stand-up double."
He enjoyed doing the play-by-play during the game, often with the TV volume off. He cracked me up, but he was getting pretty darn good at it.
The Cubs fell behind early—again. By the end of the third inning, my thoughts already drifted toward more pleasant diversions; Diana and I were going out tonight after I finished work.
She so occupied my mind these days, hard to imagine how I got anything done at all. Her face always grabbed me first, and when she smiled.... I'd get close and her scent would hit me next: perfume, shampoo, soap, breath. She always smelled so damned good. The feel of her skin, the caress of her fingers, and the taste of her mouth came next.
At that point, I must fight off thoughts of leaving for college and focus only on her. We'd draw close, closer, until I could think of nothing else, and I must—
Whoa, I'd better think of something else. Fast! This is no time to ignite the firestorm.
The phone startled me from my daydream. Perfect timing.
Frank Willow offered his best New York mob lingo, a silly attempt at humor, yet somehow hilarious coming from such an unlikely source. "Heyyy, Tony, howzya doowin?"
"Super, Frank, the Hoopster and I were watching the Cub game. Who knew we were such masochists?"
He laughed in his easy-going, Grandpa Everyman way. "Perhaps I can save you from the self-immolation."
Hah! I don't even have to look that one up. Frank loved to challenge my vocabulary.
"If you can tear yourself away to help an old man, I need some help getting an air conditioner out of my car and into the living room window."
"I have to leave for work in a little over an hour but, if that's enough time, I'd be happy to help you out."
"It won't take long at all, and I'd be most grateful."
I hung up and tried to convince Alex to come along, hinting that Frank probably had some treats for him.
"I want to watch the rest of the game."
"Geez, Hoopster, I don't feel good about leaving you here by yourself."
"Come on! Gimme a break, will ya? Besides, Dad will be home any minute. Good grief!"
It made me uneasy, but Dad was due home soon. I instructed Mr. Ten-going-on-Eighteen to stay put until he arrived.
He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. See ya later, Gator. Tell Old Man Willow I said, 'Boo!'"
It was our little joke regarding all the ridiculous rumors about Frank.
Chapter 12 – June 7, 1995: Mitchell Norton
"Mankind is safer when men seek pleasure than when they seek the power and the glory." – Geoffrey Gorer
~~~~~
I'm out at last, sweet freedom seventeen years in the making. I can't believe it took so fuckin' long. I'll never recapture that lost time. Someone owes me for that.
One of my most abiding memories is of the several shrinks I saw.
I occupied the last ten years with endless apologies, acts of contrition and outright acting. That was a difficult game, but I had to tell them what they wanted to hear. What I truly felt was irrelevant. No big deal. They all operated from the same playbook, the same set of expectations, the same set of practiced responses and resolutions. The fuckheads made it easy.
They also started from the assumption that I was stupid. Condescending pricks! I was never dumb, just uneducated. In the end, I had seventeen years to do little else but read—hundreds and hundreds of books. It changed me, though I saw little reason to share that fact with the fuckin' shrinks—at least not every detail.
It all started because of a little tumor, a small growth in my neocortex, the outer layer of the brain that houses the intellect and the imagination. Yeah, right. I couldn't help thinking at the time that there must be more to it.
Still can't.
Last night, my first back in the old house, frustrated the shit outta me. I enjoyed my reunion with Mom and Tommy, with some conversation and a couple drinks, but later, when I needed to sleep, anxiety attacked in full force.
My life must begin anew, but where to start? Is it too soon to
He enjoyed doing the play-by-play during the game, often with the TV volume off. He cracked me up, but he was getting pretty darn good at it.
The Cubs fell behind early—again. By the end of the third inning, my thoughts already drifted toward more pleasant diversions; Diana and I were going out tonight after I finished work.
She so occupied my mind these days, hard to imagine how I got anything done at all. Her face always grabbed me first, and when she smiled.... I'd get close and her scent would hit me next: perfume, shampoo, soap, breath. She always smelled so damned good. The feel of her skin, the caress of her fingers, and the taste of her mouth came next.
At that point, I must fight off thoughts of leaving for college and focus only on her. We'd draw close, closer, until I could think of nothing else, and I must—
Whoa, I'd better think of something else. Fast! This is no time to ignite the firestorm.
The phone startled me from my daydream. Perfect timing.
Frank Willow offered his best New York mob lingo, a silly attempt at humor, yet somehow hilarious coming from such an unlikely source. "Heyyy, Tony, howzya doowin?"
"Super, Frank, the Hoopster and I were watching the Cub game. Who knew we were such masochists?"
He laughed in his easy-going, Grandpa Everyman way. "Perhaps I can save you from the self-immolation."
Hah! I don't even have to look that one up. Frank loved to challenge my vocabulary.
"If you can tear yourself away to help an old man, I need some help getting an air conditioner out of my car and into the living room window."
"I have to leave for work in a little over an hour but, if that's enough time, I'd be happy to help you out."
"It won't take long at all, and I'd be most grateful."
I hung up and tried to convince Alex to come along, hinting that Frank probably had some treats for him.
"I want to watch the rest of the game."
"Geez, Hoopster, I don't feel good about leaving you here by yourself."
"Come on! Gimme a break, will ya? Besides, Dad will be home any minute. Good grief!"
It made me uneasy, but Dad was due home soon. I instructed Mr. Ten-going-on-Eighteen to stay put until he arrived.
He waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. See ya later, Gator. Tell Old Man Willow I said, 'Boo!'"
It was our little joke regarding all the ridiculous rumors about Frank.
Chapter 12 – June 7, 1995: Mitchell Norton
"Mankind is safer when men seek pleasure than when they seek the power and the glory." – Geoffrey Gorer
~~~~~
I'm out at last, sweet freedom seventeen years in the making. I can't believe it took so fuckin' long. I'll never recapture that lost time. Someone owes me for that.
One of my most abiding memories is of the several shrinks I saw.
I occupied the last ten years with endless apologies, acts of contrition and outright acting. That was a difficult game, but I had to tell them what they wanted to hear. What I truly felt was irrelevant. No big deal. They all operated from the same playbook, the same set of expectations, the same set of practiced responses and resolutions. The fuckheads made it easy.
They also started from the assumption that I was stupid. Condescending pricks! I was never dumb, just uneducated. In the end, I had seventeen years to do little else but read—hundreds and hundreds of books. It changed me, though I saw little reason to share that fact with the fuckin' shrinks—at least not every detail.
It all started because of a little tumor, a small growth in my neocortex, the outer layer of the brain that houses the intellect and the imagination. Yeah, right. I couldn't help thinking at the time that there must be more to it.
Still can't.
Last night, my first back in the old house, frustrated the shit outta me. I enjoyed my reunion with Mom and Tommy, with some conversation and a couple drinks, but later, when I needed to sleep, anxiety attacked in full force.
My life must begin anew, but where to start? Is it too soon to
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