Then things got serious, but funny, too.

The next day, Ron and I had a secretive early morning conversation.

Apparently he had noticed that Sam and I were having a hard time with Don's behavior. He admitted that he was, too. It's like he's totally regressed. Ron wondered if the difference was linked to Don's living at home -- maybe he's being babied too much? -- but then finally confessed that he is more and more convinced that Don has experienced some brain damage. Its not that he's stupid, he just seems to be simpler. It's hard to explain.

Ron said that he had tried to talk about it with his mother, but she had gotten very angry with him and dismissed his suggestion.

I reminded Ron that he had been feeling that Don was different ever since Don had come out of the coma. I think that an identical twin would have a better idea than a mother about that sort of thing.

It was a terrible conversation to be having. And yet, it was such a relief. I had been feeling strange and removed from Don in our last few visits. This dreadful explanation made so much sense. In the beginning, Don was just so sick and physically fucked up that his personality wasn't what I was focusing on. Now that he's recovered, the reality is harder to ignore. I still don't entirely know what to make of our conclusions.

Soon after Don woke up, though, things got funny. He has a great sense of humor about his body's new quirks. It looks like some of the nerve damage to his internal organs is permanent. The main ones affected are his bladder and digestive tract. Aside from the oft-mentioned "poo poo pill", there's little to be done for the back door back-up. But the bladder situation is more of a problem.

Apparently, his bladder isn't fully emptying when he urinates. This is bad because it can lead to pressure on the kidneys, which is potentially very dangerous. So now, Don is taking yet another pill which removes the natural urge to eliminate. Instead, he is expected to catherize himself every few hours. He was shuffling to the bathroom to do the deed when I offhandedly asked him if I could watch him do it. I mean, I know there are sub-cultures of gay men that use catheters in sex play, but I had always heard that it was intensely, intensely painful. In true Don form, he was happy to oblige.

I scrambled into the bathroom with him while got himself situated over the toilet. There was a length of clear tubing and a perscription jar of a transparent liquid resting on the back of the toilet. He reached over, picked up the catheter in one hand and opened the jar in the other. He dunked the tube into the liquid and swished it around. I asked him if this was a disinfectant. "Nope," he said, "It's KY Jelly."

Then quick as can be, he pulled his dick out of his pj bottoms and feeling around for the hole, he slipped the catheter right into his urethra. And then he threaded it up, up, up! I couldn't believe how far in this thing went. The concept of the catheter is pretty simple -- it's got a little locking action on one end, to hold back the flow until everything is situated as it should be. Then he just released it and the friendly yellow pee came streaming out. Crazy!

It seemed perfectly painless. I can't understand how this can be when I've always heard that catheterization is so horrible. Don said that it had been uncomfortable the first few times, but like he said, the first time you have anal sex kind of hurts, too. You get used to it.

Later on that day we took Don to Newport Beach to get some excercise and sunshine. He does nothing but sit around and eat all day and has gotten pretty chubby in the last few months. He used to be borderline anorexic, so it's strange to look at this new hefty version of Don. Especially since Ron is still thin. Newport Beach is a trip. Southern Cali beach culture -- bizarre. Don and I took a long walk down the pier. He's holding on to his cane but instead of using it for balance he's swinging it around wildly. He used me as his support, and he is very very heavy. We walked very slowly and only collided with a few people.

There was this little stand on the pier that was selling those stupid lawn flags that people buy. You know the ones with holiday themes -- one for each month? It's April and so all the pastel Easter flags were flapping in the wind. There was a sign in front of the booth that said "Easter Flags" but some clever person had erased the 'L' in Flag. What a hoot (sarcasm) -- the sign said "Easter Fags." People were literally stopping to take pictures of the sign. They were laughing so hard they had to slow down and take deep breaths. Obviously we're not in San Francisco anymore - Jesus.

During the walk, Don was unstoppable in his litany of complaints against Ron. I kept trying to reason with him, but pretty much just let him vent. It's so rare that he ever talks directly about what he's experiencing. At one point, he asked me if he could come to live with me and Sam when he was indepently mobile again. Yikes! I quickly quashed that idea. And felt bad about it, too.

When we got back to the house, the parents had left to play canasta for the rest of the evening. Both of the boys said they were going to their rooms to jerk off and take a nap. Sam and I were having some sort of fight and so we went to the Bonus Room to try to patch things up. We fight a lot. We have a very volatile relationship.

The Bonus Room is called the Bonus Room because of all the different functions it serves. It has an extensive library of Jewish texts in Hebrew and Czech, a home theater system, Don's drum set and a great indoor gym set up as well. I suddenly had the urge to run on the treadmill.

I got dressed in my approximation of running clothes and got the thing turned on. It was pretty loud. Sam turned on the TV to drown out the sound. I asked her to look for some music station. Instead she found Ferris Bueller's Day Off and turned up the volume. Then she got on the computer and started researching for information about girls' motocross classes. I was happily running and gasping at the amazing '80s fashions of my youth when suddenly the door burst open.

Without saying a word, Don hobbled in, sat himself down at the drum set and started banging away. Sam and I looked at each other in disbelief. Then she snickered at me, went over to her suitcase and found her ear plugs. She stuck them in and then blissfully went back to the computer. I was alone with the unholy din -- the high whine of the treadmill, the stomping of my own feet, the warbling and distinctive dialogue of Ferris Bueller, and the excruciating drumming replete with high hat and cymbals crashing. I stayed on the treadmill for another 25 minutes until I absolutely couldn't stand it anymore. Then I snuck into the shower and stayed in there until I heard the drumming stop.

I heard Don asking for some praise, but Sam didn't answer because she still had the earplugs in.

I let him sit out there in confusion for a few minutes before I went back into the room.