Thanks again for visiting. I've had to repost this episode because of an earlier glitch, but I think we're back to normal now. As always, your comments are very welcome.
As he was standing at the desk mirror combing his hair, Mike felt two strong arms wrap around his waste, along with a hard chest pressing against his back.
"Can't that Kurt guy do without her for at least one week? I've heard trotting around him downstairs since early this morning, and he doesn't even stay here. At least not yet. And her? Do they have some kind of co-dependency problem?" The irony of the question was not lost on Mike.
"Yes, I think that we can serve as a model for them, don't you think? Have we been apart for more than a day since you forced yourself on me that night at my place?"
"It's different for us though. You're hung so big and all, and me with my penis envy condition. My problem is clinical, where their problem has to do with lack of maturity and bad judgment." Mike just laughed.
"By the way, did you sleep well?" Brad whispered into his ear, as he also snuck in a subtle lick at the same time.
"Yea, it was pretty good. I guess I was really tired when we got back last night."
"Me, too. Arch is fun, but I have to say, he really takes it out of me, he's a mile-a-minute with ideas, not to mention personal jabs. It takes a lot of effort to keep fending him off, I mean fending off his teasing."
"Yea," Mike said, smiling. "I can't believe he actually questioned my naive innocence. He almost made it sound like I was some kind of passive-aggressive sexual predator, when in fact I was only a victim."
"Willing!"
Mike just laughed again. "mmmm...maybe"
Brad gave him another tight squeeze. "You know, pup, you don't toss and turn as much as when we first met, you just look calmer when your lying there, too. But you did something else last night that you normally don't do, at least you did it with less noise." Brad started to give Mike a gentle rocking as he continued to speak.
"What was that? I mean, what did I do that was different?"
"You talked in your sleep."
"I did? I know I've yelled stuff out before, waking you up, of course. But what was different about last night?" Mike was genuinely perplexed.
"You were so quiet when you talked. You sounded so nice and peaceful. And I even remember what you said." He didn't tell Mike that his accent was stronger when he talked in his sleep, too.
"You do? Oh, jeeze, I hope this it wasn't anything embarrassing. Let me think for a second, what did I dream about?" Mike cocked his head just a bit.
Looking at him reflected in the mirror ahead, Brad noticed how Mike's eyes drifted left and right as he was concentrating. It reminded him of the first time they really talked, at the restaurant in Little Italy. Like his accent, it was one of those endearing qualities that made Mike who he was.
"Do you want to know?" Brad asked.
"I might regret this but yes, what did I say. Did I embarrass myself?"
"No not, really, but it is a bit confusing, and I'm not really sure what you were talking about. But you were talking to someone named Simon. Since that's your Dad's name, I thought that you were talking to him in your dream. It that it? Or are have you stashed a lover named Simon somewhere around?" Mike felt a slight increase in the pressure of the hug.
Mike just stood, silent. Brad was a bit confused, now. It was only intended to be a playful question, but it certainly perked something up in Mike.
"Pup, you OK? Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no, not at all, babe." He wanted to quickly reassure Brad that he hadn't said anything offensive, but the observation still unnerved him a little bit. "I really didn't remember the dream until you mentioned the name. Then it all kind of came back to me." Mike reached up and began stroking the hands that were still wrapped around him. At times like this he liked to gently pull at the ample black hair that covered Brad's forearms.
"So...what was it about? Who is Simon? Was it your dad? But that would be kind of strange to call him by his first name."
Mike just stood there again, and spoke very quietly. "No, it wasn't my Dad. It's sort of strange though. I little embarrassing. I'm not sure I should say it. You might thing I'm kind of weird."
"I would never think that. Don't feel like you have to tell me, you know. But if it would help, go ahead."
Mike let out a deep breath. "Just don't think I'm weird, OK. Promise?"
"I promise, babe. So, so tell me. Who was Simon" He gave a quick pulse to the squeeze to add a physical dimension to the verbal assurance.
Brad had to wait for another pause until Mike spoke.
"I had dream about us living in a house right around here. We had a family, some kids. Simon was our son. Our oldest." Mike suddenly felt the grip loosen, and heard a rush of air coming out of Brad's mouth.
"Babe, sorry, I know that a bit over the top. Um, I...."
"Nothings wrong with you, pup." He said as he quickly reapplied the grip of the hug. "You caught me by surprise, but the good kind. I think that myself sometimes, too And I thought maybe that I was a little weird" He let out a nervous laugh. "I should say, too, that it's not just sometimes that I think about our family, but a lot. Ever since that night we talked about kids."
He turned Mike around to face him, wrapping his hands around Mike's tight waist and pulling him close. As he spoke, his fingers became intertwined with Mike's belt. "You know, whenever I see kids and their parents, I can't help looking at them. I must seem like some kind of strange voyeur. But seeing how the kids acts, what they're interested in, how the parents react to them. It completely fascinates me. But I think I'm getting so far ahead of myself, too, or ourselves. Jeeze, we haven't even graduated yet and it's years off, but I can't get it out of my mind sometimes."
Mike raised up his hand to caress Brad's face, enjoying the friction of the morning stubble. "You'll be the best dad in the world."
"I don't know about that. It's such a huge thing, I don't' think I can begin to comprehend it right now. So much responsibility, so much to do. You heard all of my big talk that night about how I wanted to quit work when we have kids, and I still do want to do that. But it's now starting to scare me a little, as I look around and watch."
"That's probably a good thing. It's serious business. You have a kid there, a life, and your going to help to shape it. I'm pretty scared too, babe. The only thing that keeps me afloat on this is you."
"By the way," Mike said, changing the course of this own thought for a moment, "Don't take that part too seriously about the name. I don't know why he even had a name, or why he was even a he!"
Brad laughed again. "Boy, this is definitely a premature discussion. But I will say that it's not such a bad idea. But we've got lot's of time to think about it."
The big maple tree was off to the side of the backyard, almost behind the garage. It had been planted by the previous owners of the house when they first moved in, over 40 years ago, and even in the Kovars' time in the house it had grown substantially. Besides being loved as a first-class shade tree for the summer, the juvenile Mike and Hanna reveled in the piles of reddish-orange leaves that it gave up in the fall. But this trees prosperity and robust health did come with some price.
Holding the ladder from down below on the ground, Mr. Kovar passed the pruning shears up to Mike, whose legs were straddling between the large gray branches. It was an annual ritual of Mr. Kovars, the pruning out of the winter tree damage, getting the household flora in top shape for the summer. His grandparents had (barely) hung onto their farm in Moravia even through the communist years and as a child Mr. Kovar loved the rural landscape and watching things grow.
Mikes certainly had less passion for the task than his Dad did. But it was something that the elder Kovar obviously enjoyed, so Mike did his best to help however he could. In former times the old man would have gotten up in the tree himself, but Mrs. Kovar had put a stop to that three years before.
Tightly wrapping his legs around a thick branch, Mike carefully trimmed off the most clearly hopeless cases. Sometimes damage wasn't exactly obvious, but his best strategy was to just look were no buds were forming and let the tool do its work. Nature had it's own way of dealing with these things, of course, but Mr. Kovar liked the feeling that that humanity could help nature along.
Mike's natural athleticism made it easy for him to maneuver around in the tree, which didn't go unnoticed by Brad, who was watching from the kitchen window. Except for soccer, Mike didn't grow up as a participant in the kind of activities that would label someone a jock, at least in America. More importantly, academics were much more emphasized in his family and in his early environment, so home runs and touchdowns were never a needed source of self-esteem for him. But as Brad watched him move lithely around in the tree, not to mention the muscle he was putting on from the weight room, he knew that Mike had natural athletic talent.
"Mirek, that one, over there." Mr. Kovar said in English. He would often speak to Mike pedantically in German or formal Czech, trying to hone his son's language skills. But in situations like this, where Mike was halfway up in the tree and there was no tolerance for a dangerous lapse in communication, he reluctantly acknowledged that Mike's best language was English. He had pointed out a dead branch beneath a healthy one, just out of Mike's view.
Mike twisted his body over to clip off the last offender in that part of the tree. It didn't feel like much to him, but definitely looked like a contortionists act to any outside observer. "Got it!" He said as he confidently clipped it off, watching as it dropped through the tree, ricocheting off several other branches as it twisted and turned on its way to splashdown on the patchy green lawn below.
Brad had seen Mike's stretch to nab he last branch, and gasped as he stretched himself out. He reached across the sink to raise up the window as he called out to Mike, "be careful up there. You don't want to start work with a broken leg!" And as soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could have pulled them back in. `What an obtrusive nanny his dad must think I am!'
There was a smirk on Mr. Kovar's face as he relayed the message up to Mike, who only heard a muddled drone as he struggled to reach another particularly elusive branch. Brad's anxiety reminded Mr. Kovar of how his wife used to caution him in the same way about the same thing. `Obtrusive' was the last thing that he thought about the comment.
"Don't worry, he's almost finished up there." Mr. Kovar called back toward the house.
"OK, sorry, didn't want to interrupt. I just saw Mr. Cirque du Soleil up there and got a little,... um... concerned."
Just then, Brad heard a car door slam in the front of the house, the signal that Mrs. Kovar had returned from food shopping. The magic vegetables are here,' he thought to himself. Wiping some chopped onions off of his hands, he rushed out the side door to relieve her of the delivery burden, half as good son-in-law' and half as greedy cook waiting to snatch his needed ingredients.
She was already popping up the rear hatch of the car as he bounded down the front stairs of the house. It was a great day out, the sun was shining and the sky was as clear as it could be, and the food delivery was just in time to keeps his cooking ambitions going for the day.
With the trunk all the way open, he couldn't see her behind the car but called out a greeting as the approached. He didn't hear a response at first, but figured that she just didn't hear him and called out to her again as he began to open the door of the car.
Just as he was reaching for his first bag, he paused for a moment to listen for her answer to his second greeting. But it was ominously quiet from the back of the car. Not even hearing the expected shuffle of bags, he looked over the seat, through the open hatch, and saw Mrs. Kovar with a blank look on her face, barely standing. Her eyes were looking straight ahead and they weren't moving.
`Oh my god!' Brad though to himself. "Mrs. Kovar!" he called as he pulled out and ran to the back of the car, just as she stumbled around and then started to fall.
Her collapse seemed like it was in slow motion as he moved over to her as fast as he could. He had to try to catch her!
The thoughts were racing through his mind. The worn-out concrete surface was extremely rough, the product of years of winter salt and ice breaking down the poor quality surface into a flesh-grinding moonscape of craters and pits. She would be hurt bad, maybe even die, if she hit it the wrong way. But it didn't look like he could make it!
He thought fast. He just needed to protect her head, if that's the best he could do. With spit second-second thinking, he dove and stretched as far as he could, desperate to stop her head from slamming into the pavement.
His left arm scraped against the unforgiving surface as he hit the ground, ripping a big gash on the back of his hand and elbow. In spite of the fact that he felt that he had a good grip on her head as she landed, he immediately despaired when he saw blood on the ground around her head. `I failed!' he thought. But he continued to protect her shaking head, hoping that he could at least minimize what damage had been done.
But just when he was thinking about how to get his other arm over to help her, he now he caught something ominous out of the corner of his eye. The situation was about to get a lot worse.
As he turned to get a better look he could hardly believe it, but the car was moving! She must have had some absentmindedness come over her before the seizure and forgot to apply parking brake to the manual transmission car. The slope of the driveway wasn't significant, but it was definitely enough of a tilt to slowly move the car toward them.
He couldn't take his hand from her head, or she would hurt herself even more seriously, or so he thought. Yet the car was getting closer. He did the only thing he could think of -- keeping his left hand under her head, he reached out with his right hand to try to hold the car back. It would take an almost Herculean effort to do this, but it was the only thing he could do to protect her.
At the same time as he had reached out with his right hand to resist the car bumper, he put his foot out as a kind of human wheel jamb, trying anything to stop the car from rolling further.
"ahhhhhhhh!!!" he cried out as he used as of this strength to push the car back. Even with all his effort, he could only slow it, and now his leg was caught underneath the wheel of the car. And his left arm, cradling Mrs. Kovars head, felt like it was on fire.
"Mike! Help!!!" Help!!!. The pain was excruciating, as the wheel slowly started to increase the pressure on his leg. He could have gotten better leverage if he'd let go of Mrs. Kovar, but there was no way he would do that.
In the backyard, Mike thought he had heard someone calling him but wasn't sure, what with all the noise from rustling branches as he finished off his last cuts in the tree. Looking down at this Dad, who was walking over some of the dead branches on the ground and making a lot of racket of his own, Mike again thought that he heard a cry.
"Did you hear just something?" He yelled down to his dad, with the sense that something was wrong already.
"No, Mirek. Nothing. I...."
Just then their crazy old neighbor lady, the one who had scared Brad that first time over at the Kovars, appeared jumping up and down behind the side-yard fence. She was obviously frantic as she yelled over at them.
"Irene is on the driveway, something is wrong! That boy is there! Oh god, help them! Go! Go!"
Mike quickly threw the clippers off to the side and scurried down a couple of branches until he could jump down to the ground. Even then, it was almost a 10' drop, which he barely made without injuring himself. In spite of having to do some crawling down the tree, he quickly overtook his Dad as he shoved open the dog gate at the side of the yard and streaked past the side of the house.
As he came around the corner of the car his heart practically stopped as he saw Brad and his mom, and the blood. And Brad's leg -- it was under the car, and there was blood coming from there, too. It was clear what Brad was trying to do, but it was also clear that he was losing.
"Mike, hold the car!" he heard Brad cry out. Mike was already almost there.
"Got it! Placing himself behind the car as fast as he could he used all the strength he had to stabilize it until his father was able to catch up.
"Dad! Help me push it! Mike yelled.
The elder Kovar's own heart sank, too, as he came around the corner and saw the blood around his wife's head. But he also knew what he needed to do be done first.
Before Mike even had to call them, Kurt and Hanna had also joined the effort to shove the car back. Having quickly become a welcome fixture around the Kovar household, he was equally as frantic as Mike. Especially as he realized what was happening to Mrs. Kovar.
"Hanka! Mike yelled to his sister, "Get in as we push it! She ran around to the driver's side and jumped in, not even bothering to shut the door.
" OK, push, now!" she ordered as soon as she landed with a bounce in the seat. With a steady composure, even in such a tense situation, she pushed the clutch and waited for the call to finally pull the parking brake.
The three men gave it all they had, and were able to slowly move the car the few feet needed.
"Put on the brake!" Mike cried out.
"It's on!" She called back.
Mike rushed over to Brad, whose bloody twisted leg and hand said everything about his condition. At the same time his dad raced over to his injured wife.
Mike yelled over to Hanna as she got out of the car, "Call an ambulance! Hurry! Hurry!" She was one step ahead of him, as her cell phone was already in her hand and she was dialing.
Mike reached over and held the wounded Brad in his arms. "Are you all right? Are you OK?" He raised Brad's head, taking a deep breath of air.
"Mike.." He grimaced "...I fucked up...I'm sorry, I couldn't catch her...I'm so sorry...."
"No, babe, you did good. I think she's OK." Mike wasn't actually sure about his Mom's condition, but seeing how Brad had protected her head gave him a shred of hope. He looked over at his Dad.
Mike saw a tear running down his dad's face as he held her in his arms. Seeing all the blood, he was terrified when he finally reached her. Only after he had gently removed Brad's injured hand from underneath his wife's head did he realized that all of the blood was from Brad, that his effort to protect her head was completely successful. He looked over and smiled at Mike. "She's OK. she's OK." Then his expression quickly changed. "But how is Brad doing?"
Mike didn't know how to answer, because he really didn't know how he was doing, either. There was blood all over, and he could feel him shaking. Not wanting to alarm Brad, he mouthed silently to his dad, "I don't know."
Turning his face toward Brad and holding him firmly, he quietly whispered, "did you hear? She's OK, babe." Mike could feel him still shaking, in spite of the mid-day early summer warmth.
Brad, however didn't take hear, or didn't understand him. "Mike, I tried...I'm sorry...I" Whether it was the pain, the disorientation, or immanent shock, it wasn't possible to tell. But on top of the physical injury wrecked on his body, the emotional damage, the thought of failing Mrs. Kovar, might have been even more severe. In spite of Brad's desperate condition, Mike had to get through to him.
"Brad...look at me" he said softly, as he continued to cradle him in his arms. "Look right at me." Brad finally looked up, appearing to finally be aware of Mike, thought clearly still in distress.
"Can you understand me, Babe? Look at me and tell me, OK"
In spite of the pain, Brad made eye contact and shook his head. Mike returned the gaze.
"She's OK, Brad. You saved her. She's going to be OK, and so are you, all right? Do you understand me?"
Mike could almost see the wave of relief wash over Brad's face. In spite of his continual grimaces from the pain, he manage a half smile and a barely audible "good...."
"Babe, stay awake, OK? The ambulance is coming. You'll be OK. I'm here! You'll be OK, all right? Can you hear me? He continued to speak softly, or at least as softly as he could manage with his own desperation, trying his best to reassure Brad as much as possible.
Brad just nodded back again, now in an almost vacant way, like he was not even there anymore. His face was getting pale, and he continually winced from the pain.
While Mike was holding Brad and trying to keep him conscious, Kurt was pressing down on the wound on the inside of his thigh, trying to control the profuse bleeding. Being a pre-med student and also the son of a doctor, and with a confirmed nerdy streak as to the operation of the human body, he quickly figured our where to best apply the pressure. Kurt's awareness was a lucky break for Brad, as the metal edge of a damaged tail pipe had nicked an artery. He could have easily lost too much blood.
"Mike, keep talking to him. Keep him awake if you can, OK?" Kurt said. "I've stopped the gushing, but he's still lost a lot of blood here." He continued in a rapid but controlled manner, like Mike trying to keep everyone calm but at the same time feeling inside an almost uncontrollable grief. "And Mike, and keep your one hand underneath his neck, OK? It'll help his breathing."
Repositioning himself as gently as possible, Mike moved his hand slowly into the directed position. "Look Kurt, am I doing it right?
Kurt quickly glanced up from his focus on Brad's leg. "Looks good, Mike. Just keep it there. And keep talking to him."
"Brad, look at me. Look at me! Where does it hurt?"
All Mike heard was a moan, and one barely audible word. "Everywhere."