And The Dog Barks On... A 21st Century Adult Fairy Tale Continues...

By E. P. Lee

And The Dog Barks On... A 21st Century Adult Fairy Tale Continues...

"He’s BAAAAAAAAAAACK...”

Eric’s back, with Freud, his ever present French Bulldog, panting, snorfuling, and barking at his side. Eric’s not where he was, perhaps he’s not who he was, for better and for worse all that, for better, and for worse, but he’s back. Eric's not where he was, Eric's not who he was, but after years of recovery he's finally back out in the world.

A lot is different, physically, spatially, emotionally, and as he’s reaching out to new people for the first time in years, even making new “friends”, he remembers – aren't people always the problem? Eric is soon aghast, perplexed, and lost in a sea of “modern” people: e-people, gamesters, the simply weird, the duplicitous, liars, thieves, hustlers, the cheats of the modern world, and he’s appalled.

APPALLED.

But despite them all, Eric's gonna move forward, ain’t no stopping him now.

This is the story of starting modern American life over, as a 21st Century Adult Fairy Tale continues...

It do move on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. P. Lee
• Release date: Jun 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311100900

E. P. Lee

After a lifetime spent in his native New York Eric Paul Lee now resides in beautiful, tropical, Miami, Florida. Born in Brooklyn and raised in Coney Island, Eric often wandered the Boardwalk in his childhood. Eric frequently wasted his allowance at the now demolished Steeplechase Park and the other dated, dowdy and declining amusements that defined Coney Island... and much of traditional society... back then. The traditional was still IN back then. And the traditional like Coney Island had seen its glory days, its heyday, long passed. But the new hadn’t arrived yet. Just the old was fading... And so the forms still had to be obeyed. And with that Eric’s parent’s obeyed those forms and Eric was dispatched to college in Upstate NY to return to Brooklyn some four years later. Upon graduation from college Eric bounced from job to job until the Graphic Arts caught his creative eye and a new career began. With his first graphics production position under his belt Eric moved in to Manhattan some two years later never to live in Brooklyn again. Success built on success as corporate stints in California brought about even greater successes leading to Eric’s eventual New York City return and the opening of his own Graphics Agency in Manhattan. That enterprise ran successfully for over twenty years. Now out of industry entirely, Eric is happy to enjoy the perpetual Florida sun and write.

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Copyright © 2013 Eric Paul Lee.

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All characters, situations, names, places and locations are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any and all resemblance to actual people living or dead, events, businesses, locations, or places is completely coincidental.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

1

I just got home…

And for only the second time since I moved in to this house over a year ago, Freud’s not at the front door waiting for me to let him out and jump on me, Hello.

Hello…

No kisses…

It’s happened just once before like this… just once… and exactly the same way. And for the fucking same exact fucking reason…

Freud’s at the Vet having a growth on his leg removed…

Again!

It was the same thing that very first time.

The same thing…

My poor little guy…

Damn…

Damn… the look on Freud’s face when the attendant picked him up to carry him in to the back prep area; the look on his face…

That look…

SHIT!

The look on my face… FEAR…

Cancer; the unspoken Nemesis… or the reality.

Reality…

Or it could be a wart…

And I won’t know squat for a week!

SHIT!

And I’m here at home, ALONE… waiting…

Waiting…

I’m beside myself.

SHIT! …

I’m besides a whole roomful of people.

Shit…

Poor Freud…

Poor, poor Freud…

But we have to get to the bottom of this. We have to know what this angry growth on his leg is all about and we have to know what’s causing it to come back again and again and again…

The Vet thinks it’s something new, and something dangerous at that.

And it could be…

I hope not, but it could be.

He’s the Doctor after all…

And I’m just the layman who watches the animal and checks his condition every day. And me… that layman, I know that the angry growth started out as one of those previous growths we had tested before… and that growth was benign…

But when I was cleaning this new, untested growth one day last week, I made it bleed slightly… And then this new growth reformed as an infected pimple… And so reformed, as that infected pimple, over the next five days the pimple morphed in to an angry growth, and then it morphed in to the very angry, angry growth that has to come off today.

A very, very, very angry growth at that…

The Vet was actually treating Freud for that other, previous, non-cancerous condition for the past 17 days. The Doctor had previously placed Freud on a weak Cortisone regimen for 10 of those 17days to knock these stupid things (whatever they are… and he doesn’t know) out of his system…

And it did… it worked, most of them cleared up. All of the recalcitrant spots that my allergic little guy throws out there with such regularity, that I treat with antibiotic cream after cream… cleared up.

Most of them that is… most of them…

Most…

Just not this one…

Except for this one big old ugly spot and its smaller orbiting, sisterly, brood… there’s three little ones, sisters, orbiting around the big nasty one. And those three little Sisters reacted favorably to the antibiotic medications I’ve been using all along.

Those spots were starting to dissolve and disappear.

At least they were starting to…

And so did Mr. Humongous Spot himself… Mr. Humongous reacted very well until he started bleeding and then he stopped reacting five days ago… And with Mr. Humongous’s reactive stop his Sisters stopped dissolving too; they simply stayed the same small size they were…

They got no bigger… they got no smaller.

And they didn’t clear.

Drug Resistant said the Veterinary Medical Deity:

Drug Resistant…

And so…

This 10:30 a.m. appointment was our regular follow up appointment from that last visit… The schedule was elongated by a week by the Doctor’s being away on his summer vacation, but it’s our regular appointment still.

That’s why I didn’t take Freud somewhere else when Mr. Humongous Spot started to change… I knew we were going to be here in five days… and to start with someone new…

Someone new…

I’d waste more than five days that way…

Much more than five days…

Much more…

And now poor Freud is under the Vet’s knife for removal of Mr. Humongous Spot and one of the Sisters so we can be sure it’s not Cancer and find out exactly what the spots are, and we can treat them with the proper non-resistant antibiotics.

I should be so lucky…

Poor Freud…

Poor Me…

I quiver…

Sucks.

2

I just spoke to the Vet… he called me himself.

Freud is in recovery; the procedure is complete. Freud’s fine for the moment and coming out of the anesthesia, I can pick him up in an hour and a half.

I’m so relieved.

And yet…

Now I have to wait a week for the lab results!

A fucking week!

AND I DON’T WAIT WELL.

No…

I don’t wait well at all.

Sucks…

Poor Freud…

Poor me…

SUCKS!

3

I picked Freud up just before, at four p.m., less than hour ago… the trip home in Miami rush hour traffic was horrendous.

In Miami, the Touristas and the Cubanos switch lanes with no warning when they cut in front of you, without signaling, to speed up and make it through the changing traffic light ahead… or worse, to speed up to make it through the light and then decide:

..."Nooooo: I’ll stop…"

And they do…

STOP!!!

And so I slam on my brakes… even with the four car-lengths I keep to the car in front of me… I have to slam on my anti lock brakes and almost go in to a skid to avoid ramming that stupid foreign Moron (as in not native Floridian) in the back…

And I have to keep groggy, still somewhat sedated, and anesthetized Freud secure on the passenger seat.

Me…

Me who has trouble keeping himself secure in the Driver’s seat… I have to keep Freud secure…

Secure…

But we got home OK…

And through the door Freud ran… Freud ran right for his favorite squawking rubber chicken…

And Freud brought Squawky over for me to play tug of war.

But there’s no tug of anything until the stitches come out of Mr. Humongous Spot’s wound some 10 days from now.

So the little guy was denied…

Sadly… that’s twice today Freud’s been denied… once when he visually implored me to rescue him from the Veterinary Attendant’s clutches this morning and again now when he wanted to play.

But at least Freud’s acting normally… wanting to play…

And that’s a good sign.

I’d hate to have Freud sick and in pain while we wait for those fucking results.

Freud sick and in pain…

No…

Not the dog too.

I’m sick and in pain waiting for that shit enough for the two of us.

Damn!

Damn…

Sucks!

4

Time has passed… the stitches are out, Freud’s still on Antibiotics and in need of daily cleansing with an antiseptic wash and an antiseptic shampoo… but he’s better.

There’s no more blood, no more Mr. Humongous… and no more Sisters.

And it’s not Cancer…

Happily… it’s not Cancer.

My little guy has allergies… allergies to particles in the air, and those allergies compromise his immune system… and that compromised immune system can’t fight off some of the opportunistic viruses that flourish so abundantly in the atmosphere… and so growths, viral Pamplomas…

They’re not life threatening… but untreated, these stupid growths can become dangerous open wounds that can in turn become infected and through that secondary infection threaten my little guy’s life. And there are no drug therapies, no pills, no antibiotics… these Pamploma things are viral.

And nothing works on a virus, nothing.

Nothing…

So every time one of these things gets nasty it has to be taken off; either by Laser burn-off, or surgery. This little bit of surgery, with all of the lab work, cost $1,098… monies straight out of my checkbook that; ain’t no health insurance for a dog… or at least none that will cover this kind of stuff…

So I won’t eat this month… I wanted to lose a few pounds anyway. The little guy has to be cared for. He has to have what he needs.

So I won’t go out.

I won’t get new glasses.

I won’t do what I wanted to do around the house.

Freud is OK.

Worth every penny… every penny…

All of them…

All…

5

Hopefully it won’t be this expensive again.

Now that we know what the possible causes of these things are, the next time we’ll laser it off and that’s a bit less invasive and way less costly. Good thing too…

Good for Freud…

And good for my wallet… I have to watch my money, and I’m trying to do more. And with all of that money out for Freud’s care I couldn’t do squat. Bridge isn’t expensive, but three games a week is $40.00 and it goes up from there… so with it all I won’t eat. They do give you a bagel and cream cheese at Bridge…

So I won’t starve…

But I do have to eat regularly and that’s an off occurrence more often than not when I play Bridge…

And there’s more to life than Bridge.

And I am trying to develop a social life again.

And going out costs money. You go out with friends and it’s often to dinner… And dinner out, with a drink, is $50.00 on average. Go out twice a week and… And I want my dick attended to. And that means a different venue, and different expenses, and gas, and drinks…

It’s been a long time… but I’ve decided that I want my dick attended to again.

Finally…

Mitch is dead almost five years, Gal and I have been separated for over fourteen years… it’s time.

Damn, it’s time…

Damn…

And Times have changed.

And I’ve changed…

People don’t meet and date the way they used to… and I can’t meet and date the way I used to. I’m older now… and my brain injury won’t let me function in the old venues like I used to.

Bars…

Clubs…

A pick up…

A night spent in a stranger’s apartment doing what…

You want me to… And I should do that because... reverberate through my brain.

And yet…

I want my dick attended to.

And I want company.

And perhaps I want a relationship, not to be in LOVE per se, maybe… but a relationship.

Warmth…

Continuity…

Sex…

Love?

What’s in a word… any one word?

And what’s in loneliness?

And I am lonely… I’ve been lonely ever since Mitch died. I was never lonely when Mitch was alive…

Angry… and often…

Unsatisfied… a lot.

Lonely… never.

Abandoned… occasionally.

In love…

Totally.

It’s almost five years since the guy died… five years…

Five years…

Well… four years and nine months…

And I’ve relegated it all to memory now… good memories, bad memories, but memory now.

Memory…

Relegated to memories of the past… But now I want memories of a future. And those memories have to be created.

And I want my dick attended to.

And so I have to get out there.

And it’s not the same out there as it was before.

And I’m not the same as before.

So…

What to do?

SUCKS!

6

Well…

I can’t go to Bars…

And I can’t go to Clubs…

But I want my dick attended to…

So what to do?

Well…

What do I do whenever I have to do something I’m unfamiliar with… the Internet. I’ll go to the Internet the same way I go to the Internet when I need an appliance, a car, or a Doctor.

Damn…

The Internet saved my life once. Back then the pain was so bad I couldn’t stand upright for more than 20 minutes without passing out and the Doctors… Gods and Geniuses all, said I had a sinus infection.

And those Geniuses and Gods treated me for a sinus infection… and they treated and they treated and they treated and they treated me…

And my condition got worse and worse…

Until finally… after 11 months of increasing pain and discomfort and three months of constant agony I went to Google and Googled my symptoms. And in less than a nanosecond, up popped:

"Consistent pain in that portion of the head can only be caused by one of two conditions:

1: Acute Sinusitis

2: A Brain Tumor"

Well… it was obvious.

I had a brain tumor… Those GODS and Geniuses had been treating me with ever more powerful antibiotics for over ten months to no avail… and there were only two possible causes of my pain.

So if not A, then B…

I had a brain tumor.

The very next day I saw the Ear, Nose, and Throat (ENT) Nasal Doctor GOD, ASSHOLE, I had been referred to and asked:

What are you treating me for?

Why a Sinus Infection, he replied, an intractable Sinus Infection…

And I said:

I don’t have a Sinus anything… I have a Brain tumor.

Dr. Nasal GOD laughed…

In agony, two days later, I was admitted through the Emergency Room to the main local teaching Hospital in Miami and an hour later the Radiologist diagnosed the largest brain tumor he had ever seen in a person still walking around. And so began a run up to major brain surgery where I died twice on the operating table, surgery so severe that the surgery performing ASSHOLE NEURSURGEON GOD thought I would never walk or talk again because of it…

Not to worry…

I do both…

The walking haltingly and unsteadily sometimes, but I do both… And I drive, and I exercise, and I live completely independently…

And well…

And now, finally, after almost six years in recovery, after three hours of radiation to kill the tumors that were too large for the ASSHOLE NEUROSURGEON GOD to remove, after three hours of radiation that saved my life, after 18 months of learning how to walk again… after twenty-four months where I couldn’t drive, and after eighteen months where Mitch took complete care of all of my needs…

My needs for company…

My needs to shop…

My needs to be taken to Doctors…

My needs for sex…

Mitch cut my toenails…

My needs for love…

And after 18 months of love and care… Mitch fell off a ladder and died… and now, almost five years later, I want my dick attended to again.

The other stuff: my toenails… love…

I’m not so sure.

But my dick attended to…

Yes…

After almost five years I want my dick attended to again…

7

It’s not like this is a totally new phenomena… something quirky, out the blue.

No…

It’s none of that.

This has been building and building and building as I went through my recovery and the process of mourning Mitch’s death and loss.

At first I would fantasize harmless involvements with strangers I would meet in passing when out to dinner with friends. Waiters, Busboys… all straight, all untouchable, all fantasies that passed those cold, long, lonely days where my mind raced and my body barely crawled.

And those fantasies got me through a lot.

And of course my ex-lover Gal was around more frequently then, Gal my ex-lover from ten years prior. Gal who I had left seven years before my surgery, Gal who kept my adored dog Ziggy at his home in Sugarloaf Key, first for the seven weeks of my Hospital incarceration and ordeal, and then for the 18 months where I couldn’t walk… Gal who brought Ziggy to me every weekend for those 18 months. Gal who took me out to dinner and shopped for me every Saturday for 18 months… and when Mitch died, Gal stayed a little longer each weekend.

And sometimes Gal would stay until Tuesday… as I might have a Doctor’s appointment… or I might need help.

Gal loves me…

I love Gal…

But our relationship is flawed. It always has been.

Flawed…

Our relationship has always been odd, never has it been societal normal (sic… normal, societal normal… we’re gay… and GAY before the legalization and ACCEPTANCE of gay marriage; so normal… what could be normal…

Normal…

Never…

And that’s OK…

As I’ve never been normal.

So why should any relationship I’ve ever had be normal?

And what’s normal anyway…

And why is normal desired?

All normal means is that 50.01% of the population does it… and by corollary 49.99% of the population doesn’t.

And so my relationships have never been normal.

And so goes my story…

8

Gal and I were a committed couple, a family unit, for 13 years.

We did everything together… laugh, grieve, travel, have sex... build and live a life.

And early on we drew apart… physically and sexually that is… but not so much emotionally; emotionally we were and still are linked… to this day, we’re still linked. Linked… through my almost five year relationship with Mitch… and through the almost five years I’ve been mourning Mitch…

Linked…

And so we’re still linked… emotionally linked to this present day. And I don’t find that odd… not for a minute. We can love more than one person at the same time… we just love them differently.

As I loved Mitch…

As I love Gal…

But differently…

Differently.

And I do love Gal… and Gal does love me… but sexually?

Gag me with a ladle.

A great big ladle…

Sometime way back in our third year together, I lost all sexual interest in Gal… actually I think I lost all interest in sex about then period. I had so much going on… a huge business to run, people I loved were getting sick… and people were dying.

Sex was unimportant to me then.

There are only 24 hours in a day… who had time? And so I had no sex… Gal on the other hand had plenty.

And I didn’t care.

I just didn’t care… I was under so much pressure, the business; death…

Pressure!

And Gal was always home and with me on weekends, and Holidays, and we travelled and we laughed and we went to dinner every night, and weekends…. and there was warmth, and laughter, and continuity, and people I loved were dying… and pets…

Continuity…

And Gal was there.

So Gal had a lot of sex with strangers and I dealt with people dying and survival…

And when the last of my relatives, my Father, died in 2001, and I was finally able to focus just on business and my life… I had more time available now… and I reconciled