He came to me a battle-weary alley cat.

Upon my back porch he stood, shirt torn open, tails flapping in a subtle night-time breeze, his chest and belly exposed. Crusty blood beaded the fur of his left pectoral. Fresh blood trickled from his left nostril. Scratches lined his face, cuts scarred his knuckles.

"Thomas?"

He forced a smile, lowered his eyes. "Hey, Melvin," his greeting soft and submissive.

"What the hell? Get in here."

"Hope I ain't interrupting."

He nearly had, but I'd finished and sent away my final subject around 2 a.m., on a Friday into Saturday. He'd caught me in my underwear, and as he stepped into my kitchen I offered him nothing but questions. "What happened to you?"

"Conaghers jumped me outside The Marketplace."

"Which Conaghers?"

"Her brothers, Jack and Jimmy and Dickie."

"Three on one, huh? Conaghers are notorious for that. You ain't the first."

"I know."

"What were you doing at The Marketplace? Getting drunk?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"I hit her."

Serious business, that. "Damn, Thomas, not cool."

"I know."

With preliminaries out of the way it seemed silly for me to make him stand in my darkened kitchen. "Come on, Thomas." He followed me to my bedroom. "Sit." I pointed to the mattress. All covers laid on the floor, two pillows and fitted sheet still in their proper place. I peeled off his shirt, clutched his chin and raised his face to the light. "Got you in the nose, I see. Where else?"

"Must've punched my ribs. Sore as hell." He lifted his left arm, gently felt the left side of his rib cage.

"Broke?"

"Nah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Melvin. I'd know if they were. It ain't that bad."

"What about your nose? It broke?"

"Nuh uh."

Leaving him for my bathroom, I wet a washcloth, brought it to him. "Here. Clean up your nose. What's with all the scratches?"

"She did that. It's what set me off."

"First time you've hit her?"

"You know it. Feel like crap for doing it."

"And a good reason to get drunk."

"I ain't that drunk."

"I know."

Back in my bathroom I ran water in the tub, and then grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Here, Thomas, give me that." I took the blood-stained washcloth, tossed it to the floor. Saturating my fingers with alcohol, I applied liberal doses to his facial scratches. It burned and he flinched, but soon it cooled and was a relief to him. I dumped some liquid atop his head, rubbed with my palm. "You need a haircut."

"Can't afford one."

"Not that hair. This hair, stud." Splashing alcohol onto his chest I used my hand to tickle while wetting. Much thicker since I'd last seen it -- nine years prior -- his fur mirrored Frank's, but in black, and in a flash from our past the grin of a boy returned. Better yet, and music to my ears, the Thomas giggle reminded me of our bedded poke fights. "Damn, buddy," I giggled with him. "That crazy bitch is trying to make you too old too fast. Lay back and relax."

With a nudge of my hand to his shoulder, Thomas laid on my mattress with feet on the floor. I unlaced his work boots, lifted one leg at a time to remove them from his feet. Jeans came next. Belt unbuckled, button unbuttoned and zipper pulled down. He raised his hips for me to slide jeans to his knees, his briefs coming with them, all yanked completely from him. White socks followed. "Go soak in the tub. I'll be there in just a bit."

From my kitchen while filling an ice bag I heard Thomas shout, "You fool. Water's about to run over."

"Well, turn it off, pea brain!"

He stopped it right at the rim, forcing us to drain a little before he could step in. I gave him a couple of aspirins and a tall glass of water, made him drink every drop, asked him if he wanted anything else to drink while he soaked.

"I need coffee, Melvin... for my head."

His body needed time alone in hot water, too, even though we both know heat makes inflamed muscles more inflamed. Mostly, Thomas needed a temporary escape from nine years of stress, and I fully intended for him to get it. I mothered my baby boy. Bathed him myself. Lathered his scalp and skin, head to toes. Trimmed his long-neglected toenails while he sipped his coffee. Didn't mess with his fingernails. He'd been biting them.

I didn't even ask him where he struck his wife. Didn't care to know whether he used fist, open hand or weapon, and as for the why, that really didn't matter either. Nothing can justify striking a woman, but then again, nothing can justify a woman badgering and belittling her husband day after day, year after year. For now, Thomas belonged to me. I'd take him back to happier times, if only for a few hours.

"God, Melvin, you're right. Hair's down to my shoulders when it's wet."

"When it's dry, too. Want me to shave it off?"

"You got a buzzer?"

"Hell yes."

"Hey, remember when you buzzed me before I went to my first state meet?"

"Yep, our sophomore year."

"Let's do it."

"Stand up." He did, slow and painful. "Towel off. I'll go get some newspaper."

Not only did I buzz his head, I also trimmed his out of control crotch and nut hair. His suggestion. My pleasure. Escorting him to my bed I helped him lay flat and centered, his head on pillows, arms flared at his sides. I left him naked and uncovered, got the ice pack out of my freezer for him to use wherever he needed it.

"These ribs are sore as hell, Melvin. Gonna get worse, too."

"Well, despite what you think, they probably oughtta be x-rayed. Might have a crack. Better freeze it for now."

"Can't afford..."

"I know, Thomas. Forget about it." I laid on my side to his right resting on my elbow, my hand replacing his to hold the ice pack in place. "So, where'd they jump you? In the parking lot?"

"Yep."

"Did you put any good moves on 'em?"

"Ha. With my fists. Wrestling's only good one on one. You know that."

"Sad but true."

"Think I got one of 'em in the kisser. Gnarly teeth cut my knuckles."

"See. You forgot what my dad taught us. Hit 'em in the sternum, in the ribs, liver, or in their ear."

"Shit, Melvin. I didn't forget. My hands and feet were aiming for anything within range. There were just too many fists coming at me. That's all. All coming at once. Could've used your fists tonight. Mine ain't fast enough, especially after sucking down beer all night."

"Wish I'd have been there. Different outcome. Don't you think?"

"Don't I know."

"Did they get you down to the ground, Thomas?"

"Hell, no. Good thing, too. They woulda stomped the shit outta me. Whenever it was I knocked out some teeth, that's when they took off. Thought I's gonna pass out. Made it to my car and locked it, then passed out."

"They won't even recognize you next time they see you, skin head." Leaning toward him, my stubbled chin rubbed his stubbled scalp. "Looks good, buddy. Like you're sixteen again."

His eyelids closed, a trace of moisture at their corners. Catching himself he opened and changed the subject. "Hey, that ice pack's working."

"Numbing you. I got another one ready when that one loses its cold. You want me to wrap it? I got some Ace bandages."

"No, Melvin. It'll be okay in a little bit."

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah. Tired. I might drift away on you."

"Don't blame you. I'm gonna sleep on the couch. Afraid I'll accidentally bump one of your sore spots."

"No you ain't," he tried to sit up too fast, realized his mistake. "Aw, shit."

"See?"

Laying down, he argued, "Just stay on my right. Nothing's hurt too bad there. Turn off the light, Melvin. I'm bushed."

I left him uncovered, heard his ice pack fall to the mattress a second after lights out, and even though plenty of queen-sized space was available to me, Thomas gave me even more room. His shadowed arm lifted. He nestled his right hand between his head and pillow, whispering, "See, Melvin? Told you I'm okay on this side." His left hand patted his right pec.

Reaching for the ice pack, I returned it to his ribs and rested my cheek upon his furred chest. My head turned just enough for my lips to touch him. My lips clamped a clump of his chest hair, gently tugged, and he moaned with unsteady voice, "God damn it, Melvin... I should've... you tried to tell me way back before I even married her."

"Aw, Thomas. It might've worked out. If you'd have had the kid, maybe..."

"Wish we could go back... you and me... you were... nobody's ever cared about me like..."

"Shhh, Thomas. Forget it." Raising to my knees I replaced his ice pack with my lips, a dry, gentle kiss. "You're with me, now. You got no worries."

"Nine years... nine fucking, wasted..."

"Stop it, Thomas." I knelt to his right, my hand pressing his sternum, my lips peppering his forehead and cheeks between further suggestions. "Just stop it... let it go... go to sleep... nobody can hurt you here." My kisses drifted onto his neck, his chest. "Nothing's wasted, Thomas... never... not with me."

His right arm angled for the mattress corner, followed by his left for the other corner. His legs shifted, spread further apart. He took my suggestion and let it go. Let it all go with a deep breath and long exhale, a release of all frustration and confusion and self-doubt and self-pity. Thomas reversed time, corrected his denial and surrendered to me.

And I Franked him.

end excerpt