Pool_2

>> Trapped <<

A night of temples being rubbed, asleep in Mina's lap, did not dispel the feeling of imminence, "Here, have a real breakfast." Mina saw that inscrutable look which meant that he was elsewhere. Prodding would only agitate him and be counterproductive. When he was like this, Marcus seldom knew himself what it was that was trying to come through. When it comes, I'll know, she thought. "Marcus! Chew." He flushed, embarassed to be caught surgeon eating at home. "Sorry. Great salami omlet. Imported, huh?" He was groaning with delight savoring the aroma and the taste of real food as she refilled his coffee cup, smiled and casually asked, "So. What's with the fig?" "What fig?" He was looking from the table to the kitchen counter. Pointing at the little red amulet, "That. Where did you get that?" His face was all innocence and his eyes were big. "Fig? It's a fig? What's a fig? I thought it was a little cerebral palsy hand." Mina almost spilled the coffee giggling with, at first, her free hand covering her mouth and then, giving that up, to doubled over sit down lap slapping laughter. His face of comicality only protracted her state. Mina's reaction pulled his face from confused innocence into a twisted smile until he too was laughing. Between the waves, and sobbing ahhs she tossed out rhetoricals. How could he be so smart and yet so naive? It was a fact that many orthopedic surgeons wear cuff links which are miniature prosthetic joints. Some cardiologists have stethoscope shaped tie tacks. The idea that he thought that a fig was a jewlry charm for pediatric ortho-reconstructive surgeons was just so comical and even sweet. With his lower lip pushed out and his eyebrows folded