Part VI Into the Shadows
In the next four days Pooh went to the Somerset mall and had a fine black Jos Banks suit fitted. He selected a matching, black, silk shirt and a bright red silk tie that he thought would be rather festive with it. Piglet insisted he get a matching red pocket scarf. He also bought a new pair of black dress shoes, and a fine black cashmere coat with matching black leather gloves. With the magic suit Pooh knew he would dance well. However, Barry’s cough began to get worse. It got to the point where he could barely have a conservation without a spasm. Even with plates of holiday cookies, and gift baskets coming in from The Swiss Colony and Hickory Farms, Barry’s appetite was diminishing. His muscular and very fit physique began to shrink.
December 13th, was a glistening, beautiful, Saturday, morning. Pooh rolled his ass out of bed around noon. He threw open the curtains and blinds and peered out at the landscape. It had snowed last night, a fresh snow. Instead of the moldy, gray, sludge-snow, a fresh pristine white blanket covered the wood. The sky was the clearest blue ever, not a cloud in sight, not even one wisp. The pines and white birch trees that adorned the wood were blanketed with snow and icicles that hung from the branches like Bavarian crystal ornaments.
“Jiminy,” Pooh gasped. It was prettier than any Christmas card, or smoltzy Hallmark Hall of Fame movie that Pooh had ever seen. Pooh came out of his beef log induced sleep, and was immediately revitalized. The ball was only ten days away, and then Christmas two days later. What an exciting season! Plus he and Barry were planning on doing their Christmas tree tradition today. Ever year Pooh and Barry would go to Lomas Brown’s Christmas tree farm. Lomas Brown was also an ex Detroit Lion. Every year around Christmas he opened up his own Christmas tree farm, and donated all money to charities throughout Detroit. The farm was located deep in the wood, where the most fabulous trees were. Instead of taking a jacked up SUV out there, Barry always rented an honest-to-God wooden Victorian sleigh drawn by eight Clydesdale horses, all wearing jingle bells. To keep warm on the sleigh ride, Barry had a flannel battery operated blanket, and they took a thermos of hot cocoa laced with peppermint schnapps. Last year when they left the wind chill had been below zero. Even with the blanket and cocoa it was still too cold to enjoy it. This year the weather was absolutely perfect. Pooh quickly took his sponge bath, brushed his teeth and hair, and selected a red shirt off the floor.
“Barry!” He called and he opened the door and peeped into Barry’s bedchamber. The drapes were drawn, so the room was as black as night. The figure of star running back Barry Sanders lay under a mound of blankets and pillows. Pooh quietly shut the door. It wasn’t too unusual for Barry to still be asleep at noon on a weekend. On a weekday he was always an early riser. Up and about by seven, but depending on how much alcohol he had had or how good the chickie he took to bed with him was, he slept into the afternoon.
“I know,” Pooh said to himself. “I’ll make some pecan honey waffles, with some of those hickory smoked sausage patties. That will get him out of bed.”
Pooh loved elaborate weekend breakfasts. He got out the waffle iron and whipped up a batter rich in honey, buttermilk, eggs, and fresh pecans that Barry had imported in from Louisiana. Pooh threw three pounds of hickory smoked sausage patties into a pan filled with pig grease that was kept out in the shed. The house smelled heavenly of roasted pecans, honey, ginger, and fresh coffee brewing. Most of all, Pooh loved the smell and the crackling sound of fat frying upon the stove. Pooh set the table with fresh creamed butter from the farmers’ market, steaming coffee in Christmas mugs, pure maple syrup from the north woods, and cranberry-orange preserves. Still with all the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, no Barry. Pooh was getting hungry, the aroma tantalizing his stomach. Once again he rapped on Barry’s door.
“Barry, you who,” he called as he opened it. “I made a scrumptious breakfast for us today of waffles and sausage!”
Barry answered by a coughing spasm that sounded deep deep within his chest. Pooh ran to the bed.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
Barry shook his head and croaked
“I’m not feeling too well today. Bring me a cup of warm cherry brandy, with honey, and a shot of Grand Marnier. Boil it over the stove so that it’s warm.”
“But what about getting the Christmas tree?” Pooh asked. Barry coughed again, this time spitting blood.
“Don’t nag me boy! Just bring me my tottie! Perhaps if I rest I will feel up to getting the tree tomorrow,” Barry fell back into the sea of pillows. Pooh grudgingly made Barry’s hot tottie. However, Barry was not better the next day. He was far worse, coughing up blood every five minutes. He couldn’t eat, and he was starting to look feverish. Since Barry did not want Pooh driving his Jaguar, he had Pooh call an ambulance to take him to Detroit Mercy Hospital.
“It does not look good,” said the doctor solemnly. “He has a fever of 102.5, which is quite high for an adult. You must keep an eye on it.”
“What can I do?” Pooh asked,
“I am giving you three prescriptions for cough syrup and fever reducers. Get them filled. Keep cool cloths dipped in Lavender water on his forehead. If he wakes try and give him some warm broth, to help keep his strength up. If he is chilled make sure he has plenty of blankets,” the doctor replied. “He’s dehydrated as well. Give him lots of fluids, he may need some intravenously.
“Ain’t there some operation thing you people can do to help?” Pooh asked. “He needs to take me to get a Christmas tree, and we have a grand Christmas ball to go to in nine days.”
“Don’t say ain’t,” said the doctor. “Barry isn’t going to be up and about for at least three weeks, and that’s if only he pulls through this. I’m afraid it looks very grim.”
So Pooh and Barry went home. Someone had to be with Barry at all times. Pooh sat most of the time, but he traded with the occasional groupie, or football pal that came along to help. If Barry shook Pooh covered him with the electric blanket, and brought in space heaters. If he was sweating, Pooh put the cool cloth dipped in lavender upon his forehead. If he woke Pooh tried to shove down a pork and beef broth he had made from a giant T-bone and some of the bacon grease from the cellar. He constantly was making him his hot totties. He ran around to CVS and got Barry any medicines he needed. He filled hot water bottles, read him the writings of Sophocles, brought heating pads, gave him cool sponge baths, and turned him so he wouldn’t get bedsores. Thoughts of dancing, glorious sweets, Kristal champagne, silk ties and pocket scarves, danced away as Pooh spent his days caring for Barry. There was no way that Pooh would go to the ball with Barry so sick. Barry needed constant care, plus Pooh didn’t feel like dancing, when Barry was so near death. He called Ford Enterprises to leave him and Barry’s regrets.
Eeyore however, was still planning on going.
“Can’t you go to the ball for a little while?” He asked Pooh over the phone.
“Barry needs constant care,” Pooh explained. “One minute he is hot with fever, the next he is trembling with chills. Plus I don’t feel like dancing.”
“What about the food?” Eeyore asked. Pooh was silent for a long time. Missing the feast and sweets was what bothered him the most about missing the ball. All those maple filled honey cakes, and peppermint white chocolate fudge!
“I can make myself a feast anytime,” Pooh finally replied.
“Well I’ll let you know how it goes,” said Eeyore. “It will probably be lame. The chicks will only be semi-hot, the music will be all stodgy. Let me know if Barry bites the dust. I can get you guys a good deal on caskets and funeral services from the morgue.”
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