Lenora's Fiction Archive

The Dream part 22

The next day progressed as usual, everyone tumbling into bed after a particularly exciting performance at the Cassandra. The next morning, the alarm went off and Mike chuckled as Micky woke screaming gibberish. I shot up in bed, startled awake from the combination of the alarm jangling and Mickyís screams. I concentrated, and the alarm fell to the floor, knocked over by a force field, and silenced.

"The downstairs one is going off too," Mike drawled. "Time we all got up."

"Shoot ya for the shower," Micky said, then yawned.

"Youíre on. Len?"

"Nah, you two battle it out. Iím gonna steal a few more minutes." I slid back beneath my covers, bundling up in a warm cocoon.

They shot fingers and Micky won. Mike stood. "Iím gonna go see if I can help with breakfast."

"Meetcha there," Micky said, heading towards the bathroom. "Oh, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch it at the bottom of the stairs. I think I left my coat there last night."

"MICKY!!!!!!" came a bellow from downstairs.

"You did," I mumbled from my cocoon.

"Iíll kill him," Peter muttered, coming up the stairs.

"Over a coat?" Mike asked. Making a hole in the piles of covers and peeking out, I saw him regard Peter with one raised eyebrow. Peter smiled and shook his head. "Anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

"You and Len loose the shoot?"

"I didnít shoot. Iím not ready to leave my warm cocoon," I retorted.

Mike chuckled. "I did."

"You can put away the dishes from last night, while I make the waffles," Peter said.

Peter mixed up his special recipe blueberry waffles while Mike moved around, putting the dishes away. I stumbled downstairs for some caffeine and Davy wandered into the kitchen.

"Blueberry pancakes!" Davy cried.

"Blueberry WAFFLES!" Mike and Peter chorused.

"Fine. Blueberry waffles then. Smells good either way," Davy retorted. I snickered and leaned up against the staircase while using fields to pull the Pepsi from the fridge and pour some into a field.

"Whatís that fizziní I hear?" Mike asked.

"Lenís soda just floated past ya," Davy said.

"Oh." Then Mike looked up. "Heís out. See yíall in a few." He headed upstairs.

I floated upstairs as soon as Iíd drained my Pepsi and grabbed a pair of jeans and the moccasin boots Peter had gotten for me, then I floated downstairs. I nabbed Peterís blue and white Nehru shirt on my way into the bathroom and hopped into the shower.

After my shower, as I dressed, I heard Peter say, "Last batch is in now . . . IF Mister Mouth doesnít eat them all!"

"Iím HUNGRY!" Micky whined.

"Yeah, but seven?" Davy snapped. "Man, Iím the one who needs to eat cause of his power!"

I stepped out of the bathroom as Mike sat down. "Seven? And five hamburgers last night? What are ya doin, haviní a growth spurt?" He threw a napkin and managed to hit Micky squarely on the nose. I grinned, surprised at his accuracy.

After breakfast, Mike went to the bandstand and grabbed the 12-string. "Iím goiní for a walk on the beach."

"But Mike, we have to practice, and then thereís todayís recording session!" Peter protested.

"I want to go for a walk on the beach! Canít we practice later? And I thought the next recording session wasnít Ďtill tomorrow . . . six days off, right?"

"I thought it was five. Besides, Mike, you know you keep getting depressed when you go to the beach," I said.

"IíM GOING FOR A WALK ON THE BEACH! I NEED A BREAK FROM YOU TWO AND YOUR ĎDONíT THINK ABOUT THE BLINDNESSí JAZZ!!!" Mike roared, then stalked off.

"Oh man . . . I didnít think it had come this far," I said.

"I canít believe we made Mike mad," Peter sobbed. I got up and put an arm around his shoulder.

"I guess we havenít let him really feel. Weíve just been keeping him busy, not letting him give up . . . and I guess in the process, kept him from feeling," I said softly.

When Mike returned three hours later, Peter and I had decided to back off . . . and we told him so.

"Iím glad. Iím sorry I blew up but . . . "

"We understand Mike. We never realized that we were bring so . . . overbearing," I said.

We skipped practice for the night and thankfully we didnít have a gig or a recording session that day -- Mike had been right, it wasnít until the next day.

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Created by Lenora McCoy

Last updated 02 DEC 98

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