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Author's Note :: As far as I know, this tale is totally original. I had been sitting in front of the computer, waiting for more of Marked Target to come to me with no success. Then, I had a dream. A pretty crazy dream, at that. So, this is the product of that dream. There is more to come from this, too. Not a whole lot is explained here, but it should pick up soon. My readers know I have a tendency to drag little morsels of information on a string and lead you on a ride. Thanks to EnemyofFun and Drakira for beta reading for me. The insight was great, guys. Pic credit? I'm not really sure. I'll just say "Wabash College" for now.

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Chapter One:

Do I really have to elaborate how screwed up my life is? Is it not enough for whatever force controls the universe that my parents had already forced me into making life decisions? Now, I have to endure this life-altering change? I had a good life, you know. I liked my life just as it was, thank you very much.

Instead of whining, maybe I should start from the beginning.

My name is Brandon Lange. Well, at least it was. I’ll get into that, later. Growing up in a suburban neighborhood just outside of Eugene, Oregon, had its advantages and disadvantages. The second largest city in Oregon–I don’t care what the people of Salem think!–had a really good vibe to it. Nike started there, so it can’t be all bad. As with most college towns, it had some pretty liberal and artistic people around. There wasn’t really that much pull to be involved in sports. I messed around with a few when I was a kid, but it never really went anywhere. So, my six-foot-even stature was rarely used for the typical activities of basketball or football. In fact, I couldn’t stand either of them, really. My parents were okay with it. Their main focus was that my sisters and I get a decent education. Yea, I’m the only guy in my family besides my dad. That used to be the cool part about our relationship.

Some women may think that I grew up in an ideal situation. I’m the second-born child in the family among five kids. The other four? All girls. I was surrounded by femininity in all its forms with my sisters and my mom around. My big sister, Jessica, was the eldest of the bunch. She’s almost a full two years older than me and going to college in Berkeley, California. She’s a pre-law student. She was the super geek in high school, getting heavily involved in her drama and computer classes. My kid sister, Sara, was the jock of our family and about a year younger than me. You name a sport and she was probably on the team somewhere between kindergarten and graduation. In high school, it was mostly softball and soccer. She wanted to join the wrestling team, but the misogynists wouldn’t let her. The girl can sing, though. Her mezzo-soprano voice would give Christina Aguilera a run for her money. She started at Syracuse University, this year. My other kid sister, Britney, is the girliest of them all. Her name definitely fits her whole worship of shopping, the color pink, and her passion for fashion design. She’s still in high school, but is looking at NYU for college. Finally, there’s my baby sister, Ashley, who just started her sophomore year. She’s the musician of the bunch. Starting off with the flute, she’s learned to play every saxophone invented, the guitar, bass guitar, and the drums. Her only traditionally girlish pursuit is her love of dance. She’s not big on musical theatre, but she’s a huge drama geek and sings in the audition-only advanced choir at Willamette High School. When she plays riffs on her Stratocaster and belts out a few melodies with her lovely soprano voice, I’m reminded of that lead singer from Flyleaf, Lacey Sturm.

My parents are a pretty eccentric couple. My father is none other than Oregon State Senator Robert “Bob” Lange, Jr. I get my height, he’s six-one, and hair color, chocolate brown, from him. Of course, like most men in their mid-forties, he’s got those two streaks of gray hair on his temples that make him look distinguished. He looks great in a double-breasted suit and loves people. He’s got a laid back attitude, but he’s not afraid of a fight. Being a Democrat, he has to deal with a lot of it in the state congress. He co-sponsored the medical marijuana bill the moment it hit his desk back in the day, if that says anything about his ideology. My mom, Rebecca Lange, is very similar. Though, her auburn hair signals most people about her fiery attitude. She’s pretty sassy and has a passion for life that I really admire. I get my deep blue eyes from her and probably my cunning wit, too. She’s not short, but average height at five-foot-six. My sisters all fall within one to three inches of her height. Two are taller, one is the same height, and Ashley is three inches shorter but still growing. My mom really thought ahead when she was in school. She’s an Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner, ARNP, and second-in-command down at the local Planned Parenthood clinic. She really gets into her work and has participated in several protests across the country whenever there’s a new legislation going in at the state level to limit women’s reproductive rights. She can get crazy about it, sometimes, but that’s what I really love about her.

Personally, I don’t really think I’m all that special. I can talk up my family until the cows come home, but talking about myself isn’t my strong point. In the depths of my soul, there is a deep-seated hatred of the job interview question: “So, tell us about yourself.” I suck at it.

What’s there to tell, really? My life was kind of average while growing up. Like I said before, I played a few sports, but I never really caught on to the need for masculine bravado and that sense of competition. Being raised around a bunch of girls, some would say that’s probably par for the course. I dabbled in everything during high school. I took some computer classes, got on stage a few times for acting or singing, dove into academic courses, and learned two foreign languages. Sara used to tell me that I had a voice like Josh Groban when I actually sang, but I could never see it. If you can believe it, you’re looking at someone who can speak the colorful “Language of Love”, French, one minute and then switch to the guttural musings of German the next. It really is hilarious to watch people’s reactions to that. The sad fact of being so eclectic through high school is that I don’t really know what I want to do with my life. Sure, I’m now a sophomore at Wabash College in Indiana, majoring in Political Science and minoring in Performance Arts. The college was my dad’s idea, so was my major. The good thing I found when I got here was that the campus has a radio station and the Performing Arts students pretty much run the place.

Now, there’s the bad part. Wabash is one of less than a handful of remaining all-male colleges in the United States. While I was in high school, I had a 4.0 GPA until I hit my junior year. My grades dropped a little. I still graduated with a 3.85 and became our class Salutatorian, but that wasn’t enough for my parents. My dad was under the impression that it was caused by the girlfriend I had back then. Sure, she took a lot of my attention, but my parents refused to accept my explanation of why the grades suffered. I was actually afraid to graduate because, unlike my sisters, I had no plan for college. I still don’t know what I want to do. The radio station helps and it’s a lot of fun, but I’m still on the fence about that. Chalking up to my lax in academic performance, my dad laid down the law: I go to an all-male college or my parents don’t pay for college at all. Given college tuition rates in this day and age, not even joining the military and getting access to the G.I. Bill pays for post-secondary education, anymore. So, here I am attending college without the distraction of a single female my own age on campus. Sure, there are women on the faculty, but they’re all older than my mother. That’s just gross.

Okay, so it isn’t really as terrible as I make it out to be, but there’s a reason I resent the decision to send me here. I’ll get into that, later.

Freshman year was no big thing. My parents had to set me up in an apartment off campus because they were doing some heavy renovations to the freshman dorms all year. The building hadn’t really been touched since the 1940’s, so they may have been getting pressure from the local authorities to bring the archaic structure up to code. Plus, I think all the insulation was asbestos, so it was an environmental hazard on top of everything else. I never knew how precious peace and quiet could actually be until I moved into that apartment. With all my sisters, there really wasn’t much sense of personal space. There was a rather strong matriarchal system in place. I’m not saying it was bad, but my sisters often felt entitled to just barge into my room whenever they pleased. They did it among themselves, so why should I be any different just because I was the only boy child? Now, I had a one-bedroom apartment all to myself. It was pretty nice.

The downside was that I didn’t really participate in that much of campus life. For that first year, my focus was on my studies. It was a preferable situation because I was getting all my required courses out of the way in that first year. The math, English, history, and basic science courses are always the most boring. I’ll spare you the details on that. As for extracurricular activities, I wasn’t involved in any of note. Aside from being a paid janitor at the radio station and the required intramural sports activities, there wasn’t much that occupied my time away from my apartment. Though, the job did bring some spending money with it. So, I bought myself a really good TV and an Xbox. Spending most of my time at home, anyway, it seemed like the best way to go. Besides, sending a barrage of fake bullets downfield in a fake three-dimensional space to collide with three-dimensional representations of human beings with animated blood spatter was somehow satisfying and relaxing. As a stress reliever, Call of Duty, Battlefield, and Halo have their uses.

As probably anticipated, that first year flew by like I was standing still and the whole world was on “fast forward”. The course work was challenging, but nothing I couldn’t handle. A week after the Spring Term let out and the commencement ceremony took place for the graduates, my parents arrived to pack up the apartment. In the fall, I’d have to check into the sophomore dorms, anyway. Still, I had a present for them: my transcripts from my first year with a 4.0 GPA. That made them forget their objections to me owning a gaming console and “obscenely violent video games”.

We arrived back in Eugene just in time to see Sara graduate high school. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with having to wear a dress. She had the egalitarian feminist views similar to my mother. Jessica had made it back for the ceremony, too. It was good to reconnect with my family. We even took a month-long cruise that my parents had set up for us to do as a family. The summer passed far too quickly for my liking. Before I knew it, August had arrived and it was time to register for courses before settling into the dorms. This year, my parents had bought me one of those Honda Civic hybrids as reward for the previous year’s achievement and the fact I would need one to transport my things. They would be focusing on Sara’s move to Syracuse, so we were a caravan as far as Crawfordsville, Indiana, but they continued on toward New York.

So, I was really on my own, now. Thankfully, not a whole lot of people started showing up this early, so there were plenty of parking spaces near the dorms. Grabbing some paperwork and my bag with bedding, I climbed out of the car and headed into my new home: Martindale Hall. The thing looked colonial with its brick and white-painted windows. Well, about as colonial as a building from Georgia would look. After getting inside and talking to the Resident Advisor, it was off to my room assignment. The college had one-man, two-man, and three-man rooms. Mine was just a two-man, so I’d only have the one roommate. I remember thinking to myself, ‘He’d better be cool or I’ll turn around and just drive home.’ Well, I wouldn’t find out today. I was the first one in the dorm. Picking the bed next to the window, I set about making the bed before I fell onto it and drifted into dreamland. The trip from Oregon had been an exhausting one.

For the next week, I set about decorating the room. Well, at least my side of it. There really wasn’t much in the way of decoration, though. There were really just a few photographs of my family, my TV, and my Xbox to set up. After that, I mostly mulled around campus, stopped to see if anyone had gotten to the radio station (WNDY) or not, and gallivanted around Albion in Fable III. Role-playing games fill so much more time than first-person shooters, so it was worth the investment and I forgot I was alone for a while. Man, I was bored.

It’s always annoying when you get interrupted in the middle of an action sequence in a video game. At the moment, I was hacking on a small band of Balverines, the werewolves of Albion, when the door swung open. It caused me to jump and my reflexes hit the pause button pretty quickly. Through the door strode a strapping young man about my age, maybe a little older. He was built like a football player. There was sweat in his black hair from carrying his big, green seabag and giant, black, wooden footlocker. Glancing over, his light blue eyes met mine and we both carried confusion. The guy reminded me of Guardsman Donnic from Dragon Age II, but with black hair.

“Uh… hey… sorry about that. I didn’t think anyone would be here, yet. I’m usually the first one in.” He explained between breaths. The seabag landed and bounced on the bed while the footlocker was released, falling to the floor with a light “thud”. He strode over and held out his hand. “I’m Kyle. Kyle McHenry.”

Keeping the controller in one hand, I reached out and shook his hand. “Brandon Lange. Don’t worry about the noise or barging in. Ma maison est votre maison, as they say.”

He blinked. “What the heck did you just say?”

I shrugged. “Mi casa es su casa, except I said it in French.”

“So, why not just say it like that?”

“I don’t speak Spanish. I speak French.”

He nodded slowly, not completely committed to his words. “Okay, that’s cool.” He glanced over at the screen. “Fable, huh? Not my favorite, but it’s pretty cool.”

“It’s all right. I was just looking for something to pass the time, really. I’ve been here for about a week.” I shrugged. “There’s Modern Warfare, Modern Warfare 2, Black Ops, Halo 3, and Halo: Reach in my pack, though. I’ve been meaning to add Gears of War to the collection, but can’t do anything without having a paycheck from the radio station. No one, other than me, has shown up, yet.”

His turn to shrug. “Well, the FPS games are all right, I guess. I’m a Madden fan, myself.” He paused and his eyebrow raised. “Wait, you work at WNDY? How come I haven’t heard you?”

“I’m not a DJ. I’m just the janitor. Being a freshman, I was the low guy on the totem pole.”

“Bum deal, but that makes sense. So, you’re a sophomore?”

“Yea, I finally get to take some fun courses.”

“That’s a blessing and a half. I’m a junior, but I’ve got a long way to go. I’m pre-med.”

My head nodded in acknowledgment. He’d be in school for another few years if he was going to be a doctor. “I hear you on that. I’m Poli-Sci, though.”

He chuckled. “Am I looking at the future President of the United States?”

I shook my head. “Nah. My dad kinda strong-armed me into it. He’s a state senator, back home.”

“Oh, the old ‘family legacy’ schtick? Sucks to be you.”

My eyes rolled. “Tell me about it. I’m the only male child in my family.”

“Really? That had to be weird, huh?” After my shrug, he moved back toward his bed. “Hey, I’m gonna go ahead and start putting this stuff away. You cool with that?”

“Yea, it’s fine. This is my third or fourth playthrough in the game, so I won’t miss any dialogue if you make some noise. It’s no big.”

“Great. I’ll get this shit squared away, take my nasty self into the shower, and then I’ll probably crash. It’s been a long day.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “Not much different from my first day.”

We had a good laugh and I was back to slaying Balverines in the next minute. That’s pretty much how our relationship went. He was an all right guy, even if he was a little heavy into the sports. He played football in high school, but couldn’t “lower” himself to playing for a team called the “Little Giants”. Yes, that was really our team–the Wabash Little Giants. It was pretty lame. Thus, he just engaged in the intramural sports like most students at our school, including me. It was a requirement, after all.

Over the next few days, the school started coming to life. Finally, the radio station opened when the new Dean arrived to supervise the thing. The Program Manager still hadn’t shown up, so I just took it upon myself to take the place out of the moth balls. Some dust had collected over the summer and there had been a few garbage bins left unemptied, but there wasn’t really all that much to do. Two days before the start of classes, the new Program Manager finally showed up. He was an actor and his heart just wasn’t in the job, but the Dean had recruited him because he’d had a successful show for the past couple years. Apparently, there was a spot open for a new DJ. The Dean and PM asked if I wanted it and I told them I’d think about it. I hadn’t considered being one. Though, as long as there was at least a meager paycheck, I wouldn’t complain too much.

Academically, I can’t really say anything bad about Wabash. The classes were a tiny, more intimate setting where the professors talk to you, rather than at you. The classes are more about discussion, rather than lecture and it was amazing how much you can learn that way. The problem is that the professors know how to make things a bit more challenging when they know what you’re capable of. It made things so you started really getting to know your professors, as well as the other students. I wouldn’t call them “friends”, per say, but they might be cool to hang out with, once in a while. The one gripe I had was the same one all sophomores seem to have: the Cultures & Traditions course. There’s something really jarring about studying every major philosopher from the beginning of time to the present day.

What can I say? For the first while that year, I did a lot of studying, taking tests, going to class, eating the crappy food at the Sparks Student Center, and playing games in my dorm. You don’t really want to hear about all that, do you?

My life on campus started to pick up a little. This year, I was mildly determined to get involved in the campus social scene. Of course, that was fueled by accepting the Dean and Program Manager’s offer to become the new DJ at WNDY. To encourage the idea that the faculty wanted us to be learning as much outside the classroom as we were inside it, the Dean proposed the idea that my show would be a political talk program. Most of the other programs were just playing music and talking for a few minutes. Given that I was a political science major, it seemed a perfect fit in the Dean’s eyes. In no time at all, many more students than normal were noticing me on campus. For the sake of fair debate, I’d often invite members of the political student groups on campus–the College Democrats, the College Republicans, the Progressive Students Movement, and the Wabash Conservative Union. It made for an interesting show and I got to know many of them more personally. Being a small school, we’re pretty tight-knit anyway, but I was making friends that I never would have imagined in high school and got invited to a few parties.

Things really started declining sometime in November. I remember, specifically, that it was shortly after Monon Bell. That’s the time when our football team engages in a week-long celebration of the game against our long-time rivals, DePauw University. It’s the local state school that was founded about the time our school was. The difference: it’s a co-ed school. Every year, people make this big deal out of the rivalry and it’s about the only time you would ever see half the guys at school drunk on campus. Most of the time, we’re a pretty chill group of guys. Throw a century-old rivalry football game aimed at keeping or reclaiming “ownership” of a 300-pound locomotive bell into the mix and people lose their minds. Apparently, it’s one of the most talked about rivalries in all of college football. Add to that an invitation to have women on campus and some of the guys get downright crazy; although, they are definitely in the minority.

Yes, there is a dance that usually comes with the Monon Bell game. As always, the DePauw students were cordially invited to the event. We found out that the majority of the students at DePauw were girls, which was an interesting factoid to learn. So, many of them might be single. Think what you like about an all-male college, but we were gentlemen to the end. You might believe that we’re a bunch of beer-guzzling, knuckle-dragging Neanderthals, but you’d be wrong. Also, the guys at school really clean up well. I went to the dance in a suit my father had gotten for me, accompanied by Kyle since neither of us had dates at the time. I met this really pretty girl from DePauw, Amanda, and got her number. Of course, a lot of the guys hazed me about finally meeting a girl. All in all, it was a pretty nice night. Several of us got pretty drunk, though, including me.

The next morning, I was introduced to the wonderful world of hangovers. Thankfully, it was the weekend because I don’t think I’d be going to class. I had the splitting headache, the light sensitivity, and the general lack of muscle coordination. Never again.

The problem really started a day or two later. I still had the overall muscle fatigue, but you can add a bit of a fever to that. Generally, I felt like death warmed over. There was no joy when I called to cancel two shows at the radio station because I could barely get out of bed to use the bathroom. Kyle was worried enough that he grabbed one of the nurses from the campus medical center and brought him to the dorm to check me over. Strangely, there wasn’t really anything wrong, besides maybe I caught a cold. After two days, I was back in classes, but I still felt sluggish for about two weeks. Strangely enough, that feverish feeling never went away.

Around the middle of December is when the weird things started happening. As the days progressed, I noticed that I wasn’t having to shave as much. My family comes from Germany and we’re usually some fairly stout, hairy folk. Thankfully, I got my mother’s genes in that department. I wasn’t really stout or all that hairy. I had the typical furry legs, arms, armpits, and nether regions. My face hadn’t reached the “Five o’clock Shadow” stage, but I still had to shave every other day to remain presentable. By mid-December, I was only shaving once a week. It hadn’t been that way since I was fifteen. Top that off with the fact that the hair seemed to disappear off my arms and really thinned out on my legs. Despite feeling under the weather, I was eating like I’d never eaten before. Usually, two or three meals a day does it for me. However, I was snacking all the time and eating five or six meals a day. It was dipping pretty heavily into my cash reserves, too. To some, that would probably be some pretty obvious red flags. Honestly, they struck me as weird but they weren’t concerning enough to go talk to a doctor about. Besides, I had finals to worry about.

On the Thursday just before Christmas Recess, things changed. Having just finished the semester final for Culture & Traditions, my brain wanted to do something that didn’t require too much work. So, I picked up the Xbox controller and assumed the role of Ezio Auditore da Firenze to liberate Rome from the Borgia and their Templar cronies. I was deep into my own little world when Kyle came into the room.

“Assassin’s Creed, again?” He grumbled.

Not averting my attention from the television screen, I nodded. “Yep. I had the C-and-T final, this morning.”

“I figured that. You always play this game when you have that class.” Something stopped him and made the air in the room a little heavy. “Hey, Brandon… are you okay?”

That was a weird question. Pausing the game, I turned to give him a puzzled look. “Besides the obvious things we’ve talked about before, I’m fine. Why?”

He furrowed his brow and kinda wrinkled his nose. “I dunno. Something seems a little off. There’s snow on the ground outside, but even I don’t get that pale in winter. Not only that, but you’re stuffing your face like one of the linebackers, yet you almost look like you’re loosing weight. Have you noticed that you’re kinda sweating?”

On impulse, I brought my hand to my forehead and wiped some salty wetness off of it. That was new. “Whoa, that’s weird. I haven’t done anything to make me sweat, dude. I’ve been here ever since I got back from finishing that final.”

“It’s not just that, though. When we first met, you kinda reminded me of Adam Levine. Y’know, that singer guy from The Voice? Now, you kinda remind me of my little brother, which is a little freakish because he’s only fourteen.”

“That’s a little harsh, man.”

He shrugged. “What do you want? I’m being honest.” His eyes scanned every inch of me. “Maybe we should take you down to the clinic, or something.”

“I’m not sick, dude. I feel fine. The sweating is a little weird and I’m creeped out that you compared me to your little brother, but there’s nothing telling me that I’m sick.”

“Well, how about the fact that you have pretty much had some kind of fever thing going on since Monon Bell? Not only that, but when’s the last time you shaved, bud? I’d classify that under ‘weird shit you should talk to your doctor about’.”

I let out a grumble. “I can’t really afford to pay to see the doctor every time I get the sniffles, man. Sure, my dad’s a state senator, but the insurance doesn’t cover out of state care.”

“Hey, didn’t you tell me that shit was fixed under that ‘Obamacare’ thing?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t call it ‘Obamacare’. The name of the legislation is the ‘Affordable Care Act of 2009’. Only the idiots in the Tea Party call it that.”

“Whatever! I’m not gonna sit here and argue political rhetoric with you. We need to get you in to see the doc, end of story.”

“You’re not gonna chill-lax on this, are you?”

He intimidatingly crossed his arms over his chest. “Not on your life. I’d be in denial if I didn’t say I was worried about you. I’m not a doctor, yet, but something just doesn’t seem right, here. Put your shoes on. Let’s go.”

End of discussion. That’s usually how it went when Kyle got his way. That guy knew how to put his foot down and not budge. I had taken my shoes off in the hopes of not moving from the dorm, but he’d convinced me to put them back on. Winter weather in Crawfordsville was about the same as it was in Eugene. So, I had my thermal underwear underneath sweats. Grabbing my coat, we headed out of the dorm room, then headed out of the building. It was only about a quarter of a mile from Martindale Hall across campus to the Allen Athletics & Recreation Center where the Student Health Center was located, but it felt like ten miles. By the time we arrived, my whole body felt like jelly. I’d had similar episodes like this in the past. This time was probably the worst of them, though.

Once we got into the Student Health Center, Kyle got me to sit down in the waiting room and he brought all the forms to me. Thanking him, I set to work filling out the forms. Being a small campus with a small student body does have certain perks. For instance, the wait to see somebody wasn’t very long at all. I didn’t even finish filling out the forms before I was called back into the exam room. Kyle was earning his “good friend” stripes by helping me to my feet. We moved toward the door with the waiting nurse.

The first red flags went up before I even got into the examination room. As per typical procedure, the nurse stood me on the scales, weighing me and measuring my height at the same time. When I saw the height measurement stop at seventy inches and the scale stop at one hundred forty-eight pounds, my eyes bulged out of my face.

“That can’t be right.” I breathed.

“The scales are regularly calibrated, so they are correct. However, you have a point, there.” The nurse nodded. “Let’s get you in the exam room and I’ll grab my tablet to pull up your records.”

“You’re not slouching because you’re a little weak, are you?” Kyle wondered.

“Nope, standing as straight as possible.”

The nurse took my arm. “Settle down, boys. We’ll get this sorted out. For now, you’re in Exam Room 3. Dr. Lensherr will be with you in a minute.”

She led me into the exam room and had me sit on the table. I was pretty much numb all over. How could I have shrunk two inches and lost twenty pounds in a single month? The implications were starting to really freak me out. It was only adding to the anxiety with each moment that passed and the doctor hadn’t entered the room, yet. A breath of relief escaped when he finally opened the door. Thankfully, this was the same doctor who had examined me back in November. He offered a paternal smile.

“Hello, there, Brandon. Feeling a bit under the weather, are we?” He glanced over at Kyle and gave him a nod.

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification, Dr. Lensherr.” I grumbled.

He glanced at the screen of the computer pad in his hands. “Well, I’ll admit that it is somewhat strange for a healthy young man to go from six-feet tall and one hundred sixty eight pounds, then become five-feet-ten and approaching one-fifty. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though. First, I’ll record your vitals and then you can tell me about what symptoms you’re suffering from.”

I relented to his insistence. While he went about checking my blood pressure, heart rate, breathing, and temperature, my nerves were still on edge. My mind was pleading with him to stop dragging things out and just tell me if I was going to die or not.

“Well, that’s odd.” He stated, glancing at the thermometer after removing it from my mouth. “Everything seems fine, overall. Your blood pressure and heart rate suggest a certain level of stress, which is to be expected. Though, you seem to be running a rather high temperature. How long has this been going on?”

I shrugged. “Ever since a nurse from here checked me out last time.”

“You’ve been running a high temperature for a month? Why haven’t you come in before now?”

“I can answer that.” Kyle scoffed. “He’s afraid his insurance won’t cover it. I almost had to drag him in here, kicking and screaming.”

The doctor shook his head. “Lack of payment should never be a deterrent to seeking medical attention when you need it.” He turned back to me. “Well, we’re going to have to start a few tests to find out why you are experiencing hyperthermia. We won’t have any results before the start of Christmas Recess, however. They should be in by the time you return from the break. I would suggest seeing your PCP back home while you’re away. They can call our offices to see if the results are in. There will be a few students staying through the holiday and we’ll be open.”

My eyes rolled in a hyperbolic fashion. My primary care provider back in Oregon was none other than my very own mother. I don’t know how she got that to work out without some kind of ethics violation.

“Right, just keep in touch with my mom.” I groaned.

“Why would I defer medical correspondence to your mother?”

“Two words, Doc: Nurse Practitioner.”

He nodded rather quickly. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry that I forgot that detail.” He took a quick breath. “Right. Shall we get started?”

Over the next hour or so, I had gone through the wringer. I was poked, prodded, scrutinized, and violated. The only detail I’ll really divulge was that they took a few vials of blood and scraped a cotton swap inside my mouth. I couldn’t tell you what they were looking for, though. When that was all over with, Dr. Lensherr recommended that I not drive back to Oregon like I had planned to. Instead, he recommended flying. It was his professional opinion that I might be a little too distracted with my medical issues to pay attention to the road and what I was doing on it. He probably had a point.

When all the poking and prodding was over, Kyle led me back to our dorm. There was an appreciation bouncing between the two of us. I may not have been very thrilled to become a pincushion for a phlebotomist’s needle, but I was glad to know that he cared. That day, he had earned the title of “friend”, which I’ve never thrown around lightly.

As soon as we were back, I glanced over at my phone with trepidation. Kyle probably got the hint if he saw me standing there and staring at it for half a second. There was some hesitation to call my parents and let them know the bad news. After all, plane tickets are expensive. It’s not wise to get them at the last possible second. I let out a heavy sigh.

I felt a strong hand pat my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, dude. Just pick it up, give them a call, and let them know you’re going through some things. It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

The guy was pretty convincing when he was trying to be reassuring. Deep down, there was a hope that he never lost that ability. Too many doctors don’t have it, these days.

“Thanks, Kyle. Um…” I began.

He cut me off. “Say no more, Brandon. I’ll go take a shower and run down to get a bite to eat while you call your parents.”

I gave him a nod. “Thanks, again.”

He winked. “No prob. It’s embarrassing enough talking to your parents, sometimes. It’s worse if there’s an audience. I’ll get out of your hair.”

With that, he grabbed his gym duffel bag and exited stage left. My attention returned to the cell phone sitting on my bed. It was one of those really cool smartphones that everybody and their brother has, these days. Still, it had never looked so foreboding as it did that moment. Reluctantly, I picked it up and plopped down onto the bed. In moments, the touch screen menus were navigated, my mom’s cell phone number was selected, and I was listening to it ringing. Anxiety built up with each ring. She picked up after just two.

“Well, hello there, sweetheart. What’s the occasion?” My mother’s voice mused on the other end.

“Hey, mom.” My reply wasn’t as spirited as I’d like. I loved my mom, but I wasn’t feeling my best.

“Are you all right, sweetie? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine, I guess.”

“You guess? Is everything going okay? Your finals working out like you planned?”

“No, no… that stuff’s fine. There’s just two more and then I’m done for the semester. That’s not what I called you about. I’ve got some bad news.” I let out a sigh. It would be best to just let it all out. “I went to see Dr. Lensherr this morning and he doesn’t think I should drive back for Christmas vacation.”

“What do you mean Dr. Lensherr doesn’t think you should drive? Brandon, what’s going on?” It seemed like she was shuffling on the other end. Likely, she had stood up and was now pacing. She does that when she’s really worried about something. This time, I had caused that. I felt worse.

Another weighted sigh escaped. “It’s really not that big a deal, Mom. He said there’s some kind of hyperthermia going on and my body has felt like jelly, recently. He sent some stuff off to the lab for testing that should be back by the time the spring semester starts up, but he can’t really say anything at this point. I don’t really feel too sick, though. Kyle nudged me into going into the office. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have gone.”

“I’m glad he did, honey. You’ve always maintained an average temperature. Having it elevated would be cause for concern. It could be a hundred different things, but we’ll have to see what the lab results say.” That’s my mom. She’ll be worried, but her medical training has really taught her to avert her panic until more can be learned. She let out a quick breath. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see what I can do to get you a plane ticket out of Indianapolis on Saturday afternoon. You get some rest and take it easy. We’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” Both ends of the line went dead simultaneously.

The next couple of days took an eternity to get over with. Perception is the damnedest thing. When you really want something to happen, it takes an eternity to happen. The last three finals that I needed to take for the semester were over and done with by the weekend. Friday night, my luggage was packed to take back to Oregon. By Saturday morning, my body felt as though I might need a forklift just to get off the bed. So, maybe Dr. Lensherr’s insistence that I not drive had been right on the money? Kyle wasn’t leaving for home in Wisconsin until Monday, so he offered his services for the hour-long drive to the airport.

After dressing in simple sweatpants, hooded sweatshirt, plain T-shirt, and basic shoes, Kyle and I piled into his car. Once my luggage was tossed into the back seat, we left Wabash and Crawfordsville behind. We switched on NPR and talked about a wide range of subjects. You know, the usual stuff. When we got into Indianapolis, we stopped off at an IHOP for breakfast. We were both practically starving. As per my usual lately, I took advantage of the “all you can eat” pancakes and had five plates of them. This appetite thing was actually starting to worry me a little.

In no time at all, we said our “good-bye” at the terminal entrance. I thanked him for the ride and he took off. Since the whole 9/11 thing, security at the airport has really gotten asinine. Maybe I was only ten when it happened, but my family has taken a lot of plane trips. It never used to be this crazy. Having to show up for a flight two hours ahead of time, there was a lot of dead air between checking in with security and actually boarding the friggin’ plane. I used some of the time to call my parents and let them know that I was waiting for the plane and when they should expect me. The rest of the time I killed by playing Angry Birds. It really helped vent some frustration.

Finally, my flight started boarding and all the passengers shuffled through the line. Thankfully, I did the smart thing and only packed a carry-on. Others were not so fortunate. Everybody piled into the sardine can called “an airplane” and shuffled to find their seat. Thankfully, my mom landed me a window seat. Regrettably, some fat and smelly guy got the aisle seat. He wanted to chat me up about college and I just wanted a barf bag. Yea, this vacation was starting off swell. In just under two and a half hours, I’d be back in Eugene. It couldn’t come fast enough.