How High You Bounce

By Jim Hawley

This is the story of Michael Morgan, son of Charlie and Lucy Morgan of Wyoming, who are introduced in Hoofprints in the Snow. Michael is on his way from a suburb of Los Angeles, California, to Wheatland, Wyoming, to see his dying mother. Along the way, Michael reviews many important episodes in his life which shaped his present. Thomas Wolfe said You cant go home again. But Michael does go home, realizing that, after almost fifty years, things are not the same and home is not the same as his memories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503518971

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Jim Hawley.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014920731

ISBN:      Hardcover     978-1-5035-1898-8

                Softcover      978-1-5035-1899-5

                eBook            978-1-5035-1897-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/20/2014

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

The test of success is not what you do when you are on top. Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom.

George S. Patton

CHAPTER 1

HEY, BOSS, YOU got a call on line one, shouted David Engstrom across the small back room in the Redwood City, California, computer shop.

Tell ’em I’m busy, shouted back Michael Morgan. No, wait, who is it?

Some doctor in Wyoming, replied David.

A doctor? returned Michael. What the hell’s that all about?

Don’t know, grinned David. I think he’s some kinda artist or somethin’.

A doctor’s who’s an artist?

Yeah, shrugged David.

Everybody in Wyoming thinks he’s an artist, grumbled Michael softly. What makes you think he’s an artist?

He said something about a picture, replied David. You wanna talk to him?

Yeah, yeah, groused Michael as he lifted the receiver of his phone and punched the flashing line button. This is Michael Morgan, how may I help you? he said cordially into the receiver’s microphone.

This is Dr. Jim Holland, returned the moderately deep voice. Are you Michael Morgan? Michael Morgan who was born in Wheatland, Wyoming?

Yes, answered Michael, hesitantly. What can I do for you?

Well, began Dr. Holland. I’m taking care of your mother. I thought you should know that she’s in the nursing home and not doing very well.

Michael leaned back. Are you some kinda artist? You know we only sell and repair computers. We don’t need any art or graphics.

No, no, I’m a family physician here in Wheatland, Wyoming, answered Dr. Holland. Like I said, I’ve been taking care of your mother. There was a slight pause. She’s not doing so well.

Yeah, she’s always been a pistol. Is she causing any trouble?

No, nothing like that, replied Dr. Holland. She adapted to the nursing home pretty well. But, now she’s having some serious health problems. She has a picture of you in her room which helped me track you down. I just thought you might like to see her again. I know she would like to see you.

Michael leaned forward and hung his head.

You still there? asked Dr. Holland after a long pause.

Yeah, yeah. Michael collected his thoughts. How bad is it?

Really bad, responded Dr. Holland I don’t think she’s going to last much longer.

What can I do? quizzed Michael.

I thought you might like to see her one last time, said Dr. Holland. She’s been asking for you.

Well, I’ll have to make some arrangements and drive there. It’ll take about three or four days.

That would be good, but, like I said, she doesn’t have much longer, came Dr. Holland’s voice. Please hurry. She also has some land here and a few possessions. I thought you might like to check it out.

Yes, sir, grunted Michael. He wasn’t sure how he felt… he wasn’t even sure how he should feel.

As far as I can tell, you’re the only kin she has.

Yes, sir, everyone else is gone, sighed Michael. Well, I’ll be there in about three or four days.

Good responded Dr. Holland. We’ll be looking for you.

Michael hung up the phone and, pulling on the button on the left of his motorized wheelchair, backed up from the table.

David, he yelled.

Yes, Boss, answered David entering the room with his peculiar, lop-sided grin.

David, repeated Michael looking blankly at the table in front of him with computer parts spread out on it like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Yes, Boss, re-answered David, stressing the ‘yes’."

Michael looked at David with a vacuous stare. What?

What do you mean ‘what’? quizzed David, confused.

Michael’s upper body shook lightly and the light returned to his eyes. I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.

What do you need? questioned David, becoming somewhat disgusted.

I don’t need anything, remarked Michael blankly. What did you want?

You called me, snarled David, stamping his foot.

I did? Michael stared at David for a long moment. Oh, yeah. Now I remember. He swung his wheelchair to more directly face David. I’m going to have to leave for a while. I gotta go back to Wyoming to take care of some ‘stuff’. You gotta run the store while I’m gone.

Sure, Boss, beamed David.

As David turned to leave, Michael stopped him with his voice. I mean it. You gotta work and run the place right. No more goofing off, playing video games instead of helping the customers, and stuff like that.

Sure! I got it, Boss. David turned and went back into the front of the store.

Michael watched him go. The boy was very smart and knew computers well. He just wasn’t truly motivated. He preferred punching the hell out of a game controller – or discussing the latest game craze with one of his friends. But, Michael had known for some time that he couldn’t do this forever. Sometime he would have to sell the business and retire – sometime; but always in the future.

Michael drove home that night and rolled up the handicapped ramp into the nice, clean, Spanish-style home. He unlocked the door and prepared for the onslaught of Jack-shit, his golden retriver, who was his companion and trained helper. As per usual, Jack jumped up, placing both front paws onto Michael’s useless legs, and licking his face. After a brief ‘hello’ Michael pushed the control on the wheel chair. Even before the whirring motors began moving the conveyance forward, Jack had anticipated the move, and jumped back a good foot in front of Michael. He moved to the side and made a quick circle as Michael’s chair moved past. He followed Michael into the house then turned and, using his teeth, pulled the front door closed.

Go on out, boy, commanded Michael.

Jack ran to the doggy door in the back, his toenails tapping on the tile floor. He ran through the flapping doggy door and into the small, grass back yard. He rolled in the turf then rapidly relieved himself.

While Jack was outside, Michael had rolled to the side-by-side refrigerator and opened the freezer section. He removed a frozen Salisbury steak dinner and rolled over to the microwave. All the cabinets in the house were about an inch lower than normal to allow their use from a wheel chair. After removing the plastic cover from the brownie, he placed the dinner in the microwave and set the timer. As he pushed the ‘start’ button, Jack re-entered the house and ran to sit beside the wheel chair.

When the bell ‘dinged’, Michael removed the dinner, placing it quickly onto a folded kitchen towel. He deposited the towel and dinner onto his lap and rolled to the small, round table. He set the towel and dinner on the table. Jack sat to the side and watched him carefully. Michael trundled to the drawer to his left and removed a fork and butter knife. He rolled past the refrigerator again and opened the cooler side. He removed the ketchup and placed it on his lap. He rolled back to the table and placed the silverware beside the dinner then placed the ketchup to the other side.

Before he reached for the fork, he realized he had forgotten something. He snapped his fingers and Jack’s head turned toward him.

Coke, Jack, commanded Michael.

The dog trotted to the fridge and, using the towel hanging from the cooler side’s handle, he pulled the door open. He took a can of soda in his mouth and backed up. He swung his rear around and backed up against the door, closing it. He then slowly, carefully, carried the soda to Michael.

Thank you, boy, cooed Michael as he stroked the dog’s head.

He opened the coke then ate his supper in silence.

After supper, he went to the bathroom and expertly removed his diaper, disposing of the soiled diaper in a bag. Using his strong upper body, he transferred into the shower wheel chair and wheeled himself into the shower. Jack lay down on the floor watching him carefully. Michael turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. Then he turned the knob and the shower water hit him. It was cold for the first few seconds, a fact to which he had also become accustomed yet he still hated. Rolling from side to side in the streaming water, he washed his rear-end and privates. Then he washed the rest of his body. This was a ritual which he had done for years and at which he was adept.

Refreshed, he motored into the living room and he and Jack watched some re-run episodes of Seinfeld. After two hours he went to bed and Jack snuggled in beside him.

The next day, Michael spent most of the morning packing and getting ready for his trip. He loaded the van a little at a time. Jack was a lot of help, being able to drag the bags out by the handle.

The two got started just after lunch. The traffic was beginning to thin out, as the lunch crowd was wending their way back to work. They entered I-80 and rapidly crossed Bay Bridge. By mid-afternoon, they were driving through Sacramento. Michael had been here only a couple of times, but, his mind was not on sight-seeing.

It was a bright California, December day. The sky was clear, except for a few, fluffy clouds. The temperature was in the mid-sixties, which, with the moisture in the air, was cold to Michael. He remembered December days in Wyoming. It was never in the sixties in December in Wyoming. He remembered Christmases in Wyoming. Two to three feet of snow, wind howling, frost on the windows. He reached over and patted Jack’s head. Jack looked at him and smiled. The dog loved to ride