"Micky, what's the matter? Don't cry," he said. He didn't expect that this would work, but he figured that it was worth a try. Micky just looked at Mike with tear-filled brown eyes that gleamed with saddness, shadowed with all that he had been. "Micky, what's wrong?" Mike asked. Micky sniffled for a moment and then crawled over to Mike and threw his arms around Mike. He momentarily stopped sobbing. Mike was taken aback for a moment, but then returned Micky's hug, gently petting the fuzzy mop of hair that was inadvertently shoved in his face. After a little while, Micky let go and sat back, looking at his puppy, sniffling, and wiping the tears away from his eyes. Mike looked at Micky.
"What's the matter, Mick?" he asked. "Why'd you cry?"
"Da-da b-bye-b-bye," Micky said slowly. "G-give M-micky p-puppy. N-not w-want p-puppy. W-want d-da d-da," he said. He wiped tears away from his eyes again and hugged the puppy close to his face. Then he opened his mouth again.
"M-my?" he asked. Mike turned and looked at him. "M-mic n-no t-talk n-no m-m-m-more," he said, slowly and carefully. It took him a while to get the last word out, but he managed.
"Why Micky? Why aren't you gonna talk?" Mike asked. Micky just shook his head and pointed at his throat.
" C-c-c-can't-t," he said simply. He looked up. "H-hi D-dayv-ve," he said, as I walked in. He looked at Mike. "D-d-dayve y-yittle."
"Yittle?" Mike asked. Micky nodded.
"Wow. How about that? I'm a yittle," I said, feeling happy.
"What's a yittle?" Mike asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "But it sounds pretty neat." Micky grinned happily.
"Micky, does your throat hurt?" Mike asked Micky. He nodded.
"H-h-hurt w-w-when t-t-talk," he said, whispering.
"Okay, Micky. Just try not to talk, okay? Then you won't hurt your voice," Mike said. Micky nodded. Mike looked at me. "I guess he's getting worse," he said. I nodded.
"What should we do?" I asked. Mike shrugged. Neither of us had any bright ideas. Just then Peter entered the room.
"Hi Micky, how ya doing?" he asked. Micky shook his head and looked at the floor.
"He says his throat hurts when he tries to talk," Mike explained to Peter. "I told him to try not to talk and then he wouldn't hurt his voice."
Peter nodded. "Yeah, he's getting worse. I was afraid of this." He looked pensive and thoughtful.
"Now we've got two problems. Or at least Micky does. He can't speak, and well..." I trailed off. I didn't want to make Micky feel bad. I assumed that Mike and Peter would understand.
Peter nodded again. "Anyone have any clues as to why he's this way?"
"Well, I think it may have something to do with his father," Mike said. While we were talking, Mike and Micky were sitting on the floor. As our conversation continued, we all moved and sat down on the couch. Micky now went over to Mike and sat in his lap. "When I asked him where he got the puppy, he said it was from his dad, and then he got very upset," Mike continued, as Micky sat down on top of him.
"Micky don't do that," he said, gently pushing Micky off of him. "You're too big. Sit next to me instead. " Micky looked upset for a moment, but then climbed up amd sat next to Mike instead.
That night went a tad more peaceful for me. I didn't change, and I was spared the immense pain that I experienced. But my sleep was far from peaceful. I was upset about Micky, and I felt guilty. Not only was it my fault that he had lost his voice, but now it was also my fault that he was acting like a child. Poor Micky, I thought as I lay in bed, he'd had so many problems lately. I tossed and turned on the little cot. It must have taken me a few hours to fall asleep. When I finally did, I was disturbed by horrible nightmares.
ok, I'm lost, lemme go back and try and figure this out...
