Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Crunch

   Chapter One



   I regained consciousness through a curtain of pain.  Breathing hurt.  I
tried to lift my head.  Hurt.  Right arm moved okay.  Left arm.  I
screamed. Let's not do left arm.  Right leg hurt but not too bad.  Left
leg. Another scream.  I was being cradled.  And a soothing voice.  I KNOW
that voice.

   "Don't try to move, Dave." The voice was soft, feminine.  "I hear the
ambulance.  It's close."

   I opened my eyes.  Good!  They still worked.  I saw the face.  Ronni. 
Pronounced "Ronnie".  As in "Veronica".  My seventeen year old next-door
neighbor.

   Okay.  Inventory.  I was hurting.  Bad.  Left leg.  Left arm.  Chest. 
Something warm running into my eyes.  Things were NOT good.

   The flashing red lights and incessant whooping of a siren became
pervasive.  I heard voices.  Running.  Shouting.  I tried to see what was
going on and the world disappeared again.

   The next time I came back, I was in a room full of bright lights and
very concerned faces and there was a mask over my face.

   "Are you with us, Mister Johnson?" asked a voice somewhere off to my
left.

   The best I could do in response was a punctuated groan.

   "Just relax.  We're working on your arm right now." Then to somebody who
wasn't me, "Dump another load.  We need him out."

   I felt a coolness and then a burning in my good arm and the world went
away.

   The next time I woke up I was in the recovery room.  There was a nurse,
my sister, and Ronni.  I tried to squeeze out a simple "Hey" but I guess it
came out a grunt more than anything else.

   All three were immediately at my bedside.  The nurse spoke first. 
"Welcome back, Mister Johnson.  Just relax.  The doctor will be here in a
minute."

   Then my sister: "Hey, brother," she said.  "You're getting better."

   Considering that I could still remember my previous inventory of assets,
I didn't want to think of how bad things were, if this was "better".

   And finally Ronni.  Soft voice that I've known since it was seven.  "Oh,
Mister Dave, I was so worried."

   And the doctor walked in.  He shined a penlight into my eyes, listened
to my chest, then stood where I could see him.  "Well, Mister Johnson,
you've had quite the afternoon, but you're going to be okay."

   I made a noise that must have passed for a question.

   "You've got a concussion, scalp lacerations, four fractured ribs, a
serious laceration of your lower lower arm, and your tibia and fibula,
that's your lower leg is a complex fracture.  All on the left side.  It's
gonna take a while, but you'll get everything back in service in the next
few weeks."

   Finally my tongue and lips worked enough to get a decipherable sound
that must have been interpreted as "what happened?"

   The doctor looked toward my sister Jan and Ronni.  "You know better than
I do.  What happened?"

   Ronni stood by me, her hand touching my good shoulder.  "Mister Dave,
you were working near the road when that pickup truck ran into you."

   Okay, so THIS is what it feels like to be run over by a truck.  I
grogged back to semi-consciousness.  The nurse came back in, then an
orderly, and I barely remember being wheeled up interminable hallways to be
slid rather carefully onto a bed in a hospital room.  Pain meds in my IV
kept me teetering over the edge of consciousness.

   I remember the nurses making rounds every hour, and each time I blinked
to consciousness I saw somebody sitting in the corner.  Ronni.

   While I'm talking about being unconscious, let me tell you about Ronni.
She lives next door.  Ten years ago when I moved in to the house I live in
now, a happy young husband with a very pregnant wife, Ronni was there,
seven years old, visiting to see who the new neighbors were.  She was ten
when the wife left, taking my little girl with her.  And now here she was,
sitting in my hospital room.  Ronni.  Hopelessly plain, ordinary Ronni. 
Look up "brown-haired girl" in the dictionary, and there's Ronni.  Not
memorable in any fashion at all, at least from the outside.  Five-six, a
hundred thirty, maybe forty, brown eyes.  Face was freckled, prominently.
Hair was brown.  Just brown.  Not blonde.  Not red.  Not jet black.  Brown.
Quirky smile, though, with slightly crooked white teeth.  And a nose with a
non-standard kink in it.  She'd finally passed through puberty in a fit of
lankiness and came out the other end with legs, her best feature, and a
pleasant figure with feminine hips, rather narrower than optimum, and
breasts, again, rather less than needed to qualify for a swimsuit issue of
a sports magazine.

   That's who was sitting in my room when I finally awoke in the morning. I
was hurting.  I managed to croak, though, "Hi, Ronni."

   Soft voice.  "Hi, Mister Dave.  How're ya feelin'?"

   "Like I got run over by a truck." I tried a smile.  I guess it showed
because I heard a tiny hint of a giggle.

   "You did, Mister Dave.  Well, not run over, but pretty well smacked."

   "What happened.  Did anybody see?"

   "I did," Ronni said.  "You had your weed-eater out to trim around your
mailbox when that truck came around the corner and lost control.  It hit
you and knocked you into my yard and it ended up hitting our tree." She
took a breath.  "Mom called 9-1-1 and I got to you first.  You were
bleeding and unconscious and I held you until the ambulance got you."

   "What about the driver?" I wheezed.  It hurt to take a really deep
breath.

   "Drunk.  Just came from a barbecue an' had too many beers.  Air bags
saved him.  He walked to an ambulance.  He's in jail right now."

   "Nice," I croaked.

   The floor nurse came in her rounds at that time.  "Hello, Mister
Johnson," she said.  "Good to see you awake.  How're you feeling?"

   It was worth another shot.  "Like I was run over by a truck," I said.  I
tried to laugh.  It hurt.

   "Niiiice," the nurse said.  Turning to Ronni, "Is he what, a comedian or
something?"

   "He tries," Ronni said.  "Makes more money bein' an engineer."

   "No doubt," the nurse chuckled.

   "What's going on with me, nurse?  I can't move..."

   "You shouldn't move right now.  You have a set of taped ribs, and you're
bandaged and splinted on your left leg, and you've got a couple of dozen
stitches in your scalp and down your left arm is stapled and stitched."

   "How long am I gonna be here?"

   "That's between you and your doctor, but usually with the kind of breaks
you have, the swelling's got to go down and you don't show up with an
infection, and that's a few days." She finished her assessment of me. 
"Would you like some water or some juice?"

   "Water.  Just a sip."

   "Let me get it for him," Ronni said.  She put a straw to my lips and I
took several tiny sips.  And it tasted wonderful.

   "Not too much," the nurse said.  "Just wet your mouth.  You don't need
the fluids while you're on the IV.  And you're due for another painkiller
in an hour."

   So that's what life was for the next three days.  Several co-workers
dropped by for obligatory visits.  And my sister and Ronni took turns. 
Ronni was gone for a couple of hours at a time to change clothes.  She
snuck out to eat at the hospital cafeteria.  And she stayed.  When I was
awake, she talked if I wanted to talk.  Her mom and dad came up to see me,
too, and I was too out of it to talk, but I overheard the conversation in
the hallway.

   "Dad, I AM going to stay here.  His sister has things she needs to do.
I'm out of school.  This is okay, really, Dad."

   Her mother's voice was softer.  "Ronni, I know he's your friend, but
babe..."

   Ronni interrupted.  "Yes!  He's my friend.  He's helped me with homework
and stuff and he's...  my friend.  And he needs somebody to stay up here."

   "Okay, Ron," her dad said.  "You win."

   "Careful what you win," her mom said.

   And Ronni was back in my room.  I looked like I was asleep.  I was on
the verge, but the conversation woke me.  She walked to my bed and her
fingers traced my brow at the bandage line.  She tugged a corner of the
sheet.  And then her fingertips touched her lips and then mine.

   Oh, and the second day into my little hospital adventure, it was time
for a sponge bath.  Instead of evacuating the room, my sister AND Ronni
stayed.  Ronni said, "In case I need to do this..." and you should've seen
the look on my sister's face.

   I also got the catheter removed, perhaps the most unpleasant thing that
EVER happened to my dick.  Well, you have to realize that babies don't
remember circumcisions.  THAT might have topped the catheter removal.  Just
the right amount of Demerol let me hobble, with assistance, to the bathroom
for the first time to relieve myself.  THAT burned like the fires of Hell,
too.  Was anything going to ever feel good again?

   Ronni was hovering outside the bathroom door waiting on me.  "Okay,
Ron," I said.  "I'm done." When she came in to help me, I was trying to tug
the hem of that damned hospital gown down.

   "Let me get that," Ronni said.  I stood paralyzed as she reached down to
tug the hem over my exposed dick.  Never mind the fact that eroticism had
NO place in the event, the idea of...  well, you know.

   She straightened up.  "Can't have you flashing passers-by," she smirked.
"And I've already seen it." She put an arm around my waist.  I put my right
arm around her shoulders and she helped me hobble back to the bed.  We
pirouetted and I awkwardly sat my butt on the edge.

   I tried twisting myself to lie down, but her help was necessary.  She
was careful with my left leg as she turned me lengthwise and then
rearranged my gown.

   "Comfy?" she asked.

   "Yes.  Thank you, babe!  But I'm gonna need a pain-killer before long."

   "Be right back," she said.  She left and returned.  "They'll be here in
a few minutes, Dave.  And your doctor's on the floor, too."

   "Good," I said.  "We need to figure out how all this is gonna work. 
Only half of me works."

   "We'll figure something out, Dave," she said.

   The doctor did come in.  He poked and prodded and questioned.  Finally,
he said, "well, all things considered, another day in here, then you can go
home.  We'll get you set up with a home health nurse to come by and check
on dressings and stuff.  How're you set up for help around the house? 
You're single, says here." He tapped my chart.

   Ronni didn't miss a beat.  "Between me and his sister, we'll take care
of him," she said.

   The doctor looked at her.  "He's gonna need round the clock care for a
few weeks, ma'am."

   Ronni just smiled.  "It's summer.  I'm out of school, so I can do it."

   The doctor left.  Lunch arrived.  I tried to eat with only my right
hand. It can be done.  Especially if you have Ronni hold food in place so
you don't have to chase it down with your fork.  And open your cold drink.
And blot up your mishaps.  This was shaping up to be loads of fun.

   I tried walking.  You can walk with one good leg IF you have two good
arms.  When you don't have an arm to hold a crutch, you're pretty much
screwed.  That was me.  Left arm hurt like hell.  With help I made it to
the toilet.

   I also tried talking to the policeman they sent by to gather information
about the accident.  Turns out he was the same guy who showed up at the
accident.  "I'm Patrolman Frank Harmon," he said, extending a hand.

   "Hello," I said.  I shook his hand.  "That one still works."

   "You look better than you did the other day," he said.  He saw Ronni. 
"Hi, young lady.  You did a good job of taking care of him." He turned back
to me.  "Not much for me to do with this one.  The tracks leaving the road
to where he hit you, his final resting place, a blood alcohol level three
times the legal limit...  open and shut case.  Have you gotten a lawyer?"

   "No.  Do I need one?"

   He smiled.  "If I was you I'd talk to one.  Rich kid spending daddy's
money on a new pickup truck.  Gets sauced and runs off the road.  And you
get in the way.  At least make sure you get all your medical bills paid."

   "You're right.  I'll call one." I hadn't thought of that.

   One more day in the hospital.  Sister came in to relieve Ronni.  After
Ronni left, my sister Deb said, "I just finished cleaning up your place and
feeding your cat and emptying his litterbox.  And me and Terry moved things
around as best we can so you'll have room to maneuver.  And Home Health
Services came in and installed a trapeze so you can get in and out of bed
with one arm.  Your neighbor, Ronni's dad, built you a wheelchair ramp."

   "That's a big help.  I don't know how I'm gonna do this."

   Deb said, "Uh, your young friend said she's gonna help."

   "Ronni's a good kid," I said.  I've known her for ten years.  Since she
was seven."

   "You wanna know something?" Deb asked.

   "What?" I answered.

   "I'm probably not the one to tell you this, but she's...  she's got a
big crush on you, Dave."

   "Ronni?  You're kidding."

   "I'm NOT kidding.  And YOU'RE blind."

   "She never said anything, Deb.  Nothing."

   "Believe me.  I've been sitting with her a lot the last three days,
Dave. She's a jewel."

   "I know that part, Deb," I said.  "But the part you just said makes me
nervous.  And I NEED some help for the next few weeks until I can at least
walk around." I thought for a second.  "She TOLD you she had a crush on
me?"

   "No, not in so many words, Dave," she said.  "But trust me.  Women know
these things."

   "I think you're wrong," I said.  "I've lived next door to her for years.
When her dad took that overseas job, I took care of stuff around their
house for them while he was gone, and I used to play catch with her when
she was learning to play softball, and I went to her games and stuff like
that.  Maybe she thinks she's paying some of that back."

   Deb eyed me.  "Uh-huh.  Okay.  Forget I said anything." She sat there
and watched as I drifted off into a demerol haze.

   I heard voices: Deb and Ronni.  "Oh, now there's two of you," I said.

   "Yeah," Deb answered.  "Ronni's gonna stay while I go home.  I need to
fix dinner and do wifely duties before Terry fires me."

   "You're getting kinda old for that "wifely duty" thing," I quipped. 
"And I know you can't cook for crap..."

   Deb laughed.  "I can cook just fine, and I'm not dead yet and we
shouldn't be having this discussion in front of Ronni anyway."

   Ronni jumped in.  "I've heard worse than that.  At least it's wifely
duties and not something else.  Mizz Deb, thanks for watching 'im while I
was gone.  I feel better with a shower and Mom's cooking."

   Deb said, "Oh, no problem, Ronni.  He's my brother.  I'm obligated, you
know."

   "Oh, that makes me feel MUCH better, that I'm an obligation instead of a
fellow human for whom you feel adoration."

   Ronni's next words were, "Oh, Mister Dave, she can be obligated.  I'll
do the "adore" part." And then I guess she thought about how that sounded,
because she giggled like it was a joke.

   Deb looked at me knowingly and winked.

   "Look, while you two are discussing my place in the human race, how
about helping me to the bathroom.  I need to go," I said.

   Deb said, "We can do that?  Number one or Number two?"

   "One," I said.  "About to pop."

   The two of them helped me turn sideways and then stand, supported on
both sides, then we made our way to the bathroom.

   "Turn your heads," I said.  That got me two giggles as I tried to
uncover my dick with one hand.  I was proud that I could still find it, and
that with one hand I could aim, pee and shake, then drop the hem of that
stupid hospital gown.

   "Done," I announced.  I and my support team moved back to the bed and
they laid me out.  "Might wanna see if there's another painkiller on tap,"
I said.  "Moving around hurts."

   "Okay, I'll stop by the nurse's station and tell 'em.  I'll see you
tomorrow.  Ronni, call me if you need anything." And she left.

   Ronni kicked her shoes off and sat in the chair beside my bed.  "So, you
feeling better now?"

   "I hurt like the dickens when I try to move," I said.  "But it'll get
better..."

   She smiled.  "I know it will.  You'll be as good as new, the doctor
says."

   "You talked to the doctor?" I asked.

   "Yeah, me an' Mizz Deb did.  And we talked with the home health people
about getting you a nurse to visit at your house, and to get that trapeze
thing for your bed, and a wheel chair."

   "What am I gonna do with a wheel chair?  You need two arms to run one of
those things."

   "It's not for you," she said.  "It's for us.  Makes it easier to move
you around.  But you'll be hobbling around in two or three weeks, anyway.
The doctor said you had a clean break on your leg and it's gonna heal fast.
Your arm'll be sore but you can use it sooner."

   "That's nice to know," I said.  "I hate being helpless."

   "Oh, don't worry," Ronni answered.  "I...  We'll take care of you."

   The nurse walked into the room with a syringe.  "Mister Johnson, this is
your last one of these.  When this bag is empty, we're pulling your IV. 
You can take pills for pain after that."

   "You're taking away my FRIEND?" I quipped.

   The nurse looked at me.  "See?  You're on the road to recovery.  Your
asshole function is returning..."

   Ronni laughed.

   I felt the nectar enter my vein and I drifted off.  I woke up when
dinner showed up.  Ronni provided much needed assistance.  At least I still
had my right hand.  And Ronni.  Chasing macaroni around the plate with one
hand was an exercise in futility.  Together we accomplished the transfer of
hospital food to my mouth.  After the meal, Ronni took off to go to the
cafeteria to feed herself.  In twenty minutes she was back.

   "I'll pay you back for the cafeteria, Ronni," I said.

   "I'm not worried," she said.  "Miss Deb gave me some money."

   Since I was awake, we talked, small talk, her finishing up her junior
year of high school, the end of softball season, where she was an all-star
player, her family travails, local events.  Ronni was intelligent and
personable.  And friendly.

   We turned on the TV and watched a couple of shows together, too.  The
pillow speaker, though, had her leaning against my bed so she could hear,
our heads only inches apart.  And I could smell hints of perfume. 
Something happened on the screen and we both laughed simultaneously.

   I turned to look at her and she turned at the same moment and with the
distance only inches between our faces, I thought I sensed an almost
electric tension.  We both froze for a second.  It looked as if she was
thinking.  Finally she smiled gently and giggled one more time.

   "That's just funny," she said.

   "Yeah," I answered, trying to de-escalate a moment that I wasn't really
sure had actually escalated.  "I wonder who thinks up those things?"

   She smiled, "Sometimes life is funny like that, you know..."

   "Yeah?" I questioned.

   "Yeah.  Turns and twists and stuff.  Sometimes the thing you're looking
for isn't the thing you're happiest finding.  What's the word? 
Serendipity?"

   "Good word," I said, musing to myself about how many seventeen year old
girls had vocabularies that included "serendipity", much less knew what it
actually meant.

   A commercial interrupted the entertainment.  Ronni got up and went to
the bathroom.  I heard water run and when she returned, she had a warm,
damp washcloth.  "Hold still," she directed, and she washed my face. 
"Better?" she asked.

   "Much better," I said.  "Thank you."

   She put the washcloth down and her fingers massaged my temples. 
"Mmmmm," I moaned.  "That feels REALLY good." It did.  Single for years,
and essentially celibate, a touch, especially a caring touch, was almost a
cause for celebration.

   "I thought maybe it would help you relax," she said.  "I remember Momma
doing this to me when I was sick."

   "It works.  Best thing I've felt in years." And I was being truthful.

   Ronni smiled.  You know, a smile makes a woman beautiful.  Plain young
Miss Ronni.  And a smile and I saw her beautiful.

   She moved around the bed to my damaged left side.  My hand was still
swollen and discolored, partially due to the antiseptics , partially due to
bruising.  She touched my hand gently.  "Does this hurt?"

   "Don't try to bend it, but your touch feels good."

   She stroked my hand and fingers gently.  "This okay?" She looked at me,
a soft smile curling the corners of her mouth.

   "Yes, it does.  Can you squeeze, gently?  "

   She put my hand between hers and squeezed.  "Like this?"

   "Mmm-hmm," I said.  "Just kind of massage it." The hand did feel better.
The arm throbbed, but the hand felt better.

   For a couple of minutes she ministered to my hand.  "Should we try your
foot?" she asked.

   "That's worth a try," I said.

   She pulled the blanket off my foot.  I wiggled my toes.

   "They still work,' I said.

   She extended a finger to my toes and I did my best to grip it.  I
groaned when I realized that I'd moved the broken leg.

   Giggle.  "That's what you get for trying to grab me," she said.  "Now be
good." She massaged my foot.  A foot massage would have had me moaning with
pleasure on any day, but Ronni's fingers produced waves of pleasure and I
said so.

   "It's good for your circulation," she said.  "I read about it." She
paused.  "And I talked with the nurses."

   "I'm sure it does some good besides making me very happy," I said.  "You
have no idea how much I appreciate it."

   "I'm glad I can help," she smiled.  She raised the blanket from my
damaged leg.  "Wow," she said.

   "What?"

   "You've got a mess there."

   "A mess?"

   "Yeah, your leg's all kinds of colors.  That splint thing stops halfway
up your thigh."

   I had a thought pass through my head.  If she could see half-way up my
thigh to my bare leg, and I had no underwear on, then...  but what was the
point of that thought train?  I abandoned it.  "I can't bend over to see,"
I said.

   Wry smile.  "I can see.  Take my word for it."

   "I'll take your word that it's not too bad.  You didn't puke.  Or turn
colors."

   "If I was going to turn colors, that would've been yesterday when they
showed me an' Mizz Deb how to give a sponge bath." Smile.

   "I hope I don't have to depend on you for that too awfully long."

   "As long as you need, Mister Dave."

   And a little more banter and small talk and I dozed off.  The last image
I had was of Ronni curling up in the chair under a hospital blanket.

   I drifted in and out of slumber every time the nurse made her rounds,
and every time a nurse came in, Ronni, jumped up to stand beside her, and
while the nurse was logging my data, Ronni's hand was gently on my shoulder
or stroking my face.

   Breakfast came.  With help.  Nearing lunch, I was being wheeled to the
entrance where Deb was waiting with my SUV, my magic carpet home.  It was
not without pain that I slid into the back seat sideways.  Ronni loaded a
few belongings and we were on the way home.

   Pulling up to the house, the marks were still in the yard from that
fateful day, and it would be years before the bark healed over on the tree
that finally stopped the truck.  When we came to a stop in my drive, Ronni
got out and went inside the house and returned with a wheelchair.  I noted
the presence of an obviously hurriedly built temporary ramp over my front
steps.

   With help, I eased into the wheelchair and got pushed up to the front
door.  My big orange cat was looking out, waiting for people to return and
restore his life to proper balance.  He reluctantly moved out of the way as
I was pushed through the front door and into the bedroom.

   Ah!  There was MY bed.  Queen-sized, with a perfect mattress.  And now
with a framework over it with rails and a trapeze bar.  I felt good enough
to tell my sister, "Deb, you oughtta get you an' Terry one of these!"

   "Beast," she said, laughing.

   I reached up with my good arm and pulled, trying to ease up out of the
chair on my own.  With one arm pulling and one leg pushing and the help of
Deb and Ronni, I was sitting on my own bed.  Ronni supported my injured leg
as I swung around to lay back.  And I was home.  And I felt the bed bounce
as my cat arrived to receive his rightful petting.  His dissatisfaction was
obvious when I only devoted one hand to this task.

   "Well, here I am," I announced.  "What now?"

   "The home health people are going to install another trapeze over your
recliner," Deb said.  That'll give you TWO locations.  Me an' Ronni will
feed you and bathe you for a couple of weeks before you can remove those
splint things long enough for a bath.  And in about six weeks you'll be rid
of them, and life goes on."

   "And I'll owe both of you big time," I said.

   "Of course you will," smiled Deb, "Just like REAL life..."



   Chapter Two



   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."

   "No hurry, though."

   "Oh, I'm not hurrying.  And you're gonna need a sponge bath, too.  It's
been a couple of days."

   "I know," I said.  "I feel sticky."

   "I guess you do.  We'll do the best we can.  The doctor said that after
you've been in that splint thing for a couple of weeks you can take it off
long enough to get in the shower.  Until then, though, it's gonna be me or
Mizz Deb." She smiled.

   "You're okay with that?" I asked.  "I don't want you to be
uncomfortable. I mean, you don't have to..."

   She gazed at me like I had a horn growing out of my forehead.  "Dave,"
she said, "We're both adults here.  And this is purely clinical.  I've
already helped at the hospital so I know what to do.  And so now I've
seen...  you know..."

   I still had some trepidation.  "'Cause if you want, we can get Deb..."

   Giggle.  "Now THAT'S kinky!  You'd rather your SISTER wash you than ME!"

   "I don't want you scarred for life, smart-ass," I retorted.

   "Thinking about you and your sister might REALLY scar me..." she
giggled.

   "Alrighty, then, baby doll, I'm all yours," I said.  Her face flashed a
strange look before settling onto a laughing response.

   "Be nice," she chuckled.  "I know where your ice-maker is..."

   "You wouldn't do that to a poor ol' cripple now, would you?"

   "Only if I'm forced to..." Her eyes twinkled.  "Let me get this stuff
put up, then we'll get you to the bathroom, okay?"

   "Okay," I said.  "And I can hear the icemaker..."

   Giggle.  She got up and did more kitchen things and I heard the
dishwasher start up.  She was back in front of me, lowering the footrest of
my recliner.  Getting me up was a bit of an exercise punctuated by a couple
of painful events as I worked out what I could push and pull with, but
finally I was vertical and leaning against her.  She reached for the
wheelchair.

   "I think that's more trouble than it's worth," I said.

   "Humor me," she countered.  "Give yourself time." She helped me ease
back down into the wheelchair and pushed me to the bathroom.  It was
another battle to get me onto the toilet.  She unsnapped my hospital
pajamas and I wriggled so she could get them from underneath me.  She was
kneeling in front of me as she did this, and I could only imagine what she
saw as the pajamas came loose.  "Clinical" she said earlier.

   The aftermath was more titters as she tried various approaches to basic
sanitary needs.  Finally I said, "If I can just lean on you to the left, I
think I can do that myself." I waved my right hand.

   "Oh, okay, I like that better," she said.  "It's different when it's a
one year old..." her eyes connected with mine.  "MUCH different."

   "Sorry," I said.  "You have no idea how embarrassing this all is.  I
hate being helpless."

   "Oh, get over yourself, Dave.  We gotta do what we gotta do.  And I'll
be okay..."

   "At least you're not rolling on the floor laughing."

   That got laughter and a smile.  "I have no idea what you're talking
about, Dave.  I'm an innocent young girl and I have no point of reference
whatsoever." And she stuck her tongue out at me.

   "Oh my goodness.  I fear that I am in the clutches of a smartass."

   "Clutches?  That's a good one.  Just keep it in mind, mister," she
giggled.  "Now, while we're all worked up an' everything, you want to do
your sponge bath?"

   "As long as I don't hear the icemaker," I laughed.

   She maneuvered me back into the wheel chair then spread towels on my bed
before we strained and grunted me back onto the bed.  The next step was her
appearing with a basin full of warm water, some soap, and a washcloth.

   Now up to this point I was still pantsless from the bathroom trip, but
the hem of the pajama top was mercifully long enough to cover my crotch. 
But the top had to come off.  And Ronni was unsnapping the sleeve to get it
off my damaged arm.  And Ol' Pokey was there in open view.

   She stood back to admire her handiwork.  That pajama top was off, the
special snaps allowing it to be removed without resorting to pulling it
over my arms.  "There," she said.  "I can throw that one in the laundry
when we finish and put you on a fresh one.  Now be a good boy and let's get
you all clean." She draped a towel over my crotch.  "Decorum must be
maintained," she commented.

   I enjoyed her touch as she carefully washed my arms and chest and pits
and both my hands.  She regarded my face.  "I...  uh you NEED a shave..."

   "I am going to have some trouble doing that, Ron," I said.

   "I'm scared to do that," she admitted.

   "Why?  Don't you shave your legs?"

   "Uh-huh," she admitted.

   "Same thing, babe," I said.  "The razor and shaving gel is in the
bathroom.  It's best to do it while my face is still damp."

   "Okay.  I'll try.  But I'm not promising much." She left and came back,
and in a few minutes, with surprisingly few "Ouch!" and "Oops!" sounds, I
FELT like I was shaved.  Giggle.  "You're not even bleeding that much..."
giggle.  "At least compared to the other day..."

   I laughed with her.

   "Now roll over on your stomach," she said.  She assisted me with that
move and then washed some more.  "Okay, that's done," she said.  As she
rolled me over onto my back again, her eyes connected with mine.  "Well,
buster, it's TIME.  Lemme go change the water."

   I was laying on my back, naked except for soft casts on my left arm and
leg, and the hand towel she'd draped over Ol' Pokey.  She came back in. 
"Here we go," she said.  She looked into my eyes as she slipped the towel
away.  And began a very workmanlike and technical cleaning.  No giggles, no
titters, no "Ewwwww!" (fortunately).  She washed everything as if she had
been doing exactly this sort of thing for years.

   "Just like a baby," she said.  "Except more of it." Of course.  Ronni
was a sometimes babysitter.

   "Just curious, though," she said.  "I didn't know guys shaved there.  I
mean, I've heard of girls, you know, that bikini problem, but guys?"

   "Uh...  I dunno how many other guys do, but I like how it feels cooler
and cleaner." That was a little embarrassing.  I didn't say that it was
something started by my ex-wife and I liked the habit.  And further, Ol'
Pokey knew we were talking about him and he stood up.

   Her eyes widened.  "Uh, no baby ever did THAT."

   "Sorry,' I said.  "Sometimes it has a mind of its own.  I didn't do that
on purpose." And the embarrassment made Ol' Pokey lay down.

   "I'm sorry, Dave.  I just didn't expect it." She looked at me.  And
there was a light sprinkle of perspiration on her forehead.

   "That's what I was worried about, Ronni," I said.  "I'm hopelessly
normal and there are such things as reflexes.  That's one of 'em.  And I
never meant to embarrass you."

   "Uh, no, Dave...  I shouldn't be embarrassed.  I've been kind teasing
and playing, and then when there it is...  Well, it startled me."

   "Sorry." That was all I could think to say.

   Ronni, on the other hand, had shifted modes.  "So, is that normal size?"

   "What?"

   "Simple question.  Is it normal size?"

   I was a whopping six inches.  "Yeah, pretty much normal."

   "Oh.  Okay.  I mean, since I SAW it, I thought I'd ask."

   "Well, it is..." Now I was the one feeling the flush of my face turning
red.

   "Oh, now YOU'RE embarrassed, Dave.  I'm sorry."

   "Oh, just help me get my pajamas on." I paused.  "Pants first."

   She giggled.  A little bit of wiggling and a few groans later, I was
again chastely clad in convalescent pajamas.

   "Wanna go back in the living room?" she asked.  "That way I can
straighten the bed and then take my shower.  Okay?"

   "Sure, babe," I said.  We worked me off the bed and back into that
wheelchair, and then reversed in the living room to put me back in my
recliner.

   Once I was situated, she asked, "Comfy, now?"

   "Yes, Ronni.  Thanks."

   "Oh, poo!" she laughed.  "thank you." And she leaned over and kissed me
on the cheek.

   "What's that for?" I asked, startled.  No, it wasn't the first kiss I'd
ever gotten from Ronni.  I could remember a few dozen pecks over the years
from an excited little girl over birthday presents and winning games .  But
none of these was evident now.

   "Because you worry about me.  You care how I feel." She smiled at me.

   "Of course I do, Ronni.  You're my best friend."

   "You keep saying that, Dave.  What about the people you work with?" she
looked at me, those brown eyes soft, questioning.

   "Oh, I have a lot of good friends, Ronni," I said.  "You saw some of
them visit.  But who's here, taking care of me, when she could be out
having a life this summer?"

   "Dave, who comes to my games and who played team dad while Dad was
overseas?  I owe you.  Besides, you're always here when I need you."

   "Go take your shower before we start cryin' and huggin', babe." I said.
She left.  And left me thinking.  Fifteen minutes later I heard the water
stop running, then the sound of a hair dryer.  Then another fifteen minutes
for jawline-length brown hair to be brushed and dried to a shiny
completion.

   And Ronni walked in.  I'd seen Ronni in a lot of different outfits over
the years, jeans and a blouse or a shirt, or one of those abbreviated
shorts and jersey things for softball or volleyball, or even a bathing
suit, and she looked good in a dress, from a cute seven year old going to
church with her mom and dad ten years ago to an understated formal for prom
a few weeks back.

   None of those prepared me for Ronni in a nightshirt that was essentially
an oversized, overlength t-shirt.  Oh, to be sure, it covered her from her
neck to almost her knees, but it was cotton and underneath, well, I could
see that she had panties on.  And no bra.  And long, athletically-formed
legs.  Not grotesquely muscular, just firm and well-shaped.  I was trying
not to stare.

   "Whew!" she said.  "I feel soooo much better!  I needed a bath."

   "Yeah, I know how good it felt when you finished mine," I said.

   "I can imagine.  Do you need anything, babe?" she asked.

   "Nope," I said.  "Relax.  You've done plenty for me today." I didn't say
'including getting my heart rate up with that nightshirt'.  And "babe". 
She called me "babe".  "Here!  Get the remote and find something for us."

   She picked it up after I tossed it artlessly with my good hand and
started punching through channels.  Finally she found something on "Animal
Planet" that looked good.  We watched together for an hour, then started
another episode in the sequence, and then it was bedtime.

   "I'm gonna need a couple of those pain pills, Ron," I said.

   She got up and retrieved the medicine and a glass of water.  I took my
medicine.  She helped me into the wheelchair again and wheeled me to the
bathroom.  "You need to tinkle before you go to bed, so you won't have to
get up at night, babe."

   "You're a smart lady," I said.  Instead of trying to sit again, I used
Ronni's arms to help me to a standing position and then fumbled at the fly
of my pajamas until I got my dick out.  As I was peeing, I glanced over. 
Ronni's eyes were turned away.  Finishing, I gave it a couple of shakes and
managed to get it back inside my PJ's, then with minimal effort I sat back
down and let Ronni move me to my bed.  She turned back the covers and we
worked my damaged body onto the bed.

   "Uh, Ronni," I asked, "I forgot to ask you.  Where are you planning on
sleeping?  There're blankets and pillows if you want to use the sofa.  Or
you can use Brittney's room." I kept my daughter's room intact for the rare
occasions that she was over for a visit.

   But Ronni had a different idea.  "I'm sleeping in here, Dave," she said
quietly.  "In case you need something during the night."

   "Uh, Ronni," I stammered, "in the same bed?  Your folks..."

   "Mom trusts me, Dave.  And I trust YOU, not to mention the fact that you
can't hardly scratch yourself, much less try to have your way with me..."
she smiled.  "So relax.  I won't kick you.  I don't move much in my sleep."

   "You're serious?!?!"

   "About you...  uh, taking care of you?  Yes I am." She walked to the
opposite side of the bed and turned on a lamp, then turned off the overhead
lights.  And crawled into my bed.  As she stretched her legs under the
covers, she asked, "Do you like music on when you go to sleep?"

   I could feel the painkillers beginning to work.  "Yes I do.  If you
punch that clock radio..."

   She punched.  "Oooohhhh, late night classical.  I listen to this..."

   She was on my right side.  I felt her hand reach for mine, grasp my
fingers, and squeeze.  "G'nite, Dave.  And by the way, this is the first
time I've been in bed with a guy..."

   "Ronni, that's..." I started.

   "Oh, don't get worked up.  You KNOW what I mean...  g'nite." She giggled
and I felt the bed move, then her breath against my cheek, then a chaste
kiss.  And I drifted off.  I could always blame the strange dreams on the
drugs, right?