Fathermouth: “You look upset, honey.”
Guttermouth: “It’s a torn ACL. I have to have replacement surgery.”
Fathermouth: “You have to?”
Guttermouth: “If I want to fight again. Or play sports or dance.”
Fathermouth: “You have to. You have too much life to live, still.”
Guttermouth: “They pull the whole thing out. You can’t fix it. They remove it and replace it with cadaver tissue.”
Fathermouth: “With what?”
Guttermouth: “From a dead guy. Or girl.”
Fathermouth: “Thank the gods for dead guys.”
Guttermouth: “And I have rehab for nine months, he says.”
Fathermouth: “It’s a lot of pain. Will you need help for a while?”
Guttermouth: “Probably not.”
Fathermouth: “Don’t worry about money.”
Guttermouth: “Don’t say that until I get the bill. It’s probably going to really suck.”
Fathermouth: “You fucking saved my life. I’ve got seniority.”
Guttermouth: “Thanks.”
Fathermouth: “Is that why you’re smoking?”
Guttermouth: “You want one? I pick it up whenever I get depressed.”
Fathermouth: “No. If you give me one, you might as well give me two packs. Or vicodin or whiskey.”
Guttermouth: “It’s never hard for me to quit. I’ll throw out whatever’s left over tomorrow. I do this maybe once or twice a year when something bad happens.”
Fathermouth: “I’d go out of my mind.”
Guttermouth: “Nah.”
Fathermouth: “Of mice and men.”
You must repair it. You must listen to your physical therapist. You must RICE it; Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. You must get on your feet asap.
And send me your pain pills for tips with pain management..............
Godspeed, my friend!
“May the road rise up to meet you!”