Page 97 - Some Dance to Remember

Some Dance to Remember 67

one heading steadfastly out into the dark ocean.
Ryan found a phone booth outside the Cliff House. He called Kick
long distance. “Don’t come up this weekend,” he said. “Those are hard
words to say to you.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s the matter. In fact, everything’s probably per-
fect. Teddy’s moving out this weekend.”
“Why don’t you fly down here? There’s a Mr. Western States contest
Saturday.”
“I want to, but I can’t. I better stay here and make sure he really moves
out.” Ryan hesitated. “It’s okay if I don’t fly down? I mean this isn’t a test,
is it?”
“Would I test you?” Kick’s voice was warm. “I love you. You’re a mad-
man. Whatever’s going on up there, I understand. I love you.”
“I love you too. I want to see you, but I can’t.”
“Then you should stay. I’m being selfish wanting you to come. My
friends down here think I’ve met a miracle man. I want to show you off.”
If my witness serves any purpose in all this, it is balance. Despite
my protests of noninvolvement, remember, I, Magnus Bishop, became
somehow the father confessor. I heard the several sides of various colli-
sions. I think they all told me the truth. But what is truth? And who am
I? Rashomon?
That night of the big fight, Ryan could not sleep. At 4:30 he heard
Teddy come into the house. He waited long minutes in his big bed to see
if Teddy would go to his own room or come climb comfortably in with
him. He heard Teddy drop one boot and then the other. He heard the
toilet flush. He heard the soft pad of Teddy’s gray wool boot socks walk
off to his own room. He heard the sound of the bed creak under Teddy’s
exhausted weight.
Ryan called Teddy’s name. He announced in a voice too loud for the
late hour that he was ill. He hated himself calling Teddy. He hated that he
had to lie about his perfectly good health, but he needed attention, and if
Teddy’s was the only attention available, then he was shameless. Besides,
Teddy owed him.
Teddy climbed wearily out of his own bed and stood at the door of
Ryan’s room. “Are you physically sick?” Teddy asked. He was wary. “Did
you take something? Or are you just insomniac. Again.”
“I need,” Ryan said. He could not find the word. “I need...”
“If you don’t know what you need, I can’t help you.”
“Come in here. Lie down with me.”

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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