Chapter Seventeen

When Louis, with the one arm, made it back to my front door that evening, he found Bob sitting in an almost comatose state on the stoop. He was staring past Louis, into the parking lot, stroking Oprah in a rhythmic , mechanical motion. Louis stood still, looming above Bob, waiting for any sign of recognition. Bob's t-shirt was soaked in dog urine from his chest down into his pants. Oprah's head was wet from Bob slobber, and the moisture was constantly being pushed down his neck onto his back by Bob's monstrously large hand. Louis gave it a good five minutes before opening his mouth.

" Bob?" Louis said sweetly. "Bob, you might want to put the dog down on the ground from time to time....just a thought."

I awoke with Lisa next to me. I remembered something. I remembered I smoke, and boy was I ready for a cigarette. Slipping out from under the sheets I scoured the room for a pack. I traipsed down the hall into the kitchen and began pulling out drawers. There were ashtrays and matches but no butts. I lifted magazines and pillows, I got on all fours and looked under the couch. Another thing I need to remember is to start locking my door, especially if I'm going to run around in the nude.

Everybody I know and a few I didn't recognize came marching through the door.

"Hi Marty!"

"Oh, Marty."

"Got any chicken Dad?"

"Ha ha, Mahtee!"

They filed past me like I was taking tickets at the megaplex and filled up all my chairs and empty space on the floor. Lisa walked, naked, into the hallway and ran back into the bedroom with a screech.

"What did you want to see us about?" queried Russell.

"I see you haven't changed." said Cynthia.

Before Cynthia spoke I didn't know who she was. This was my ex-wife who worked at the Louisville Slugger plant in New Albany, Indiana. She was kinda gorgeous. I guessed that the pretty blonde with the expensive business suit and tasteful jewelry was Candace, the radio personality from Chicago. Dave Price, the weatherman followed her very closely, he had made a new friend. Carol and Dr. Granger had come together, looking very sheepish. Russell and my son Louis were together, carrying mitts and covered in sweat.

Bob dropped Oprah to the floor and his feet were running before they touched ground. He scampered under the coffee table and cowered, his slobber soaked head shaking.

I ducked into the hall closet and emerged wearing my winter coat. When I stuck my hands into the pockets I found a pack of Marlboro menthols and a gold lighter with the inscription, "Marty, Love you Always, Elizabeth" etched on the side. Elizabeth? I made for the kitchen and lit up. Using my short term memory, I pulled open the drawer with the ashtray, and pulled in out. When I turned around there was Dr. Granger.

"Marty, I wanted to let you know that Carol and I are seeing each other. While you were in the coma she came to see you almost every day, and we kinda became, well, familiar." his laugh sounded uncharacteristically nervous. "You know Marty, she's a wonderful lady, very pretty, charming, sweet, and most importantly...she's white." I coughed like I'd swallowed a moth.

"Excuse me?" I hacked

"You know, she's a perfect fit for me, she's just...right!" he said with a question mark on his brow.

I swear that I heard him say that she was "white." I wondered if I had been a racist before the injury and it was sneaking it's way back into my psyche.

"Can I get you a coke?" I said

"Now I can see how this might make you uncomfortable, but you must understand that it all happened so innocently." he was pleading now. "I mean you had a major hunk of fried poultry in your head, we thought you were going to be a vegetable for the rest of your life." that made me feel better in a horrible kind of way. "She needed assurance and comforting, and in a funny way, well so did I." I took a long hard drag. "Plus, she's a white woman, and you knows how we like the white womens." He laughed madly.

I gagged and smoke came out my nose and through the top of my bandage.

"I knew you'd understand!" He slapped me on the back and left the room. I was trying to make my chest stop hurting.

After a few minutes I had composed myself I walked back into the living room. The entire collection of friends and wives stopped their internal conversations and turned their attention towards me. Lisa, Candace, Carol, and Cynthia were all sitting together on the couch. Dave was on his knees behind the divan, his head very close to Candace's. I studied the menagerie and looked each person in the eye for a short period. I cleared my throat.

"Who here knows who George Rogers Clark is?" I asked