Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

"What?" she questioned.

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

"Okay, but I was being polite."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay then, babe," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your divorce?" she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They do, don't they?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ronni can help you eat," Rena said.

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

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

"Like I got run over by a truck."

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

"I hope so. How's Alex?"

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

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

"Good," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn't know."

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

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

Ronni smiled. So did her mom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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