"How are you feeling?" His English accent took Damon by surprise.

Startled, Damon looked around the room to find the voice.  A fuzzy figure appeared in front of him.  As his vision cleared he was surprised to see before him the same young man who had saved his life just a few hours earlier.

"Hey, it's you," Damon said to him as his face lit up.

"It is me," he replied.

The young man was exactly as he had remembered him.  This is the man who saved my life from those thugs?   He was shocked at the thought. His thin scrawny body and boyish appearance wouldn't be able to instil fear into an underage boy scout. The young man standing before him had short dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was handsome, someone the chicks would like, Damon surmised, probably due to that innocent look blended with a quality that was both strong and tough. It was a quality Damon couldn't put his finger on, but it sure gave this guy some sort of magnetic charisma. He wore a plain dark blue golf shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the neck. His blue jeans were plain as well, definitely not a designer brand. Nor were his white sneakers.

"When did you get here?" Damon asked him.

"Just now.  I wanted to be certain you were doing well," answered the young man.

"Well then you can lay your worries to rest, the doc says I'm doing surprisingly well." Damon took a deep breath. He felt himself getting stronger every moment. "Hey, what happened out there?  I remember being hit by a hard metal object, and then I remember seeing you, that's all. Besides, all anyone seems to want to talk about is how you saved my life."

The door swung open as the doctor came back into the room.  He walked directly to Damon.  "I almost forgot, I was going to check under your bandage before you woke up," he said to Damon.  "Let's have a look-see."

The doctor removed the bandage from Damon's forehead.

"There's no blood," the doctor shook his head in utter disbelief, "only a very slight bruise.  It's unbelievable, almost as if nothing ever happened to you."

"That's always good to hear.  Like you said before, I am a very lucky guy," replied Damon as he smiled at the doctor.  "Hey, Doc, I'd like you to meet the man who saved my life."

Damon looked around the room for the young man, but to his disappointment, he was no longer there.  Damon began to wonder if the young man he had just seen was a figment of his imagination.
"He must have just stepped out," said the doctor.  "Anyway, you're looking pretty good, considering."

Damon checked the clock on the wall opposite his bed. It was 7:03 pm.
"Then I suppose that means I can go home now?  I want to catch the ball game and this hospital TV won't get the damn station."

The doctor grabbed the remote control from Damon and started changing channels.  "Sure it will."
The doctor changed the channel to the Yankees game.

"Doc, I was talking about the Red Sox game."

"You're one of those," whispered the doctor, making an attempt at humour.  "You don't suppose that had anything to do with--"

"Oh, you are a funny one," replied Damon.  "So what's it gonna be?"

The doctor checked Damon's chart.  "It seems that we've done all our tests and scans.  You don't have any signs of a concussion, so if you're up to it, you can go home, although I would highly suggest you stay off your feet for 48 hours and try to avoid any stressful situations."

Damon was delighted to hear the good news.  As soon as the doctor finished removing the IV from his arm and disconnecting him from the heart monitor, Damon jumped out of bed and began to get dressed. He started to put on his black slacks, scuffed at the knees from the fall in the alley. As much as he despised people who were neat, organized and paid attention to every detail, he was one of them.

The doctor continued giving his instructions.  "You'll just have to go downstairs, fill out a few release forms and make an appointment to come back and see me in a week."

"Sure thing, Doc.  You are the man."

"This is one for the country club," the doctor said to Damon while shaking his head in disbelief.  "With patients like you, doctors will have much more time for golf."

The doctor left the room. Damon put on his Dean Williams, mauve striped dress shirt. The tie he folded neatly and placed in his pocket. Then he went to the small table next to the bed and put on his watch. He breathed deeply, his heart smiling that this relic was still his. Why would anyone want to steal this? He recalled the times he spent staring at the off-white dial and oversized black numbers as the second hand endlessly moved in one-second intervals. It was hypnotic with each passing tick bringing him further and further into the best moments of his youth. He turned around to find his shoes. The young man was back again.  

"There you are," said a startled Damon.  "I thought you left the room."

"Here I am," responded the young man.  "And I did."

"I'm glad you stuck around.  By the way man, what should I call you?  I mean you did save my butt out there so I should know your name."

"My name is Karik." The name was unusual, one Damon hadn't heard of before. He tried to place it, maybe Slavic, but the accent didn't fit. He needed to know who this guy was that had just risked his life for him but he didn't want Karik to feel like he was being interrogated. The answers will come, he concluded.

"Well, Karik, it sure the hell is nice to meet you.  My name's Damon." Damon turned off the television.  "Hey, if you're not in a hurry to get anywhere let me buy you a drink.  I know a great sports bar not far from here that might just show the Sox game."

"That would be fine, although I should let you know that I am not much of a baseball fan," said Karik.

"Don't worry, man, I'll convert you," Damon replied.

Damon bent down to put on his shoes, those designer Prada loafers with the slick leather soles that nearly cost him his watch. "You guys are going straight to the garbage when I get home," he said angrily. "From now on I'm wearing sneakers to work."