"No shit!" I proudly exclaim ... being the one who'd suggested eating Krystals would make him feel better about being told he only has a few months to live.
"It was only one," she explains, "and it took him half-an-hour but he ate the whole thing. No cheese.""No cheese?" I ask horrified at the thought.
"I was afraid it would upset his stomach more," she says continuing to brush his white hair.
Wearing only running shorts, he lays with his hands on his tanned belly, mouth open, staring at the ceiling and I can't tell if he's listening.
Standing at his feet, dressed just like he is, I lean forward and ask, "Are the drugs working?"
"For a little while," he painfully mumbles.
"Take more," I tell him.
"Call the doctor," he tells his wife, "and see if its okay for me to take more."
"Screw the doctor," I say grabbing the prescription bottle. "You can have 400 milligrams a day. You decide when you want them."
"Okay," he says and pops a pill.
She continues to lovingly brush his hair which is wildly askew from the pillow he spends most of the time laying on and I feel the salt water well in my eyes being privileged to witness such tenderness.
Suddenly he pulls himself from the chair and stands, still holding his belly, and paces before me.
"Micheal," he says ... and no words follow as he stares at the marsh and the Back River through his Living Room window.
I put my arm around his shoulder and say "Hey football season starts Thursday."
"Who's playing?" he mumbles still staring out the window.
"South Carolina and Texas A&M," I remind the diehard Auburn fan.
"Really?" he asks with a little more enthusiasm.
"Yeah. What time do your Tigers ... Plainsmen ... War Damn Eagles ... whatever the Hell your schizophrenic team is play?"
Turning his head he stares at me for the first time and grins.
"Three-thirty," he announces with pride.
Emotion and love pour out of my eyes.
"As much as I hate it," I softly say looking directly at him, "I think Auburn's going to win."
"I don't know," he mumbles returning his gaze to some far away place.
"Well you got something to look forward to," I say slapping him on the back. "You know it's important for you to have things to look forward to."
Laying back down in his recliner, hands still on his belly, his wife resumes the tender brushing of his hair and he locks his eyes on mine.
"Yeah, well ... Georgia's not going to cover the spread."
'There you go," I exclaim slapping his leg. "Something else for you to look forward to. And when Laurel and I are walking the dogs, you can rush right out to let me know we didn't"
He laughs ... for what I think is the first time in a while.
