Jacqueline Druga - Healing

Mick screamed.

“God, you’re such a baby.” Lars stepped back. “I have to be away from home, I wish this could be more tolerable for both of us. Now I have to get back to the lab.” He walked to the door. “Do you need anything?”

“No.” Mick shook his head.

“Make sure you respond back to the message from Chris,” Lars told him. “I know your fingers are swollen and hurt, but he knew it was me writing it the last time because I used punctuation.”

“I’ll call him instead.”

Lars reached for the door. “Just try not to do that Mick moaning and groaning thing, the boy is worried enough.”

Mick grunted. “Lars?”

“Yeah?”

“Be honest. How are we doing with all this? Was it worth it?”

“Absolutely, Mick. I’ll be one hundred percent honest with you. You still are not out of the woods and we may yet lose you, but damned if we both aren’t fighters. Plus, we’re getting close. We are getting so close.”

Lars took another look at Mick, who had suffered through an illness that should have killed him days earlier. It was a tough road, and Lars wasn’t the most confident, but he was determined.

Whether his efforts would work remained to be seen and only time would tell.

Fifteen Years Later

Erie, PA

Jonah Briggs paused in his walking the stairs. His knees hurt. When they went bad, he didn’t know. He was able to get some fishing in earlier, the weather was nice, but it was back to work. Things weren’t too bad. Biggest problem was with the wheat crops and some of the manufacturing.

He returned to his office a few minutes earlier, carrying a box.

“Tigger, damn it,” Briggs said as he opened his office door. “Get out from behind my desk.”

“Really?” Tigger slid from the chair. “No, ‘hey how are you’? How was Virginia? Glad to see you back?”

“You called every day. Everything okay?”

Tigger was in uniform. A tailor made uniform to fit his size. He was proportionate but still small. He had never really grown much through the years. “Yeah, good. Just like Farmer Joe said.”

“Farmer who?” Briggs set the box on his desk and sat down with an exhale.

“Farmer Joe, the guy who runs the big tobacco farm.”

“That’s Joseph Farms.”

“Same difference. Why are you grunting? You getting old?”

“Yeah, Tig. I am. I want to retire, but Wentworth won’t take over.”

“I can.”

Briggs laughed. “Uh no. Napoleon had his reign, we don’t need a repeat of history.”

“Oh man, is that dig toward my size?”

“No, it’s a dig toward your tyrant attitude, asshole.”

Tigger laughed. “Anyhow, field is clean. They were right. Those goofy half-dressed Indian acting things were raiding the fields. Man, you’d think it was corn or weed. Which by the way—”

“No.” Briggs snapped off a reply. “Don’t ask again.”

“Can I have a drink?” Tigger pointed to the bottle on the desk.

“Go to the bar. It’s open.”

“You are tough on me.” Tigger shook his head.

“Someone has to be. Everyone else is scared of you. Three reports last month of you pushing your weight around.”

“You reprimanded me. I took the punishment.” Tigger tossed up his hands. “Anyhow, I’ll go to the bar. I wanted to see Chris before he left. Can I see it before you give it to him?”

“No.” Briggs replied. “And he should be here any—” He smiled at the knock. “That’s him.”

Chris stepped through the door. He was tall and thin, his hair wavy and short. He wore a tee shirt and jeans, not a uniform like Tigger. “Hey, Jonah Briggs.”

“Chris.” Briggs said in greeting with a smile.

“Tig.” Chris nodded a greeting. “Thought you were in Virginia?”

“Was. Done. Back. Heading west in a few days. I’ll stop home.”

“Pap will be glad. He’s been having some problems lately, and isn’t moving around. Still goes to the store every day though.”

“Is he renting the movie I made?” Tigger asked.

“Yeah. It’s always rented.”

“Sweet.” Tigger looked at Briggs. “And you said no one would wanna see a documentary of us training.”

“What else is there? Not many people make movies and they ones that do get made are bad,” Briggs replied then glanced at Chris. “What’s wrong with Tom?”

“Diabetes is out of control again. Lars wants to put me on working on a new form of insulin, but he knows I suck in the lab. I’m better with patients.”

“He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think you’d see something.”

Chris shrugged. “I guess. Anyhow, what’s up?”

“When we moved here years ago, I had boxes I never opened. The other day I was wanting to clean things out and look what I found. You left this in Damon.” Briggs reached into the box and pulled out a notebook.

“Oh my God.” Chris took it. “Oh my God. My journal.”

“Thought you may want to look through it. Mick’s last letter is in there too.”

“Wow. Thank you.”

Another knock came at the open door and Mick called, “Hey, ready to head out?”

“Yeah,” Chris replied. “What took you so long coming up?”

“Fucking steps are killing my knees.”

Briggs nodded in agreement. “I hear you.”

“You guys are old,” Tigger said.

“What’s up, Tig?” Mick motioned his head. “Haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Still reigning terror?”

“Absolutely. Someone has to.”

Mick shook his head. “Figures.”

“Hey, Mick?” Chris with a smile, holding up the notebook. “Look what Jonah found.”

“Oh, wow, that’s awesome. I’d love to read it if you wanna share.”

“Sure.”

Briggs added, “Me, too.”

“Me as well,” Tigger said.

Chris grimaced at his brother and looked down at the book. “This is so cool. I was so young…” He flipped through the pages. “Oh, wow. The arm wrestling match.” He looked at Mick, then Briggs. “Wait, I didn’t write down who won.”

Briggs asked. “You don’t remember?”

Chris shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I think I do. But I changed it in my mind so many times. Tig, do you?”

“I was six. Not really.” Tigger said.

“Who won?” Chris asked.

“You really don’t remember?” Briggs peered at Mick, then Chris. “Mick did.” He winked.

Chris looked at. “You won?”

“I thought Briggs did. Not sure.”

Chris grumbled. “It’ll come back to me.” He tucked the notebook under his arm. “Ready.” He walked around the desk to give Briggs a hug, then hugged his brother. “Get your ass home, Tig. Seriously.”

“I’ll be there.” Tigger raised his hand.

Mick exchanged handshakes with Briggs, and he walked out with Chris, shutting the door behind them.

“Alright, I’m out of here,” Tigger said. “Hitting the bar.”

“Tigger,” Briggs called him. “You don’t miss a trick. How do you not remember who won that arm wrestling match?”

“Oh, I remember,” Tigger opened the door. “Just that, two big men, two big egos. I didn’t want to dredge up the pain of that night.” He flashed a smile. “See ya.”

Briggs laughed. Tigger drove him nuts, but for over a decade, Tigger had kept him going. He sat back in the chair, hands folded behind his head and swiveled to the window. He peered out and watched as Chris and Mick got in a car, and Tigger darted out of the building.

Things were finally on track. Some semblance of life had returned. There were problems here and there, but Briggs couldn’t complain. To him, life was good.

I can’t believe it has been fifteen years and five months since I have laid eyes on this journal. Reading it brought back not only memories, but feelings I had back then. The pain, the fear, everything. But I left it open, unresolved and I thought I’d fill in the blanks. Not really for me, but maybe in the years ahead, should I have children and they want to read it. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure, just like the arm wrestling match, things will be pretty distorted in my memory.