Mike whined again. Terry ignored him as he
walked out into the parking lot and threw a box of leftover doughnuts
into the
back of his tiny car. Even Mike had to admit that the scenery of
Preston would be a lot more easy to shoot
the next part of the sketch for, but it still meant that they had to
leave the
next day. He hadn't even had a chance to call Gemma, and he hadn't
heard her
voice in an entire day.
"Terry!" He thrashed around once
like a toddler.
His friend scowled heavily with his expressive
eyebrows that had once been dubbed "caterpillar" eyebrows. "I
don't care if the Queen wants you to stay, we're going to Preston
tomorrow morning and you have to
come!"
The air had gone from chilly to bitter in a
matter of days through the transition from October to November, and it
was near
December so snow was likely. They never had more than a few inches in
London, but Mike was accustomed to this.
He had seen drifts several feet high and even had himself thrown into a
few
during college, but as far as he was concerned, the whole snow thing
was just
an inconvenience.
Mike's lower lip began to quiver with
practiced pouting. "Why can't we just go to the park by my-?"
Terry cut him off with a severe look.
"Look, mate, if you're so keen on taking the girl out before we go,
take
her out now!"
"I didn't say anything about Gemma,"
Mike accused, squinting.
Rolling his eyes, Terry laughed. "Well,
if you want to take me out, just ask."
"Shaddup!" Mike poked his tongue
out.
He finished laughing and slid into his car.
"Seriously mate, just show up at the hospital. She'll love it!"
"That's mad!"
"Bring flowers!"
Mike's jaw dropped. "What?"
"Come off it, Palin, you woo the girl and
she'll have to go out with you!" Terry started his car.
Mike sighed and kicked a hubcap on his car.
"I'm no good at this,"
Terry rolled his eyes. "If flowers don't
work, a kiss will do." He wagged his eyebrows heavily.
"I can do that," an evil grin
accompanied Mike's statement. Terry laughed and peeled out of the car
park with
a shake of his head.
Mike looked at his watch, which read it was four
thirty in
the afternoon, meriting no time to prepare any kind of date. He
nervously slid
into his car and contemplated some sort of witty statement he could
make if
Gemma were to ask why he had showed up. He still had nothing as he
pulled up to
the visitor's car park, and barely anything that could pass off as
witty when
he parked and started walking in. Ximena was chatting avidly with
another
paramedic next to the nurse's station, but stopped dead when she
recognized
Mike.
"Ooh! Coming to visit?" She bounced
up, popping gum in her mouth. Mike shrugged and nodded, thinking hard.
Ximena pointed to the door behind the nurse's
station, where Jeremy and Gemma were sitting, talking quietly and
trying to
keep the volume of their walkie talkies up. The signal was weak inside,
so the
volume constantly moved up and down on its own; they could miss a call.
Twenty
minutes until they were off the hook; Gemma was feeling rather down
now. She
was anxious to get home on a Thursday night, but Mike still hadn't
called or
even acknowledged her existence since he had mentioned spending a day
apart.
She missed him, and berated herself endlessly for it. Jeremy looked up
and
grinned, though he quickly returned to puttering on his walkie talkie
after
Mike gave him a look.
Mike pulled a chair up next to Gemma's; she
wasn't looking at him. "That's an awfully serious face there, Gem."
She gave a jilting start before whirling
around and grinning. "Michael!" She hugged him tightly, both laughing
as she literally attacked him with affection.
"What are you doing here?" She
asked, pulling away, though Mike kept his hands linked around her
waist.
He shrugged, blushing slightly. "Just
popped in to say hi, I guess."
She kissed his cheek happily. "Glad you
did, I was starting to miss you, and it sucked."
"Glad you think I suck," he joked,
hugging her again. She rolled her eyes and released his neck from her
embrace.
She looked at him curiously. "You have
dinner plans tonight?"
He shook his head. "Nope, usually
don't."
"Good, then you can probably come over
at...six?" Gemma smiled as he began to consider.
Finally he nodded. "I suppose I could, if
I don't have to pack."
"Pack?" Her eyes narrowed.
Mike sighed. "Shooting this scene for the
show in Preston, so we have to get up early
tomorrow, drive out, shoot all day, come back, and edit it. It's gonna
take all
day to do it."
"Poor baby, and on a Friday night!"
She sympathized, running a hand over his hair to smooth it out of his
face. He
pouted his lower lip and turned away.
"It's not fair!" He bawled softly.
Gemma laughed gently, leaning back on her sturdy folding chair,
wondering just
when she could punch out. Five o' clock rolled around without a call,
so Gemma
and Mike left together, this time in separate cars. Instead of going
home, Mike
decided he could pack later that night and went straight to Gemma's
house. She
put on a record of really weird music that had just come out, Led
Zeppelin. It
was hard rock, lots of electric guitars, and when Gemma started to sing
along
with it, Mike realized with a pang of indignity that she was straining
to reach
the pitch that the male lead singer was screeching along in.
With a slightly worried glance into her
ancient refridgerator, Gemma began to contemplate what the hell they
would be
eating. She dug through her vegetable bins, her fruit drawer, and every
shelf.
All she could find that could be even close to satisfactory was an
Italian
pasta sort of meal. With a shrug, she pulled out the mushrooms, cream
base,
baking powder, vegetable boillon, and the stringy pasta she had made
earlier
that week. Within an hour, her alfredo sauce having to sit for half an
hour,
and her water made to boil on an old electric stove, Gemma had a fairly
good
meal going. Mike had disappeared, Gemma not sure where he had gone.
When she
walked into her basement to check, she found him sitting cross-legged
in front
of her record collection, humming softly and taking out various records
and
putting them back.
"Find anything good?" She asked,
sitting down next to him.
Mike jumped guiltily, looking at her with a
vacant expression. "Oh! Yes, I found a few."
Raising her eyebrows, she took the bright red
covered album from his hands. "I forgot about this one," she said
softly, looking at the rose across the cover. Mike blushed and shoved
the album
back into the alphabetical slot it had occupied.
"Didn't mean to take that one out,"
he muttered, pulling the one next to it out.
Gemma smiled nervously. "Good songs on
that album; no harm done."
"'Greatest Love Songs of 1957' is not
what I was looking for, no matter what songs were on it," his face had
gone a funny shade of red.
Almost confident, Gemma slid an arm around
Mike's shoulders. "Didn't want to hear 'Stand By Me?'"
He turned and grinned. "Well..."
Gemma laughed softly, turning away to escape
the possibilty of him seeing her blush. Instead his head appeared on
her left
shoulder, startling her as he slid down to lay behind her. She reached
over
with a small grunt and tried to roll him over. He slipped her arms up
and made
her fall sort of clumsily onto his chest, thus beginning a rather
violent and
playful wrestling match. He had just managed to get her head into
somewhat of a
lock when he felt her leg slide behind his knee and kick it weakly. The
joint
buckled, dropping both combatants to the floor where she thrashed
wildly,
attempting to free herself from his grasp. Success allowed her to throw
herself
on top of his shoulders as he crawled to his knees, knocking him to his
back
and finally allowing her to sit rather triumphantly on his chest. Both
wheezed
softly as they grinned at the other in their own stupidity.
"Round two?" Mike asked, eyes
sparkling. Gemma was about to shake her head when his hands jerked up
from his
sides and lifted her off his chest, tickling her suddenly and rather
harshly.
She let out an animalistic howl that resounded into the house as it was
Mike's
turn to flip her over and hold her down. She kicked him once or twice
in the
stomach, trying to hard not to hurt him but get him off. Finally Gemma
managed
to free a hand from his grip, instantly setting it upon his own sides,
hers
aching from the laughter. He called truce again, but Gemma did not. She
almost
won, but then he flat out picked her up
like she was nothing more than a rag doll and dropped her into his lap,
holding
her head back with one arm, the other clutching both legs with a
vice-like
grip. Gemma whimpered softly, surrendering.
Hardly thinking about it, Mike leaned in and
kissed her on the mouth. She sighed gently, hand slipping easily from
his grip
to hold his shoulder again. It was soon going to become more than just
calm
kissing like this, as both began to speed up and push harder against
the other.
Gemma leaned back and felt her head hit the shag carpeting , Michael's
face
never leaving hers. He laid her gently on the ground, hovering
patiently as she
lowered herself down. There was something wrong with the situation,
Gemma
thought. It was perfect, she wouldn't rather be doing anything else as
they
kissed there, but she could sense an uneasiness. With a gasp, she
shoved him
off and cursed. Mike was utterly confused as she took off sharply for
the
stairs. There was a loud clanking of dishes and the sound of something
plastic
clattering to the floor. Laughter escaped him easily; she had forgotten
about
whatever it was on the stove and had rushed up to save it.
"It's alright, I saved it!" She
shouted, amusement in her voice. Mike walked up the steps nervoursly
peering
around the corner. Whatever it was smelled delicious as usual, but what
was
better was the way she looked at him as he sat down. She smiled so
warmly he
could have melted right in that chair, and he beamed back so brightly
Gemma
thought she could have felt the radiance from a mile away. They glowed
at each
other meekly, Gemma letting the food cool and something in the oven
bake, Mike
letting her do what she wanted from where she was.
Mike laughed and shook his head. "That
was weird,"
Gemma giggled and looked up. "You started
it."
"Hurt an injured man! That's like kicking
him when he's down!" He protested weakly.
"Not my fault if you don't fill out the
bloody prescription this time around." She snapped, stepping up and
making
a lifting gesture. He mimicked it, eyebrows up comically. She rolled
her eyes
and fell to her knees, jerking his shirt up to examine the infection.
He grunted
softly as she pressed around the bruise, feeling for anything out of
the
ordinary. It looked much better than the week before, and the tint of
infection
was already diminishing. She dropped his shirt and looked up proudly.
"Well done, Mr. Palin. On the road to
recovery."
He put his elbows on his knees, face inches
from hers. "Oh?"
She nodded, wondering just how he was going to
turn the situation into something romantic now.
"Thanks, Gemma."
She sighed heavily. "Don't thank
me,"
He smiled nervously. "Thanks for letting
me get to know you."
She reached up and hugged him tightly, loving
the way his arms reached up around her to hold her even closer. She
seemed to
fit there snugly, better than a puzzle piece. It was magic the way time
slipped
away there, with him close. Something was singing softly in Gemma's
ear,
something she hadn't heard in a long time.
The phone rang. "Bloody phone, it has
impeccable timing." Gemma muttered, peeling herself away. Mike grinned
and
let her hand go as she stood up and pulled the phone off the hook and
sort of
nervously held it up to her ear.
"Hello?"
It was Noah. "Doug's left now,"
Gemma sighed in relief. "What made him
go?"
There was a long pause. "I don't know. I
think he saw you leaving the hospital today."
"I left with Michael, maybe he-"
Noah cut her off, thinking carefully. "He
probably feels safe now."
She couldn't help but feel suspicion rise up
in her. "Why would he feel safe now?"
"That boyfriend of yours is on the telly,
if he does something wrong, it'll be on the news no doubt. Besides, he
needs to
get back to his girlfriend." Noah explained softly.
Gemma nodded, turning. "Well, speaking of
boyfriends and such, mine's over right now so I'm going to hang up."
Noah sighed. "Fine, leave me here-"
Hanging up, Gemma could almost picture Noah's
face as he realized that she had done such a heinous act. She almost
expected
the phone to ring again as she walked to her old electric oven and
peered at
the bread baking. The herbs and cheeses on it were melted and crisped;
perfect.
Satisfied, she pulled the pan out from the oven and set it on the top
to cool.
Mike was still staring at her when she turned to get silverware and
dishes out
for the table. She set up the table calmly, allowing him to stare
without
question for once, and for once she didn't really care. He looked so
adorable,
staring at her she was tempted to sit across him and stare back, but
she fought
the urge, knowing that whatever she had salvaged the first time from
the stove
may not survive another round.
She cut the loaf of bread, placed it in her
bread basket before folding over the cloth to keep it warm. Placing
this on the
table, she returned to the kitchen and set up two plates of the pasta,
carrying
them over to the table.
"Thanks for all the help," she
quipped, putting two glasses of water on the table.
Mike smiled and lifted his elbows from his
knees. "I didn't want to screw your wonderful work up. I could not have
folded napkins like this, look at the art in this!" He held up the
flimsy
paper napkin folded in half rather haphazardly.
Gemma snickered and held up her glass.
"Here's a toast to that,"
"Here here!" He clanked his glass to
her, taking a sip as she did.
She clapped a hand to her head. "I've got
wine, do you want wine?"
He stood up, pushing her back into her seat as
she stood up. "I'll get it,"
Gemma sat defeatedly as he sauntered down the
steps to the basement and began to search quickly for her wine holder.
He found
it next to a box of photographs, covered in dust and all placed neatly.
Not
quite being able to help himself, he pulled out a few of the dusty
frames, blew
the dust from them, and examined the people in them.
Black and white photos of Gemma and a much
taller, much thinner man were almost the entire content of the box. The
taller
man had a serious face, wide eyes of an indistinguishable color, dark
black
hair, and very rebel look. The oldest photo Mike found was a small
color
picture of Gemma in a pastel pink dress, floor length and almost a
satin
material, standing next to the same man. She was about sixteen, maybe
seventeen
in the picture, face young and bright, happiness spilling all over her
friends.
The man too, for once, held a wide smile. His teeth were straight and
white,
just like Gemma's. The two had their arms wrapped around the other's
waist as
they stood side by side, obviously at a prom. What Mike didn't
understand was
who the man was if she had met Jonas at the hospital. Maybe she had
lied to him
about everything. Maybe she had a deep secret she didn't want him to
know. He
began to feel very suspicious, rifling through the pictures more.
There was one that captured his imagination
immediately. There were two older people, late forties, early fifties,
standing
behind ten young children, all smiling brightly. The eight boys in the
picture
all stood shoulder to shoulder, chins up and stances wide. They wore
simple
Sunday school outfits, proud and handsome. The two adults had auburn
hair, as
did all ten of the children. Mike, interest captured by the tallest of
the boy
children, hardly noticed Gemma creeping up behind him. He ran his
finger over
the figure's face, clearing more dust. The figure had bright green eyes
that
shone out from the photo with a life of their own, sparkling forever.
He had a
mischievious grin, long shaggy hair, and the same thin appearance.
Gemma sat
silently behind Mike, wondering if he was going to say something to
her,
upstairs as far as he knew.
Suddenly Mike seemed to understand. He wiped
the rest of the dust off and brought the photo closer, looking
viciously for a
face he recognized. Gemma was there, sitting in front of the
middle-aged boys,
a younger girl tucked in her lap as she grinned girlishly. Her hair was
short
and layered, a layer of red covering her forehead in a fringe-like way,
the
rest flipping out in what would soon be called "the Farrah Fawcett"
look. She was no more than nine years old, the figure in her lap about
five.
She wore a coral dress with a white blouse under it, the younger girl's
outfit
identical. This was Gemma's family; Mike could tell from the beginning.
The
house behind the twelve people was hardly big enough for all of them,
but he
could tell they managed to get by just fine. The father was thin, the
mother
was thin, all the children were very thin, as children were. They
looked to be
starving almost, but just by looking at the parents one could tell it
was
herditary.
Mike once again ran his finger over the oldest
boy, wondering why his attention was brought to him so often.
"That's Doug," Gemma said softly,
still causing him to jump.
He turned guiltily. "I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to pry-"
She shook her head. "No harm done."
"Doug...what happened to the 'S'
thing?" He asked, both looking keenly at her brother.
"Stanley Douglas Thompson Junior...but we
don't like formality. So he's Doug now," she answered, still speaking
softly.
He picked up the prom photo and showed it to
her. "Who's that?"
"That's Jonas,"
"I thought you met him at the hospital; I
think Doctor Jameison told me that." He said, holding it up higher for
a
better look.
Gemma sighed. "Everyone there thinks I
met Jonas at the hospital, but I had known him for years before I
actually told
people about him. It just wasn't a thing you go tell people about."
"Why not? Do you not tell everyone that
you have a date? Or am I being overly feminine?" He asked, grinning
weakly.
She sighed again, wondering if this would be
the time to tell him just why she had been kicked out of her house. "He
was the reason I was kicked out of my house."
Mike flailed mentally. "Oh, I'm
sorry-"
"I should really tell you the whole
thing, Mike."
He turned away from the grinning figures in
the photo, tearing his eyes from their bright looks. "I'm here,"
So she told him everything, hands in her lap,
eyes on her hands, legs crossed, and prayers leaping up for once in a
long
time. She prayed that he would understand, that he wouldn't think less
of her
because she hadn't waited long enough. She wasn't irresponsible, she
knew that.
So it was all up to him to decide whether or not she was worth his
time.
He listened intently, mind open to anything
and everything from murder to scandal. The story she wove was bitter
and
innocent, showing him how she made decisions that she was confident in,
with or
without support. For some reason the fact that she was going to marry
Jonas
after all that turmoil made Mike think that she was much smarter than
he had
thought. It was much more than cleverness, too, she had made a moral
decision
that may have angered her parents and the church, but she had done what
she
thought was right. And it hadn't hurt anyone but herself, maybe her
family. It
seemed like her parents had done that much though; her actions alone
would not
have destroyed the family like her parents had, exiling her like that.
He
stared ahead, mind still open, though a decision made.
Gemma sniffed, a tear working its way
ruthlessly down her cheek. "Now it's been seven years and I haven't
even
heard from them save Noah..."
He looked at her calmly.
"You must think I'm...ugh, just a stupid
girl now, I'm sorry Mike, I should have told you sooner." She shrank
her
shoulders away, wiping her tear away briskly.
Mike took a deep breath. "We've all done
things we're not proud of, Gemma. That's almost nothing to things I've
done,
and almost worse than others. I practically cut a member of my family
out of my
life until recently, and the only reason I even acknowledged that I
wanted to
talk to her again was a bloody birthday card. She was so happy, and I
was so
relieved. It was so close to just missing her life and forgetting all
about
her, and I needed her through some tough times,"
She rubbed his back once. "At least you
had the chance to apologize."
"My point was that we all do stupid
stuff, irrational stuff, and stuff not everyone approves of. If it's
wrong, we
apologize and try to make it better, if it's not wrong we do our best
to
compromise. As far as I'm concerned, the past is the past and I'm glad
that you
stuck with Jonas till the end. If it's not good enough for your family,
you
should stop trying to impress them and make them accept you for who you
are." Mike said, straightening his shoulders meekly.
Gemma stared softly, letting his little speech
sink in. "You're right, Michael."
He looked incredibly uncomfortable for a
moment. "As much as everyone tells me I couldn't do anything to save my
wife, I still feel so guilty. She was two feet from me and I got off
with a
headache and a small loss of fifty pounds. Where's the fairness in
that?"
Shaking her head briskly, Gemma frowned.
"There isn't any fairness in it, that's where it is. I don't know what
bullshit story they used to make you feel better about it, but there's
only one
explanation for it; you couldn't do anything. Fate happens, it's the
past. If
you could relive it, would you save her? Could you?"
"I would if I could, but I can't and
that's reality. She's gone, and so is the baby. It would have been a
boy they
told me." He sounded hollow.
Gemma sighed. "Two months and I could
have been reunited justly with my family, maybe I could have been on
their good
side."
Mike laughed uneasily. "Look at us, we're
wrecks again! Let's stop feeling sorry for ourselves and embrace the
fact we've
got our lives."
Smiling weakly, Gemma stood up. "Yeah,
that and we've got food that's probably cold on the table upstairs."
Mike grabbed the bottle of red wine he'd come
down for and followed Gemma up, recent turmoil in his life settling
down, Gemma
there for him and he there for her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~**~~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*
Mike stared at the various arrangements of
musical instruments in the small shop. Terry had stopped to ask for
directions
because of the female he had brought along. His wife had insisted they
pull
over and get directions, and so there they were, standing in a small
music shop
just outside Preston, looking for someone to ask.
"So we take the road we're on for about
twenty minutes and we should see a sign on our left?" Allison asked,
tilting her head.
The man nodded. "Aye, you should get
there in about forty minutes, an hour tops."
Gemma doesn't need anything musical, she
probably owns one or two of every model of guitar ever, Mike thought.
Jewelry
was always an option with women, but she didn't seem like a girl that
was
easily impressed with gold and gems. This is going to take more thought
than
I...thought, Mike mused as he walked in the rows of guitars. She had
told him
after supper the night before about her electric guitar that was
ruined, but
she loved it so much. Pink with fading print on it, she had had the
guitar
forever.
There was a guitar like it, though the pink
was brighter, the pattern paisley, and the pickups bigger and
supposedly
better. He winced at it; he liked it, but it wasn't Gemma. Terry
watched as he
critically moved among the small shop, eyeing the guitars and thinking
so hard
he couldn't hear the song that came on the radio. He wouldn't have
noticed if Terry
hadn't given him a worried look.
"Let It Be" was wailing quietly in
the shop, the manager staring curiously as Mike tensed up and slowly
began to
remember all the conversations he and Gemma had shared on the subject.
He eased
up, began to hum along with the song, and continued to scope the small
shop.
There was a pewter treble clef hair clip, sitting in a wig to show how
it
works. There was a loose bun up on the curly wig's head, splaying hair
over the
crest of the dummy, and it reminded Mike of his wife's hair clip. He
still had
it, buried away with a few of her other personal things. Things that
her
parents had told him that he could do with as he wanted. A few things,
like a
set of golf clubs that was always missing the putter and three wood,
went to
the resale shop, but her hair clip was still there, bronze with
emeralds and
sapphires running along the swirly metal. He hardly thought that was
enough for
her, but it was so dear to him...maybe the value it was to him would be
enough
for her.
"Mike, can we go?" Allison asked,
looking at him nervously.
He jumped and then nodded sheepishly.
"Sorry, I was just thinking-"
Terry rolled his eyes once again that
afternoon. "Yes Mike, I'm sure I know what you were thinking about."
"I was thinking about how pink chiffon
looks great on you, Terry!" Mike scowled at Terry hard, loving the look
the store-owner gave the group a look of surprise as Terry stared in
horror at
Mike.
"Don't even joke around about that!"
He shook a finger.
Mike rolled his eyes now. "Alright, can
we go now?"
Gemma ran her hands through her hair,
thoroughly annoyed. She usually did something with it, like a loose
ponytail on
top of her head so her hair would lay out across the pillow and let it
dry into
its patented straight form. Last night, tired and a bit care-free, she
had
taken her regular shower and simply crawled into bed. The next morning
she had
found that she had lain on the hair all night and as a result, it had
produced
semi-curls all over her head. She ran her fingers through them again,
trying to
pull them out. They were natural, true, but it still felt odd to have
her hair
swept back over her chair with curls flowing down.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow as she flipped her
head forward suddenly and violently, tossing it back in the same
manner.
"What's wrong?"
"Bloody hair dried wrong, now I have
these." She held up a strand of her hair that was curled around her
finger.
"Looks fine to me," her partner
shrugged.
She sighed, irritated only slightly. "I
can't do anything with it, that's the problem."
Jeremy looked slightly uncomfortable as he
slid up behind her. "Give me a hair band,"
Gemma gave him a few hair bands from around
her wrist and let his nimble fingers part and unpart her hair until he
was
dragging all of it back into a small section behind her head. He began
tilting
her head slowly backwards, and when he pulled away, satisfied, Gemma
felt the
work. A loose ponytail, up fairly high on her head, with a bun, all
curled up and
spilling over the ends of the hair bands. She pulled on the curls
hanging out,
loving how it felt. It obviously looked like a rat's nest from the
back, but it
was out of her face, up off her shoulders, and it was unique.
"I should hire you next time," Gemma
joked, smiling at Jeremy warmly.
He blushed a light shade of pink and turned
around, turning his radio volume up and ignoring Ximena as she walked
in and
out, face serious. Their radioes blared together, loud and commanding.
"Call on Westward Avenue, two young men
traveling north were stopped and beaten. Blunt forces used, immediate
response
necessary. Stop by intersect at fifth!"
Gemma's heart began to race abruptly. She
always had a feeling of dreadful excitement when a call came in;
people's lives
depended on her. Now, hearing that two young men traveling north had
been
stopped by a person or persons unknown and beaten with blunt force, she
couldn't
help but picture herself arriving on scene to find Terry and Michael
staring at
her with a sardonic "smile" of death on their faces.
They sped along the indicated road, stopping
as they saw the small crowd that usually accompanied a hospital call.
Coming
through the hordes of people, Gemma almost cried with relief to see two
strangers lying there with dazed looks. Both were alive, and both were
not
anyone she knew personally. She did a test or two on both of the men as
Jeremy
checked their vital organs and other things, treating scratches and
bumps as he
went. In the end Gemma surmised that they had been dazed for a while,
possibly
some brain damage had been done. She and Jeremy packed them up into the
ambulance and drove back to the hospital.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Eric stared at Mike, trying not to laugh.
"Since when do you come to me to ask about what to buy women for
holidays?
You're looking at the man that bought himself candy and forgot his
wife's gift
for Valentine's day."
Mike looked nervously from foot to foot,
wondering if he was making a mistake. "I thought maybe you could at
least
give me some ideas,"
"Ideas? I'll try," Eric scratched
his chin. "If you want material possessions I'd say give her something
small that will without a doubt make her think of you every single time
she
sees it, if you wanted a memory for her to keep in the mix, I'd say
learn to
sing a song really well and then serenade her."
Mike laughed. "Me? Sing?"
His eyes sparkled. "Stand by her,
Mikey."
"You can't know about that!" Mike
insisted, jaw dropping.
Eric cackled. "I know much that is hidden," he cackled again and rubbed
his
hands together.
Mike blushed. "Fine, so I sang, what's the
big deal?"
"Now you'll have to sing a nice sweet
song to her, in front of people or completely and utterly alone." Eric
said simply.
"Because I can land somewhere in the
middle," Mike retorted sarcastically.
Shaking his head with a scowl, Eric replied,
"No, mate, I mean you get in front of a crowd and sing a nice sweet
song
to her, or you make her sit down and you do it."
Mike looked away from Eric, embarrassed.
"I'd take a crowd anyday."
Eric clapped his hands together. "There
you go! Now, pick a song!"
"Something that applies to everything she
likes..."
"Something cutesy that'll make her think
of you!" Eric giggled like a small girl. "God, women must have fun
with the gossip part of church..."
Mike smiled and continued to think.
"Nietzsche should have a theme-song."
"Well, what's a good quote?"
"There's a good one about how you
shouldn't look at where you'll be with a person when you discuss
marriage, but
only if you'll still have interesting things to talk about and do when
you're
older." Mike shrugged, wondering if Eric was going to take it upon
himself
to tease him.
Eric smiled wickedly. "She likes the
Beatles, she likes you. You sing Beatles she very well may faint."
"Which song?" Mike asked, dreading
the answer.
"Of course, you dolt! 'When I'm
Sixty-Four!'"
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