It was a Thursday morning, early, when Morton Roger Hollings tried to get out of bed, and his back locked up, leaving him virtually paralyzed.

He asked the dogs to get him some ibuprofen or a thermal patch to heat his back, but they ignored him and tore up a cardboard microwave meal box his son had left on a chair in the living room instead.

He cursed the dogs for a moment, but then he chastised himself because they were God’s creation and deserved to be given the freedom to be destructive. The real culprit here was his wife, who had left for the week for a work conference in Las Vegas, and had left him to parent himself and his son, a massive order for a man of his powers.

Midlife. This is what it is, he thought. Top of the hill. Flat on your back. Time to don the roller skates and bullet down the second slope of life.

His back spasmed briefly and contracted sharply, sending a ribbon of pain around his torso.

He tried to roll out of the bed, off of the too soft mattress, onto his outstretched legs, but that failed, so he plopped loudly on the floor below, where his dogs decided to give him attention because his face was within reach of their snouts.

He tried to recover his lost breath and moaned and deep in his brain, synapses snapped.

“Ohhhh”, he offered to the carpet.

I’m not going in to the office today, he mused, as he laid there. Maybe I’ll just die here.

“Dad!”, little Mikey yelled from a room down the hall.

He almost cried as he rolled over and used the bed to try and set himself up to go check on his son.

Someone help me. God, send an angel or a helicopter to transport me to the hospital, he thought.

“Daddy!” the little voice gurgled.

After a 10 minute struggle, he was finally standing. “I’m coming, Mikey”, he tossed out there for a ninth time.

He passed before the mirror and looked at his body, with its folds and mounds and lumps. What happened?

—

“Remember, he has a boosters appointment at 2 with DeHaak, And you will want to ask her about that rash.”

“Yes, babe.”

“Has it come back, or has he been okay the last day?”

“He’s been good since you left, but I’ve been checking.”

“Good. Poor peach. My little man.”

“He’s a sport, babe.”

“Roger.”

“Yes, Anna Margot Meadows Beecher Stowe?”

“I’m sorry about your back.”

“It happens. I’ve got the little guy to carry me around the house and to whip us up some meals. He smart and strong like his mother. But those dogs. Those dogs are useless.”

“Roger!”

“Well, they are. You know that. How were the Backstreet Boys?”

“You and your Backstreet Boys.”

“Didn’t you ditch the Meet-and Greet and get over to Planet Hollywood?”

“Ha.”

“Did they ask for me? Do they need a sixth yet?”

“Your back!”

“I can get in shape real quick. I am doing butt clenches now.”

“Roger! You are impossible!” She giggles.

He is grateful he makes her giggle.

“Well, I am. You have to start with your core.”

She continues to giggle softly.

“You are probably right. They don’t need a cripple. But I can add harmonies still.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Me and the useless dogs, from a bench in the background, chiming in. It would be beautiful.”

“Oh, the young ladies would swoon!”

“They love a good canine crooning.”

“What is Mikey doing?”

“Oh- that kid? I think he’s trying to flush dirty clothes down the toilet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah- sadly, they are all yours, babe! It’s horrendous!”

“Roger!”

“They start out so innocently. I never knew he had it in him!”

“At least he’s trying to do some laundry!”

“That had to come from your side of the family. The dereliction! The duty!”

“Oh, my little man. And we made him.”

“That’s right- you and this Grammy-award winning artist.”

“No, Roger- I had him with you!”

“I guess I should have said Grampy-award winning artist, babe.”

A bird flutters outside before the broad window in the dining room, chasing a bug. The sky is half blue and half gray.

“He is asleep here in his baby jail. He is such a good little boy.”

A lazing dog lifts it head by the crib, as if to affirm his words.

“He is, darling.”

Roger’s back quivers. The bird darts away after a bug. The dog rests its head.

“Well, I am off to the afternoon sessions. Kiss my little man for me, love.”

“Will do. When he wakes up, I am gonna have him drive me to the hospital.”

“Tell him to use his signals. Other people may not, like his father, but he’s not gonna be like that.”

“Zing. I will make sure he drives conscientiously. And we will drop these useless animals off at your sister’s on the way. As a present.”

“Roger.”

“Love you, babe.”

“I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“Tell A.J. and the boys I love them too.”

“I will.”

“Butt clenches.”

“My crazy love. Clench on.”