Free It's. Nice. Outside. by Jim Kokoris

Friday.”
    â€œFriday? Unbelievable. Friday? God damn her! Well, listen, I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ll drive faster and longer. I’ll be there in a couple of days.”
    â€œTry to call her.”
    â€œMindy?”
    â€œKaren. The one getting married, John. Karen.”
    â€œI’ll call her now.”
    â€œDon’t call her now. She’s sleeping. She took a pill.”
    â€œA pill? Why is she taking pills?”
    â€œCall her later. I have to go.”
    â€œWait!”
    She was gone.
    *   *   *
    Throughout his life, Ethan had gone through some terrible phases during which he demonstrated uncontrollable, compulsive behavior. Tics, the doctors called them. This was another term we didn’t take to. Tics implied something minor, harmless: a twitching of the eye, a slight shaking of the head.
    Ethan’s tics were nothing like that, and we had endured them all: his Yelping Phase in which he yelled at the top of his lungs unexpectedly in public; his Licking Phase where he tounged anyone and everything in which he came into contact; Question Mode, which featured him repeatedly asking, dozens of times in the same day, the exact same three or four questions in the exact same order: “What Time Is It? Do Now? Where Eat? Where Sit? What Time Is It? Do Now? Where Eat? Where Sit? What Time…” His Hand-in-the-Mouth Phase was arguably his worst. It involved him sticking his hand down his throat until he gagged and sometimes threw up; his Fingernail-Picking Phase was fairly benign, since a lot of people fooled with their nails; and finally Ethan had his Squatting Phase, which had him kneeling down in public and feeling the ground with his hands. (This started during the summer when hot sidewalks intrigued him.) Mindy, addicted to old TV shows, referred to this last act as “pulling a Tonto,” in honor of the Lone Ranger’s sidekick, who frequently felt the earth to determine if horses were approaching. “Dad, he’s pulling a Tonto again,” she would yell from the driveway. “Hey, Ethan, is Iron Horse coming?”
    Over time, the tics, save for the fingernail pickings and occasional licking, all passed, though they could temporarily flair up for a few days here and there.
    Unfortunately, while we were walking down the hall to breakfast in the hotel, Tonto reared his head.
    â€œCome on, Ethan, get up, let’s go. Come on. Up!” I placed my hands under his shoulders and gently pulled him to a standing position. He was squatting on the ground.
    We walked a few more feet, then down he went again, both hands flat on the carpet, his face pensive as a doctor’s while listening to a stethoscope. I knelt next to him.
    â€œEthan, the ground isn’t hot. Come on, let’s eat. Come on. It’s nice inside.”
    A man in a dark suit, swinging a briefcase, turned the corner and walked toward us. He paused when he got close, and since he was a normal man in the middle of a normal morning, he asked a normal question.
    â€œLose something?”
    Ethan and I were now both on all fours. “Nope,” I replied.
    â€œOh.” The man stepped close to the wall and passed.
    When he was gone, I tried once again to pull Ethan to his feet. “Okay, let’s go, buddy. Up. Now.”
    We took a few more steps, then once again he sank.
    â€œPlease, Ethan!”
    We essentially crawled to the coffee shop, where the smell of food, bacon in particular, seemed to overpower his compulsion. When we approached the hostess, he finally stood and allowed her to lead us to a table by a window.
    â€œThank. You!” he said cheerfully when she left. Then he handed me a menu, said, “It’s. Nice. Outside,” very conversationally, and politely reached for his water.
    I ignored him. Karen, Mary, Tonto. The day was off to a bad start. I checked my phone, scanned the restaurant for our waitress.
    â€œIt’s.