's not professional, heh heh heh. This is
business, not high school or, um, I know you're in college. I meant
college." I shrug, "Well what do you want me to carry this, ah, stuff in?"
He looks around and then picks-up a fake-leather flat satchel with a
zipper, saying, "You can use this," and he takes papers out of it, adding,
"It's what I carry paperwork home in. They have me overworked as it is so I
need to do some work at home, not that it's appreciated." What a
complainer! As well as a liar! I stuff everything inside the, um, whatever
this thing is called. It doesn't have handles so I guess I'll carry it
under my arm like a dork. It figures this thing would be Carl's.

"Good luck, Dylan, you'll do fine. Check with me before leaving for the
night. A text or whatever's convenient will do, just in case someone asks
me..." I nod, "Sure thing, Carl," protect your ass, that's obviously your
number one concern. No, I don't say that/I mumble, "Um, thanks for your
help and all." He says, "You're welcome... off you go now." Jesus, he can't
wait for me to leave. Oh well, let me see if I can find my way to Dottie's
desk. At least they have desks on the second floor; maybe I'll get an
office there. After wondering around a couple of corridors I see a
staircase to the second floor. Up I go and come out right next to Robby's
office. Oh good!

Sticking my head in I see Rob's not here but the big-voiced Max Renoldie is
sitting at a desk where Robby's desk used to be. He loudly says, "Hey, it's
Dylan, right? Rob's friend." I go, "Oh yeah, hi Mr. Renoldie." He goes,
"It's Max! Mr. Renoldie's my father." Oh, no one's ever used that clever
line before. He says, "Rob's in a meeting," and his phone rings. He picks
it up giving me a wave. I go down the corridor hearing his loud voice,
"Thanks for getting back to me, Art..."

I know where I am now and keep walking to the end of the corridors where I
see Dottie at her desk. As far as I can see Mr. Dickers isn't in his
office, so that's good! With a big smile on my face I'm like, "Hi, Dottie,
remember me?" She looks up, "Oh no, not you again. Dylan, right? Dylan
Newman." I go, "Guilty as charged," wondering how she remembered both my
first and last name. She says, "I've been expecting you," oh, so that's how
she remembered. She comes around her desk motioning for me to sit in one of
the club chairs situated around a coffee table. She sits in the chair next
to me showing me a computer list, saying, "I've revised Carl's ridiculous
plans for how the interviews will go. Instead of you going to each
employee, they'll come to you on a schedule that each team leader will
coordinate. You'll have a small meeting room for the presentations. Um,
you're done watching all the tutorials by now, right?" I go, "Yes, I
watched all the training videos two or three times." She smiles, "I'll bet
that was a fun two days," and I mumble, "Tons of fun." She goes, "Well the
meeting room you watched the tutorials in is now your office for most of
the summer. That's where you'll explain the improved changes in our benefit
package." Sweet, my own office!

Pointing at the computer sheet, she says, "Hopefully you can keep on this
schedule but who knows how many questions they'll bombard you with. If you
run over twenty-minutes per employee don't worry about it." Huh, Carl said
thirty minutes. Dottie says, "It's Robert's sincere wish that everyone
understands the upgrades." I'm assuming she means Mr. Dickers and not
Robby... heh heh. She says, "Okay' Dylan, as I'm sure you realize this is
intended to be a morale booster for the employees. There's always some
however who will take it as a negative because they won't like
change... any change, even for the better. In your opinion if you feel
someone continues taking these changes as a negative keep a list of those
people for me. I'll take care of it from there." I nod, "Okay," and she
says, "Let me see what Carl came up with for a review sheet."

Going into the flat satchel I take out the two pages stapled together and
hand then to Dottie. She reads it quickly, mumbling, "It'll have to do I
suppose," as she crosses-out a half-dozen things, saying, "I'll get you
revised sheets eliminating a few incorrect statements of Carl's." She
chuckles, mumbling, "Why Carl thought these were a good idea I can't
imagine." She calls out, "Peg," and a woman comes in from a pod of desks
outside Dottie's area. She says, "Access this computer program and
eliminate the ones I've crossed out and then print three revised copies."
To me she says, "That'll take five minutes tops." Holding up the
three-by-five cards that were paper-clipped to the computer printout,
Dottie says, "These cards, one for each employee, are essential. There's
one with employee information for every employee that's on the
printout. Have the employees sign this card verifying they know and
understand the new benefits."

What can I do except nod my head like a bobble-head doll and say, "Okay,"
to each instruction. She finishes by asking, "Any questions?" I go, "No,
but I'm supposed to tell you that I'll be wearing a suit and tie starting
tomorrow." Her eyebrows go up, "A suit, huh? Is that Carl's idea?" I shrug,
and avoid the question by saying, "He's the one who told me." Dottie says,
"Well he's suppose to be running the show for this program so what's the
harm, assuming you don't mind. Wear a suit or sports jacket if you want but
take it off during the day. We want a friendly casual introduction of these
new benefits. One big happy equal family. Right, Dylan? I do a nervous
chuckle, mumbling, "Right, Dottie." The fucking suit was actually George's
idea, whoever he is. He could be one of the older mailroom 'boys' for all I
know. Nah, he must be someone above Carl since he's trying to get Carl
transferred,

Peg comes back with the revised summary sheets and Dottie stands up taking
the sheets, saying, "Thanks, Peg."  Putting the summary sheet in front of
me, Dottie walks around the table to sit across from me, saying, "I'm sure
you gave the presentation to Carl, but I'll be your first real
interview. Convince me the company is looking out for my best interest." Oh
fuck! Just like that, huh? Getting out a fresh brochure, I slide it across
the table smiling, and saying, "Hi, I'm Dylan Newman. How are you doing
today..." and I go through the whole presentation. Dottie breaks my balls
with obscure questions of course because she's quite the kidder, but at the
end she says, "Wonderful, Dylan! That was perfect. Everyone will love you."
Well fuck you, Carl! Dottie thinks I'm perfect.

She says, "Don't forget though, you need to have me sign that three-by-five
card." She signs it and I paperclip it to Carl's signed card and stick it
in the thing I'm carrying the papers in. Dottie says, "Now I'll walk you
down to that meeting room and get Kay started on sending the Human
Resources people to you." I ask, "Kay?" and Dottie says, "She's the Human
Resources Department supervisor, Kay Bloomsberg. The manager is Bill Baxter
whom I'm sure you know from interviewing with him for the job. And of
course, you met with him your first day." Yeah, for three minutes as he
tried to figure out who the hell hired me, but why tell Dottie that? She
says, "You keep this copy of the computer print-out so you'll know who's
coming next for an interview." She points at the print-out saying, "Here's
the name, their employee number, date of hire and so forth. Well you can
read the headings for yourself. The project leader for each department will
have a duplicate printout."

She takes me on a much more direct route to the small meeting room where I
spent my first two days and after she checks it out, she mumbles, "This
will do although I tried to get you a space with a window. No luck yet on
that but I'll keep trying." She pats my shoulder, "You'll do great, Dylan,"
and off she goes to talk with the Kay-person, I assume. I guess I just wait
until, and I check the print-out to see who's first, until Mary Dulse shows
up. Well, here I go....

Yeah, except Mary doesn't show up for almost an hour and I'm wondering what
the fuck is going on. Then I hear a tap on the door. Oh fuck, I'll leave
the door open next time. I go, "Come in please," and in comes the middle
age woman I remember seeing my first day. Big smile from me as I say, "Hi,
as you already know I'm Dylan Newman. Oh, please have a seat," and off I
go.

Without interruptions, my first presentation took about
twelve-minutes. Mary didn't interrupt with questions so when I finish, I
ask, "Is this all making sense, Mary?" He goes, "Yes, Dylan, and may I say
you have a very nice speaking voice." Well I didn't expect that so I go,
"Oh, um, that's kind of you to say. So you understand the changes so far,
huh?" She shakes her head, "Not really, but I just assume the changes are
better, like you said." Jesus! I go back to the first change, saying,
"Well, you understand that your life insurance is now six times your annual
earnings, right? It was five times before." She goes, "Oh, sure I
understood that one. Very nice of the company although I have no intentions
of dying at the moment." You dumb cunt, that's not the point! I think that
but don't say it out loud. Instead I go to point two and she understands
that too. Same for all the points I covered the first time. She goes, "My
goodness, I guess I did understand what you said the first time." I go,
'Well I'm not all that surprised because a nine-year-old could understand
this simple shit.' No, I don't say that either. Instead I say, "Good," and
take the card out for Mary to sign. Mary, by the way, is wearing a cheap
smelling perfume that's suffocating me.

I ask her to sign the three-by-five card, and she goes, "Let me take all
this information home to have my husband review it before I sign-off on
it. Okay, Dylan?" I do two fake coughs thinking that no one mentioned what
to do in a situation like this moron presented me for my very first
presentation. I asked, "Oh, is your husband in the financial and insurance
business?" She makes a face, "No, he's a mail carrier." I tell her, 'Well
he wouldn't know shit about any of this stuff then. You and I are staying
in this room until you sign the fucking card. If you don't sigh it, I'll
get Carl in here with a cup of hot coffee and we'll see how long you can
hold out with him slurping the whole fucking cup.' I don't actually say
that. Instead I patiently say, "Mary, it's my job to help you understand
the changes so you can explain them to your husband. They're spelled out in
the brochure too. You did understand the changes, right?" She says, "Oh
yes. You did a wonderful job of explaining everything." I shrug, smiling at
her, and nodding my head at the three-by-five card.

She picks up the card and reads it saying, "Oh, after my husband reviews
everything I'll bring the signed card in with me in the morning. Would that
be okay?" I go, "Oh jeez, I'll tell you what. First off I can't let these
cards leave the building because there's personal information on each one,
but I promise to keep your SIGNED card without turning it in," emphasizing
the word 'signed', "until you give me the okay." She looks suspicious but
nods her dumb head and signs the card. I put it in with the first two
cards, saying, "Don't forget to tell me it's okay tomorrow morning." She
says, "Or tell you it's not, depending on what my husband says." Oh man! I
stand offering my hand. She takes it and shakes limply. I go, "Would you
please ask Kay to send in," and I look at the computer sheet and see who's
next, "Florence Rainy." Mary says, "Sure and thank you, Dylan. You did a
wonderful job explaining everything."

Mary leaves me covered in flop sweat. Holy shit! Is everyone going to be
that dense? What an idiot! In comes Florence and I start with a big smile,
asking, "How are you, Florence?" According to the printout sheet she's
thirty-one years old but she looks older. As I do the presentation Florence
is the complete opposite of Mary and asks many questions and consequently
the presentation takes over a half-hour although when done she signs the
card, gushing, "What wonderful increases in our benefits. Be sure to tell
Mr. D. that I appreciate them." I promise I'll tell him and the next lady
comes in. I get through five of the nine Human Resources employees
finishing up at twenty-minutes-after-four. Not enough time to start another
one, thank God! No one gave me any trouble about signing the card after
Mary. I'm exhausted though. Who knew saying the same thing over and over
would be so hard? Just talking for over three-hours straight is really
tiring. I need a raise.

Texting Carl that I'm done for the day, I see a text from Robby that he
sent an hour ago, saying he left work early feeling ill. What? I text him
asking, 'Sorry you're not feeling well, Rob. Do you have a cold? Love you,
Dylan'No response so maybe he's sleeping. Damn, that's a strange one. I'll
trying calling him when I get home. I pack up and, without any other
option, I put everything in Carl's flat satchel thingie and then put the
satchel in my backpack. There's a table and six arm chairs in this room but
no desk or file cabinet for me to store the brochures and information
sheets in so I take everything with me and walk outside lighting a
cigarette to smoke on my way to the bus stop.

Rob's sick, huh? Jesus, it's strange the way our bodies can come down with
any one of a million illnesses we're not even thinking about or even know
exists. That's some scary shit right there.  I'm hoping it's just a simple
cold or an upset stomach; something he'll quickly recover from. There
wasn't a thing wrong with him yesterday. Waiting at the bus stop for almost
a half-hour is an infuriating waste of time. I've got my earphones in
listening to a song by 'The Plain White T's. Actually by the band's lead
singer, Tom Higgenson, singing 'Hey There Delilah' which was a number one
hit when I was Twelve or thirteen. I loved that song!

What infuriates me is I just missed a bus I could have caught if I left
work five minutes earlier. I'd have been home before five. As it is I get
home at five-thirty checking my cellphone every five minutes for word from
Rob, but nothing. In between checking my cellphone I'm thinking I'll ask
bus-boy-Ryan tomorrow what bus he takes home. Oh, I just remembered: next
week I'll have the Jeep. Good deal!

I'm in the bathroom taking a piss when Chubby calls saying he's on his way
home and asks what we have on hand for dinner tonight. I tell him, "Let's
get some kind of take-out for dinner, but later," and I tell him about
Robby going home sick and how he hasn't responded to my texts. Chub says,
"The Dickers probably still have a land line telephone number. Mom used it
a year or so ago when the Dickers had us all over for a Fourth of July
cookout. Call their house and ask Rob's mom what's up with Rob being sick."
I go, "Great idea," and Chub says he'll stop in here before getting
something for our dinner.

I must have the telephone number for the Dickers' phone somewhere, so I
first check my cellphone without finding the number. Next, I'm going
through my desk until I stop and ask myself, 'What are you doing? Call
information!'  After talking with a computer, I get the Dickers' phone
number and call with some trepidation. Mrs. Dickers answers, saying,
"Hello, Dylan." Freakin' caller ID! I go, "Hi, Mrs. Dickers, I'm calling
about Rob. He went home sick and I was wondering, um... could I talk to
him?" Dummy, she knows he went home sick!  She says, "His Dad brought him
home quite a while ago but then took Rob to the hospital's emergency room
when he continued having severe stomach pains and he was throwing-up." Oh
fuck!

Well that doesn't sound good. His Mom is sort of shouting now, "I've called
Robert two times and he says they're still doing tests on Rob but
apparently, the doctors aren't communicating with Mr. Dickers so I'm just
about to go over and join them. They'll communicate with me or I'll know
the Goddamn reason... oh, I'm sorry, Dylan, I mean to yell at you." I go,
"Omigod, do you have any idea what's wrong with Rob?" She says, "He began
noticing a dull ache near his belly button and later it became a sharp pain
and he bent over screaming. They were in a meeting together I think he
said." I go, "Oh fuc..., um, oh man! Which hospital?" She tells me
Framingham General and I tell her I'll see her there.

Looking out the window I see Chub just parking at the curb so I go out the
front door to meet him. As he jogs up the steps, I go, "Robby's in the
hospital with bad stomach pains and he was throwing up." Chub says, "Well,
let's go over there and see what's up, bro. It sounds like maybe
appendicitis although nobody else I know ever had it." I go, "Yeah, but
what if it's not appendicitis, but something worse?" Chub is up the steps
now and we hug quickly as he mumbles, "I'm sure it's nothing worse,
Dylan. Let me have a couple of minutes in my place and we'll take a ride
over to the hospital. Is it Framingham General?" I nod asking, 'What do you
need to do first? I wanna get going." He pats my shoulder, "I gotta take a
shit if you must know. I'll only be a couple of minutes." He starts up the
steps to his place as I call after him, "Don't forget to wash your hands
afterwards." He chuckles, and calls back, "Wash with disinfectant soap and
then I'll use half a bottle of Purell hand sanitizer." I yell, "Perfect!"

Going inside I'm not sure if I should hope it's appendicitis or not. I mean
I assume that's a fairly simple operation nowadays although it'd be even
better if Rob had indigestion or constipation; anything that doesn't
require surgery. I had a wicked case of constipation once and what a pain
in the ass that was, no pun intended. Whatever ails Robby it sure came on
him fast." Chubby's comes in holding his hands out for inspection. I go,
"Good, I can smell the Purell. Let's go." He chuckles, and as we go down
the steps he says, "Think positively, Dylan!" I go, "I'll try, you drive."

Traffic sucks going through Framingham center and it takes almost half an
hour to get there. Hospital parking lots never seem to have enough parking
spaces for visitors. Maybe that's to discourage visitors. Fortunately,
Chubby's driving so we don't need to worry about the visitor's parking
lot. There are always spots available in the DOCTORS ONLY parking
area. Chub parks at a spot that's close to the front door. As we go inside
I tell Chub we probably should have gone to the emergency entrance." The
woman at the 'Information Desk' is very little help. The words she speaks,
the ones we can understand through her almost incomprehensible accent of
undetermined origin, seem to infer we should do what I suggested to Chubby;
try the emergency room.

Hospitals are a warren of corridors connecting different buildings intended
to test one's ability to get where you want to go. Asking people results in
mostly frowning faces and conflicting directions, but we eventually find
the emergency room. It's noisy and crowded but I immediately spot Mr. and
Mrs. Dickers talking with, if I can believe my eyes, Danny Monday. We're
walking in between the milling people who all seem to be asking various
people question with very few getting answers. I see a doctor come up to
Mr. Dickers, who then calls Mrs. Dicker over. I assumed it's a doctor
because he's wearing a white coat. Mrs. Dickers gives Danny and quick hug
and then walks over joining Mr. Dickers and the doctor. All three of them
walk through swinging doors. Yeah, well just what the fuck is Danny doing
here anyway? It's like he's a friend of the family or something. And how'd
he even know Rob was sick?

I'm standing here baffled about the Danny situation and when I look around
for Chubby I see him grinning and talking with a cute teenage candy-striper
who's smiling and moving her body somehow while standing still. I go,
"Chub!" and he pats her shoulder and comes right over, saying, "She didn't
know anything about Rob." I give him a 'look' and he goes, "What? I was
just..." and I point toward Danny, saying, "Let's see what he knows." Chub
goes, "Oh, that's Danny Monday from Merrimack." I mutter, "Yeah, he lives
around here, remember?" Chub nods, "Yeah, I know. He was in my tenth-grade
homeroom."

Danny sees us walking towards him and he meets us halfway. Him and I do a
quick hug and then he bumps fist with Chubby, saying, "The doctors are
really busy tonight. Another accident on 495 and Mrs. Dickers said a man
just came in on a stretcher with a gunshot wound." I go, "What'd
Mrs. Dickers have to say about Rob?" Danny shrugs, "Oh, they're doing blood
and urine testing and other tests I guess. They're thinking it's
appendicitis." I ask, "Like what other tests?"  Danny says, "I don't
know. Maybe the dreaded rectal exam or a CT scan, or I don't know." I'm
like, "What the fuck, they can't tell if he has appendicitis or not?" Danny
says, "The symptoms are similar to a number of other possibilities. I was
just looking it up," and he reads from his cellphone, "It could be an
ulcer, or problem with his gall bladder, liver disease which is highly
unlikely I guess, or gastro-intestinal problems, diverticulitis or IBS."
Chub's like, "What's that?" and Danny shrugs and shows us his cellphone, "I
don't know. I just Googled appendicitis and that's what came up."

I'm tapping my foot trying to resist asking why the fuck he's here until
finally I can't resist and asks, "How did you happen to be here when they
brought Rob in?" He says, "Oh, his Mom told me. I was texting Rob about the
try-outs for the baseball summer league teams. Rob's usually good about
returning texts but when he hadn't returned one all afternoon Hayden
suggested I call his house and I found out Rob was here. I wanted to know
what's wrong, so...." I'm like, "You know his Mom?" Danny shrugs, "Only
from high school, but yeah I know her from when the Dickers would have the
baseball team over for cookouts at their pool a couple of times during
freshmen and sophomore years." I go, "Oh."

Danny checks his cellphone for the time and Chubby asks, "Are the baseball
try-outs tonight?" Danny goes, "Yeah, they're going on right now so I
probably should get going." Yeah, you probably should. I ask, "Is Hayden at
the try-outs right now?" He nods, "Uh huh," and I say, "Well go ahead
then. I'll text you as soon as we know what the doctors decide." He's like,
"Oh, would you? That'd be awesome, Dylan, thanks!" I nod, "No problem," and
he hesitates and then says, "I guess I'll go then. I'm not doing any good
here," like he's asking permission. I nod and he mumbles, "Okay, text me,"
and he takes off as Chub and I spot a couple of empty seats along the
wall. Danny's actually a good guy.

As we're making our way to the seats two ladies sit in the seats before we
get to them so we lean against the wall. Chubby mutters, "You'd think the
doctor would know by now if Rob has appendicitis or not." We tend to think
doctors should know everything immediately and cure it. I can't help but
think back to years ago, when Chubby was knocked unconscious and stayed
that way for a frightening amount of time. Then there was Rob's car
accident with his father, but other than that we've been lucky about
avoiding hospitals. It's a helpless feeling waiting to find out about
someone's condition while hoping to God the doctors and nurses know what
they're doing.

We lean against the wall silently for fifteen minutes or so before I see
Mr. and Mrs. Dickers come back through the swinging doors. Mr. Dickers sees
me and gives me half a smile and they both come over. Mrs. Dickers does not
give me a hug, not that I want one. She says, "How nice of you boys to be
here for Rob," and I ask, "How is he?" Mr. Dickers says, "Dr. Nolden feels
it might be necessary to remove Rob's appendix which they're prepping him
for right now. Apparently, it's a matter of urgency." I mutter, "An
operation?" and he says, "Probably yes, but first they'll do a low risk,
minimally invasive diagnostic laparoscopy." I nod as if I know what he's
talking about. I must have a confused expression on my face though because
he adds, "The surgeon makes very small incisions through the abdominal
wall, the abdomen is inflated so it's easier to see what happening, in this
case with Robert's appendix. A fiber-optic instrument is inserted for that
purpose. If need be they can take the appendix out by slightly enlarging
one of the incisions or at least that's what I understood from the
surgeon." He looks at his wife and she says, "That's as much as I recall,
Robert, except that Rob should be home tomorrow walking around a little
bit." Mr. Dickers says, "Dr. Nolden says in some instances the patient goes
home after the operation, but he prefers keeping them overnight." I should
hope so! Jesus!

We make our way to the surgical waiting room with me thinking Rob's
operation certainly doesn't sound too scary; not that I want one
myself. Finding seats with others waiting to hear about the operation of
their loved ones. It's supposed to be family only because it's another
crowded area but Mrs. Dickers gave the nurse a hard look and muttered,
"They're his brothers." Way to go Mrs. Dickers! After a few minutes
Mrs. Dickers murmurs, "I'm praying there are no complications and that it's
not something worse than his appendix when they get in there to see," and
Mr. Dickers pats her hand, murmuring, "It'll be fine, Em." I could have
handled sitting here a little easier without hearing that drop of
negativity from Mrs. D.!

No one says anything for about forty-five minutes and I finally murmur,
"Mr. Dickers, how long do you think it'll be before we hear from the
doctor?" He says, "The surgical procedure usually takes only a half-hour
once the small incisions are made. I don't know how long it takes to prep
Rob for the surgery though." I go, "Oh," and check my watch. I check it
again an hour-and-a-half later but don't want to mention how long it's been
because I don't want to get Rob's parents upset anymore than they already
are. A half-hour after that Chub and I exchange frowning 'looks'
like... what the fuck? We don't say anything though. We just wait on....

to be continued...

Donny Mumford    thinat20@yahoo.com    donnymumford@outlook.com

P

======================================================

Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published
and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for
next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a
19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And
there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them
out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the
books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.

Donny Mumford

========================================================

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