Lion's Lair - 17. This Isn't About You, Not Really.

They say for every Monday holiday you’re off work, you work twice as hard in the remaining four days of the workweek.

It’s true.

This week is busy as hell. I’m already buried with work plus personal shit. Today’s already busy at the Cadillac store. I’ve already had three customers and a shit ton of helpdesk type calls. Most of those calls weren’t real issues, just customers who had their cars out for the long holiday weekend, and had forgotten—or never used—all the capabilities of the infotainment systems in their cars. With extended road trips, they actually got to use, or attempt to use, the car’s capabilities. Easy enough to review it with ‘em, and they were all satisfied with my answers.

Two things happened mid-morning, after our out-of-sequence sales meeting. (Guess management figured we needed to start the week off with a sales push.) Right after the meeting, got cornered by my sales manager. “Heard there was some excitement at that bar you occasionally hang out at west of town. A cop that brought his cruiser in for service this morning, mentioned that a guy tried to rob it on Sunday night. What happened?”

Shit.

“A robbery? Huh …. “

“Yeah, supposedly a guy came in with a gun, late night, scared the shit out of a few of the bar patrons, pistol-whipped the bartender, but the cops arrived before too much more could happen.”

“Sounds like they were all damn lucky. So they got the robber.”

“Yeah, but, apparently, the bartender was pretty messed up. No one else hurt, though.”

“Huh …. “

Apparently my playing dumb worked. My sales manager looked at me for a couple of seconds seemingly satisfied that I knew nothing about it, then went on about his business.

Fuck, that was close. Hate misleading like that, but Bubba said not to talk about it, so guess I did the right thing.

Shortly after that, was on the phone with a help call, and got a text message from Dave. I’d assigned him, as well as Clayton, Joe, Rex, and Barry distinctive tones so I knew it was a priority text. As soon as I heard the tone, even in the middle of the help call, I checked it.

Barry woke up for 20 or 30 seconds, then
back out again. No talking, but docs are
encouraged. Progress!?!

As soon as the help call ended, called Clayton.

“Clayton, it’s Ryan. Just got a text from Dave, and he said ….”

“Yes, I got one, too. We must be on a list of people Dave is keeping updated. It sounds better, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. Just hoping he’ll wake up shortly. Know this is killing Bubba.”

“I’d thought about calling him earlier in the day, but perhaps it was better to wait to hear from him with updates. I wouldn’t want to disturb him if he was with Barry, or trying to get some sleep. But it sounds like there is some healing underway. And, changing subjects, we still have some burgers left over from the cookout yesterday. What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

Uh oh.

Here’s the thing: something is on Clayton’s mind. He’s distracted, and it’s obviously an issue. Maybe I’ve been crowding him. Maybe he needs some space or something. Don’t know what it is, but maybe tonight’s a good time to give him some room.

“Clayton, I thought it might be better for me to go back to my place. I’ll be working late tonight just trying to get caught up from the weekend. And, I need to get up early to hit the gym tomorrow morning before heading to rehab tomorrow afternoon. I don’t wanna subject you to that, so figured it’d be better to just work from my place tonight.”

“Oh.” The disappointment is evident in his voice. “Ok, tomorrow night then?”

Feels funny to be making a date, as much time as we’ve spent together, but maybe it’s the right thing to do. “Yeah, Wednesday will work. And we can do the leftovers then.”

“Ok, well … tomorrow night it is. Don’t work too hard today. I love you.” He’s still disappointed, maybe frustrated, but I’m certain this is the right thing to do.

“I love you, too. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Ok, ok, I admit it: I have no clue what I’m doing, just a gut-level instinct. But maybe giving Clayton time to work past whatever’s going on has gotta be a good thing, right? And yeah, I’d rather be with him, but still, I figure he needs this, so we step forward. Shit, I’ve gotten used to the luxury of sleeping with him, but gotta respect the guy, give him what he needs, right? This is the right thing, isn't it?

Two events now: First the dodge of the sales manager’s questions, now an update from Dave and postponing the evening with Clayton. These things always come in threes. What’s next?

The rest of the day went well. A couple that’d come in this morning to look at the XTS came back, and decided to buy it. Cash deal, no financing, since they were giving their older CTS to their college-aged grandson who was getting married. And picked up another sale to a doctor and his wife late in the day, a nice Escalade. They’ll be picking it up tomorrow, since it took a little time to finish up the lease on it, and the car prep guys had already headed out for the evening.

“Hey, were you the guy that fought off the gunman in that bar over the weekend?” The doc’s quizzing me just before they leave after finishing with the lease manager.

Damnit, here’s the third of today’s out-of-wack series.

“Huh? Why’d you ask that?”

“I work in the E.R. at the hospital, and police notified us we might be getting some victims in. They later called back in, said there was only one injury who was being transported to Oschner, said that a guy in a wheelchair and a buddy were the ones who took down the robber. You look like you take care of yourself, and I don’t know that many fit guys in wheelchairs, so ….”

Dave said not to discuss it. Don’t wanna lie, though –maybe try another tack.

Started laughing. “Do I look like I’ve got hot wheels or something?”

The doc and his wife started laughing, too. “Ok, I was just curious … had to ask. It’d be cool if my personal sales guy was a local hero.”

Damn, this town is smaller than I thought. Who all knows about this? At least the attempt at humor worked.

Finally finished the day, headed home at 8 pm. Got takeout from the Chinese place. Had a couple of beers after, a couple of smokes on the balcony as the sun set over the lake. Surprising I’m tired; guess the robbery and the 4^th of July festivities, plus the work day, took it out of me. Was in bed by 9:30pm.

A mortar shell lands immediately after the bunker’s grenade blew up—and it wakes me from the momentary silence after the battle’s last explosion. The shell lands at the back of the convoy, maybe 5 Humvees back. The detonation was enough to lift the back end of the vehicle 3 or 4 feet off the ground, then it slams back down askew on the road.

They’re taking out our vehicles, one by one.

Men cursing, yelling directions at each other looking for the source of the newest attack. Cries of “medic”, and moans of pain fill the air as the low whistle of another incoming round gets louder. Yelling at Sammy, no response. The second round explodes maybe a hundred yards east of the last vehicle, which is burning from the previous attack. This one leaves a smoke trail back to its source, though.

Crawl back using my hands, arms, elbows to get to Sammy, since my legs still aren’t working. He’s dead. Has a walkie-talkie on him, though. Pull it off, and crawl behind the burning shell of my old Humvee.

“Command Central, this is Sergeant Ryan Gregory, we’re four klicks north of Kandishar, under heavy fire. Air support needed immediately, mortars half-klick northwest of our position. Please respond.”

“The cavalry’s on the way, Sarge. Hang tight.”

Within seconds or hours—who knows?—the low rumble of A-10 Warthogs can be heard. The screech of their twin jet engines gets louder as they scream into view, seemingly just a few feet overhead. The three planes go into a full power pull up as each launches bombs making a glinting arc into a small low-slung building. The bombs explode almost simultaneously, with a monstrous fireball replacing the building.

The Warthogs have already turned around, and the fire from their nose-mounted cannons booms—apparently they’re in pursuit of some of our attackers. They won’t get away.

“Sergeant Gregory, mission appears complete. Please confirm.”

“Mission successful. Medical support needed; 20 plus potential injuries, or casualties.”

“Help’s coming, Sarge ….”

Everything fades to black as medical staff arrives by choppers.

Fucking dreams.

Where is this shit coming from? Couldn’t remember anything about the attack that cost me my legs—why now? Even after all the questioning from the brass in Landstuhl Hospital in Germany, then later at Walter Reed in Bethesda, Maryland, didn’t trigger any memories. Didn’t have ‘em when I was at home in Nebraska, either.

Is all this real? A replay from a bad war movie?

Hell, it’s now 4:30 am, no going back to sleep. Roll in to piss, put on coffee. Grab a smoke out on the balcony. Get the first mug of coffee, and a second smoke. Think.

Why am I remembering this now?

Maybe the stress of the robbery brought this on.

Nope. Started happening before.

Maybe the stress of the move to a new town, starting life over.

Nah.

Maybe you’re comfortable enough with Clayton it’s letting your mind take care of this nasty shit, ‘cause you know he’s there for you.

Bingo. That feels right.

And truth is I really am comfortable with Clayton. All this feels foreign without him around. Making coffee, waking up near him, getting into the intimate routines of dinner together, or cleaning up the kitchen after. Enjoying the unspoken bonding with him just watching TV.

It’s more than comfort, you idiot. You fit him, and he fits you.

Maybe Clayton’s right, maybe it’s time to move in together. But can’t afford to walk away from the deposit and the remaining months’ rent due here. Hell, I’m making damn good money, but still … it’s just not the best thing to do. Even though he’s offered, I don’t wanna accept his money to cover it—I’m not that kind of guy, always made my own way. And, even if I could afford it, does he still want that? Is that what this thing is that on his mind? He doesn’t know how to say we’ve gone as far as we can, and he needs to end it?

Can’t push Clayton on any of this. He’ll tell me when he figures he’s ready.

Oh, well, let’s get this long day started.

Quick shower to wake up a little, off to the gym. I’m earlier than normal, so none of the regular guys around. The workout goes quickly. Back to the house to shower off the sweat, dress, head into the dealership.

Plenty enough to do before the business day starts. Get my phone calls listed out in priority, review some of the sales features of the big CT6 sedan—we’re gonna have a private “premier” party when the first one arrives in a couple of weeks, and wanna be able to talk intelligently about it.

A handful of the sales and office staff have arrived and are milling about before starting their day when I get another text from Bubba.

Bulldog woke up early this morning—
and he can see just fine! Finally!
Real progress!

Damn fine way to start the day; great to hear Barry’s doing so much better!

My phone rings—it’s Clayton. “Did you see the good news? Barry’s vision is ok!” Clayton’s excited, launching in on this without a “hello” first. “I’m so relieved, and I know Dave is, too. He’s still got some healing to do, but this is really encouraging, isn’t it?”

“Morning, Clayton. Yeah, it sounds really good. I’ve got my physical therapy this afternoon, and thought I’d run by the hospital and check on him and Dave before I head back here.”

There’s a long pause before he says, “And you are coming over for dinner tonight, and staying the night, correct?”

“Absolutely, Clayton.”

“Good.” Another moment of silence. “I missed you last night. I really like having you around, Ryan.”

“I missed you, too, Clayton …. “

See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

“ …. but I kinda thought you needed some ‘alone’ time. You’ve been kinda, well, distant in the last couple of days, and I didn’t wanna wear out my welcome.”

“No, no, no. I’ve just got a couple of things on my mind. This isn’t about you, not really, it’s about me, Ryan.”

What the fuck? “Not really”?

“Ok, we can talk later. How about if I give you a call when I leave the hospital after seeing Barry?”

“That will work just fine. I’ll look forward to hearing from you later, Ryan. I love you.”

“Love you too, Clayton. Bye.”

“Not really”?

Fuck yeah, we’re gonna talk.

The rest of the day goes well, and I head out for my therapy session at 4pm. Do the therapy, and it’s a killer today. Don’t know if Jeremy is just working my ass off harder than normal, or if the holiday’s break in the routine is doing it, but by the time I finished, and got into the car to go see Barry and Dave, my butt was dragging.

But, I did get a chance to talk with Dr. Patton. “Doc, can we do more than just these therapy sessions? I’d like to borrow the legs, and use ‘em as much as possible over the weekend. Just wear ‘em around the house, get some extended wear on ‘em.”

“Ryan, that should work just fine. You’ve got to promise not to push too much—you haven’t worn ‘em for hours on end—and you’ve got to promise to use the crutches until you’re totally comfortable with your stability on ‘em. No hikes through the woods, or anything crazy, ok? Just plan on taking ‘em with you when you leave Friday afternoon, then bring ‘em back for your session on Monday afternoon, ok?”

“You got it, doc.” This is gonna be good ….

At this point, it’s almost 5:30pm, right in the middle of rush hour. Although his hospital is only a few miles from my therapy center it takes almost 45 minutes to get there. Along the way over, there’s a small restaurant I’d heard about; supposedly makes great muffulettas. Stopped, picked up a couple of ‘em plus fries to take to the guys. Thankfully, the restaurant is close, so should still be warm by the time I get ‘em there.

Find out from the visitor center at the front of the hospital where Barry is—they’ve moved him from intensive care to a room on 6^th floor. Roll to the door and lightly knock. “Come on in,” Dave’s familiar voice welcomes.

I roll in, Dave is sitting in a chair on the far side of the hospital bed, Barry’s propped up with the head of the bed raised and a couple of pillows underneath his back. He’s half-finished his dinner, a tray of food on top of a one-armed table that’s been pulled across his lap. His left arm still has an IV in it, but I grabbed that hand and squeezed anyway—it was closer.

“Great to have ya back, Barry.”

He squeezed his hand back, used the other hand to push the table away, reached over to grab my shoulder and pull me onto the bed into a hug. “Thank you for saving our lives,” he whispered, then kissed my neck.

By this time, Dave had made it around the bed, and joined in the hug fest, saying nothing, but his emphatic attempt at a bear hug from behind said it all. After a few moments, we all pulled away.

“You’re looking good, Bulldog.” And he was. The back of his head is covered in a thick square of gauze. Bandaging wraps around his forehead holding the upper part of the gauze on the back of his head. A second strip of bandaging comes from the bottom of his head’s gauze pad over his cheekbones and nose. “Even if you do look like some kind of bandit with that mask they created for ya. Keeps more of that ugly mug of yours hidden.” I grinned at him, my gentle jab of humor obvious.

He started laughing, then “owww”-ing. “Stop. I can’t laugh too much—the bruises in the face hurt too much for that. And it makes my head hurt worse.” There are some dark purple bruises on his face, but some have already started to turn that funny yellow color showing healing. His hands and arms show the same deep purple/funny yellow bruises, too; guess he got those when he fell to the floor.

“Yeah, he’s got a couple more days resting in here, then they’ll do his facial work on Friday. If we’re lucky, we’ll be home by Friday night or Saturday morning, depending on how it goes. I’ll get to play nursemaid for him—lucky me.” Dave’s joining in on the fun. “I’m sure he’s gonna be a tough patient, too.”

Barry reaches over with his right hand to grab Dave’s hand. “Yeah, and Bubba’s gonna look great in those starched white nurses’ uniforms with those cute little hats, too. So very butch ….” We’re all laughing at the image of Dave in an old-fashioned nurses’ uniform. And it’s damn good to hear ‘em both laugh.

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot, brought you dinner—figured it’d be a change from the hospital food you’ve been having, Bubba.” I pull the bag up out of my lap, and pass a couple of aluminum-foil-wrapped bundles over to Dave.

“What’s this?” Bubba’s already opening one bundle to discover French fries, still warm in the smaller of the two.

“A muffuletta. Extra meat and cheese.” Dave’s face lights up as he opens that toasted, still warm New Orleans specialty sandwich of 3 or 4 types of Italian meats, with 3 or 4 cheeses, and olive salad, all on a seeded toasted Italian bun.

“Damn, I was hungry, and wasn’t looking forward to another sandwich from the hospital cafeteria.” Dave’s already got a bite of it in his mouth, talking as he speaks. “Man, this is great.”

“Well, Bulldog, don’t guess you’d want one of ‘em, too, would ya? You’ve been out long enough you haven’t had a chance to get bored with hospital food.”

“Fuck hospital food. Gimme, gimme.” Bulldog’s curling his fingers in a “move in, move in” motion. “This beats the hell out of any of that.”

They’re both eating their sandwiches quickly, and I use it as my opportunity for an exit. “Well, guys, don’t want to overstay my welcome, just wanted to check in with ya. Barry, you get some rest—and Dave, you, too. You’ve both still got some work ahead of you. Just know we’re all thinking about you. And, if something comes up, Clayton and I are as close as the phone, you hear me?”

Both men put down their sandwiches for a minute; Bubba stands and comes over to me. “Thanks for stopping by—and thanks for the meal. We really appreciate it, and appreciate you.” He leans in for another bear hug as I reach up to wrap my arms around his thick chest. “Tell Clayton we said hello.”

“Will do—I’m on my way over to his place now. In the meantime, Bulldog, you get some rest. And promise you’ll take it easy on Bubba—I can tell hospital life hasn’t been agreeing with him.” Another smile to show I’m kinda kidding, but not really. Hospital stays are hell, and it shows on Dave’s face.

“Nope, I’m gonna give him a workout when I get home … get a little bell, lie on the sofa all day and ring it to make him come and wait on me. Can’t wait!” He’s grinning as he says it, as Dave does a face plant into his hands.

“Damn, maybe I need to check into the hospital after all of this!” He starts laughing, and it’s clear his nursemaid duties are something he’s gonna do gladly.

“Well, guys, I’m hitting the road. Give us an update, let us know how things are going. Bye!” I’m spinning the wheel chair around, and out the door pretty quickly—fuckin’ hate goodbyes.

Make it as far as the elevator before Bubba catches up with me. “I told Bulldog I was going to get us some Cokes, but wanted to say thanks again for stopping by. He’s been really quiet all day, kinda down in the dumps as well as not feeling well because of the head injury and the concussion. You helped a lot by stopping by. Plus the food is great. Thank you for being our friend.” He hugs me again, tears welling up in his eyes. “You’ve made more of a difference than you know—first stopping the robbery, then stopping in today. Thanks.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and he’s gone.

Called Clayton from the car, told him I was heading in, asked if he needed anything.

“Nope, I just want you here. Drive safely.”