Sail along

Chapter 15

When Mike woke up again, he was in his own bed. It all felt like a dream, he couldn't remember half of it. He could hear their voices. He recognized them and knew that they were familiar but it was all still so distant. He sighed and groaned as he finally brought himself to his feet. Everything was sore and felt weak. But he pushed on and made his way down the stairs.

Micky was cooking breakfast. It caught him off guard a little, usually Micky wouldn't be up until past noon.

"Morning, Mike!" He called out. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," he muttered, sitting down and rubbing his eyes awake. "What time is it?"

"About 1pm. I was gonna wake you up but I thought you needed the rest."

"Thanks for that," he said as Micky presented him with a coffee mug. Mike could see Micky mentally falter, debating something, before finally sitting down beside him.

"Hey, Mike?" He asked shakily.

"Yeah?" Mike groaned, slightly worried.

"I...uh...invited some friends over later, ones I'd like you to meet, if that's okay."

"Sure," he said with a sigh.

"Okay," Micky nodded, relieved. "I think you'll like them. I met them...the other night, their names are Davy and Peter." Peter and Davy had spent the night with one of Peter's friends. They all talked and agreed that they needed to act like it was still 1965 and they had never met Mike.

"Micky?" Mike asked as he grabbed the sugar shaker and added sugar into his coffee.

"What's up?" Micky asked, hoping his nervousness didn't show.

"What on earth did we do last night?" Mike asked.

"What do you mean?" Micky asked.

"Are you sore and achy as well? Or am I coming down with the flu?" Mike asked.

"I think you just need to rest a little," Micky shrugged. "We were running around looking for work all night, my legs are pretty sore but not badly. Are you just sore or actually in pain?"

"My head hurts." Mike said "and I feel kinda I don't know...out of sorts I guess."

Micky frowned and nodded, standing up to grab something.

"Well, these are gonna help," Micky said, handing him an orange pill bottle. Mike frowned and examined it, he had never seen it before and it looked practically nothing like the aspirin they always had. When he turned it over, he saw it had "ROBERT NESMITH, OCTOBER 19, 1969" printed on the label.

"What're these?"

"Pain pills." Micky said in a off hand voice.

"Yeah, well I don't remember getting a prescription for pain pills, especially not in the future." Mike muttered, handing it back to Micky. "I'm not taking 'em."

"Oh come on Mike," Micky said "They're just a bit stronger then aspirin."

"I don't care." Mike said "I'm not taking them." Micky sighed.

"Okay, fine. But don't complain if you're in any more pain. Now do you want anything else for it?"

"For what?" Mike asked.

"Your headache." Micky said.

"Oh, no." Mike said.

"What?" Micky asked worriedly, crouching down beside him. "What is it?"

"I don't need anything for my headache." Mike said.

"Oh, Okay." Micky said.

Mike closed his eyes, sinking deeper into his chair.

"Are you alright, Mike?" Micky asked, putting his hand on Mike's arm.

"Hmm. Do you ever get the feeling that you're forgetting something?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, all the time why?" Micky questioned.

"I have that feeling." Mike said.

"That you're forgetting something?" Micky said.

"Yeah, no...I don't know, forget it." Mike said, taking another sip of his coffee "Why is the pill bottle dated 1969?"

Micky frowned but shrugged, not wanting to say it.

"Might've just been a misprint. You never know."

"I'm serious, Micky!" Mike snapped back, causing Micky to jump slightly. "I'm sorry," he sighed.

"No, it's okay," Micky smiled. "You're okay. And that's weird that the bottle says 69 but I don't know."

He hated lying to Mike but forced himself to push his morals aside for the moment. Mike narrowed his eyes at his friend but nodded.

"I guess I should write a letter if I want to get it in the post on Monday."

"A letter?" Micky said, confused.

"Yeah Mick, the bi-weekley letter I write to my Ma and siblings so Ma doesn't worry."

Oh no, Micky thought to himself.

"Mike...um...I really don't know if that's a good idea this time," he said carefully.

"Why not. She needs to hear from me. That was the deal. I told her I'd write to her every other week and she writes back." Mike said. "I promised her. And I don't break promises.

"Yeah, I know but..." Micky sighed and pulled a chair beside him. "Mike...I don't know how to tell you this, but, um...she's gone, Mike. Your mother, she's..."

Mike frowned and slowly shook his head. It couldn't be true. It couldn't possibly...but the look in Micky's eyes said it all.

"I'm so sorry..." he whispered, tearing up.

"You're lying." Mike whispered "You're lying. She can't be. She just wrote to me last week." Micky made to put his arms around Mike but Mike pushed him away and got up walking to the patio door and outside. Micky hurried over and made to run after him, but by the time he got down the steps Mike was gone.

He let out a sigh and sat down on the bottom stair, feeling guilty. Technically, she should still be alive in Mike's mind. She didn't pass away until late 1966 and they were supposed to pretend for Mike. He hung his head low and wiped his face before going back into the pad, leaving the back door creaked open.

Micky decided it would be best to give Mike some time alone. He had called Peter and Davy earlier and said it wasn't the greatest night to come over. He was thankful that they didn't ask any questions as to why and just offered to try again another night.