It is a magnificently beautiful late September Sunday morning and I'm amazed that I'm actually driving out of the city and into the country. I really need to have a day out of the routine of city life. I am along to accompany two friends of mine in their selfless volunteer work at an orphanage up in Putnam County, which is north of New York City. I shouldn't be calling it an orphanage - which is an archaic and politically incorrect term. I should call it a home or agency or institute for orphans or underprivileged children. Whatever.

So here I am going to this place not having the slightest clue what I would be doing or even why I am going. I'm desperately trying to finish a new play I'm writing; it is scheduled to go into rehearsal in January. I haven't a clue how it's going to end.

I have written four previous plays in my short career. Two are unproduced, one was presented at my college when I am an undergraduate and my last one was produced at a seventy-three seat theater off-off-Broadway during the previous theater season. The success of this last production (which was eventually moved to a 199 seat off-Broadway theater – WOW!) was the catalyst for this producer to sign me to a contract after reading a draft of my latest opus.

I bring my laptop computer along, figuring that I'd find make myself scarce, find a nice quiet place to work and get at least two more pages of dialogue finished.

Let me tell a little more about myself. I'm twenty-four, come from a very large family (I am the third child of five children). I grew up near Cleveland (where most of my family still lives), did my undergraduate work at a small mid-western college and I’m gay. This last fact I've know since I was about twelve. My family is totally accepting of my sexual orientation and we have always been very close. My dad is a renowned cardiologist and my mom is a homemaker and very active in charity work in the Cleveland area. I support myself in New York City – I get no assistance from my folks. That is the way I want it, although it took a lot of convincing to get them to agree to this arrangement. We are a very loving and very close family. I currently have no significant other in my life – not even a glimmer of one.

Anyway, after we get to the place, I find a nice shady spot and start working. There are plenty of little kids running around and some very nicely dressed yuppie types. I work for about an hour, then close up the laptop and begin to walk around a bit. There is a picnic lunch and barbecue being served so I wander over to get some food. I sit down at an empty picnic table and start to eat. The food is quite good and I am totally absorbed in eating, trying to figure our what my characters will be doing next and reading the Sunday newspaper. I don't see or hear a young child approach me.

"Hey, mister," he says in a very pleasant high-pitched child voice. "Could you get me and my friends some ice cream?" I nod but continue reading. "Mister, mister," he repeats. I look up into the face of an absolute angel. He is very blonde, has great big blue eyes, pale creamy skin and a sweet, totally winning smile. "Could you get some ice cream for my friends and me?"

"Of course," I answer. "Where’re your friends?"

"They are over at that table over there." He turns to face a table where I figure four or five kids are sitting. I notice that two of the kids are in wheelchairs.

I continue to look over at the table. "How many ice creams will I need to get?" I ask my new friend.

"Five," he says, "but if you want then it's six." I look at his radiant face again. I notice that he is wearing a plain white tee shirt, faded denim cut-offs and untied sneakers without socks. What takes my breath away is that the sleeves of his tee shirt are completely empty and just hang straight down. He has no arms!

"So could you get us the ice cream?" he asks again.

"Yeah, sure," I stammer, totally smitten by the image in front of me. I walk over to the table and see that all the kids sitting there are handicapped. The two in the wheelchairs (both boys) have heavy leg braces on, another is blind (or so I assume from the dark glasses she is wearing) and the fourth is a girl who is missing all the fingers on both hands.

"These are my friends," Mikey says. "Guys, this is…gee, mister, I don't know your name."

"I'm Brian, everyone. And you are…?"

"I'm Michael Demerest, but everyone call me Mikey." He goes around the table introducing all the kids but I immediately forget all the names. My mind is completely elsewhere.

"Okay, what does everybody want?" They all speak at once so I quiet them down and finally get the order. My new blonde friend accompanies me and we get six ice creams and head back to the bench. I look down at him and he gives me a great big boyish grin. I have totally lost my heart to this kid.

When we get back to the bench I distribute the ice creams and everyone eats by him or herself (even the girl missing her fingers) except for Mikey. I alternately feed him and then feed myself. He smiles at me every time a put a spoonful of chocolate ice cream in his mouth. His beauty overwhelms me and I find myself staring into those phenomenal eyes.

When they all finish, they collectively thank me and I gather up their cups and plastic spoons and walk to the trash can. Mikey follows me; he seems to be a real friendly kid and I cannot get over the strong attraction I have for him. I suddenly feel this incredibly strong paternal instinct, genetically encoded on my DNA, long buried and never experienced, begin to awaken. I have this unexpected and overwhelming desire to protect and help and shield Mikey from all harm and problems. I am suddenly prepared to take on the world on his behalf.

"That was the crips table," he says matter-of-factly as we walk back to the bench where I had previously sat.

"Crips?" I respond.

"Yes. I'm sure you noticed that we are all crippled."

"Uh…yes, I noticed that."

"They put us together to keep us out of the way but to let us feel that we are part of things." He paused a bit and looked at his shoulders. "I don’t have any arms."

"Yes, I noticed that, too." I want to change the subject quickly. "How old are you Mikey?"

"Eight." He looks up at me. "How old are you?" he asks.

I'm a little taken aback by the question, but answer honestly. "I'm twenty-four."

"Are you married?"

"No I'm not." I notice that his face darkens a bit - he seems sad at my answer. He looks down at the ground and shuffles his feet a bit.

"Why’d you come here today?"

"Well, my friends are visiting a child here and helping with the picnic lunch."

"Oh," he says a bit sadly.

We speak for about an hour. I tell him about my work - writing plays and the various other jobs I take to keep body and soul together. I tell him about my family - parents, brothers, sister, nieces, nephews and pets. He prattles on about his life at Palmer-Montrose (or "PM" as the kids call it) which consists mainly of going to school, reading and watching TV. He says he participates in some sports where his lack of arms is not a drawback, like soccer, and he loves to swim.

He in very inquisitive about my laptop and what I am doing with it. I tell him I'm working on a new play and I hope to finish it soon. I show him how the PC works and he is fascinated and catches on very quickly. At four o'clock a bell sounds and all the kids begin heading for the main residence building. I pick Mikey up and he wraps his legs around my waist. I hug him and he gives me a small, wet kiss on the cheek.

"I'm glad you came today," he says softly.

"I'm glad I came too."

"Will you come back again?"

"I'll try."

"Try very hard, Brian. I like you."

"I like you too, Mikey and I'll try very hard."

He gives me another kiss and I kiss him back on his cheek. I put him down and he runs to the building. When he is about halfway there, he stops, turns around and gives me a great big smile. I watch as he disappears from sight.

A well-dressed, attractive middle aged woman breaks my reverie. She extends her hand and introduces herself as Emily Patterson, the director of the institution. "I notice you and Mikey together much of the afternoon," she says in a very pleasant, soft voice.

"Yes," I say meekly. "He seems to be a very wonderful kid."

"He is." She pauses and looks me right in the eyes. "Of course, almost nobody wants him. Who wants to adopt a boy, no matter how cute or intelligent he is, who is as severely handicapped as Mikey. Who wants to take the responsibility to raise a kid who doesn't have any arms? Who wants to take on the challenge of even living with a crippled child…if one does not have to."

"Isn't that the truth," I say to no one in particular. "How did he lose them?" I ask her.

"Well, we don't know the full…"

I interrupt her when I see my friends signaling me. "I hate to cut you short, " I say, "but my friends are trying to get my attention. I think they're ready to leave now."

"It was a great pleasure meeting you," she says. We shake hands again and I'm off.

"Good-bye," I call back over my shoulder.

I cannot get this kid out of my mind all week. He haunts my every waking thought. I even have a dream about him. This is nonsense, I tell myself. How can you be obsessed over a terribly handicapped, armless eight-year-old kid? But it doesn't work. It's interfering with my work; I haven't written one page since last Sunday - the day I met him. On Thursday I call my friends to find out if they are going up to the institute this weekend and they tell me they're not. What am I doing to do? I am desperate to see this kid again.

Friday morning, I'm sitting at my desk stretched out on a chair looking up at the ceiling, thinking about basically nothing. The phone rings and I decide to let the answering machine get it.

"Hello, Mr. Douglas. This is Emily Patterson from the Palmer-Montrose Institute. I want to speak to you. If you could, please…

"Yes, yes, Ms. Patterson. This is Brian Douglas!" I practically shout as I quickly grab the phone.

"Good morning, Mr. Douglas. I'm glad I was able to reach you."

"How did you get my number?" I stammer.

"I called you friends the Reynolds and after I told them my problem; they were kind enough to give me your number."

"Your problem? What problem? Mikey's okay isn't he?" I ask with the feeling of panic in the pit of my stomach.

"Oh, yes, he's fine. It's just that I want to ask you if you will be visiting this coming weekend?"

"Why?"

"Well, as you should know, Mikey is one of our…uh…most difficult…eh…cases. I hate to call him a case; it's so clinical and cold. But things are very difficult for him. All he feels most of the time is plenty of rejection and frustration."

"I understand."

"Maybe you don't," she said a bit imperiously. "Mikey has been here for three years. He had lost his arms before he came to Palmer-Montrose. He was not born that way. During those three years we have placed him twice, and both times it did not work out."

"What was the reason…for the rejection, I mean?"

"Well, to tell the truth, Mikey did the rejecting. He found he could not live with the people who had chosen him. He felt they were being overly careful with him and too solicitous and not letting him be himself. They were hanging over his every move, until he became nervous and could not function."

"I can easily understand why some people do that. Yesterday, I found I had to restrain myself from mothering him."

"I can believe that, but what most people don't realize is that Mikey is very independent. He has taught himself to do most things with his toes."

"With his toes?"

"Absolutely; he is very self-reliant."

"You mean like feeding himself and all with his toes?"

"Oh, yes. He feeds himself beautifully."

"Then why did he made me feed him the ice cream yesterday?"

She laughed. "Because he likes you. My god, some people can be very thick!"

He likes me? He likes me? He likes me! My emotions started getting the better of me and I began to tear up and my nose started running.

"Mr. Douglas, this has been a very difficult week for Mikey. He has spoken about nothing but you. You are part of every conversation he's had this week."

"I mean, how can that be? I was only with him for a little more than an hour on Sunday."

"That may very well be so, but what I am telling you is also the truth. The matron of his area of the residence, Mrs. Weldon, has told me that you are all he talks about." I start to tear up and choke up again as she is telling me this. "It has been this way all week long and…"

"Ms. Patterson, I have to interrupt you. I cannot speak about this any more, especially over the phone. I'm finding it too difficult to continue this conversation. I'm very sorry."

She obviously can hear the problems I'm having. "Let me just ask you this, Mr. Douglas. Are you planning to visit Palmer-Montrose this Sunday."

I pause. "No. I will not be there."

"May I ask why?"

I hesitate a few seconds. "Because I don't have any transportation."

She is the one to hesitate now. "Okay, I understand. Is it possible for you to take a train from Grand Central on Sunday morning and for me to met you at the station?"

I did not expect this response. "I think that's a possibility," I say very noncommittally .

"Excellent. Let’s see now…there’s an 8:50 train that gets here at 10:07. I'll meet you at the station. Is that satisfactory with you?"

"Yeah. That sounds okay. I’ll see you then."

The trip is uneventful and Ms. Patterson meets me at the station. Unfortunately it’s a rainy, windy day, one of those days where you want to spend the whole day in bed with the covers pull up tightly around you up to your neck.

"Can we talk privately Ms. Patterson?" I asked.

"Yes we can, but let’s wait until we are in my office." She pauses and lookes at me. "How’s the writing coming?"

"How do you know about my writing?"

"Mikey told me! Come on, Mr. Douglas, everything about you that you told Mikey I already know – the whole staff does for that matter. He is totally smitten with you!"

"As I am with him," I thought to myself.

When we go into her office, I take a cup of tea to get the chill off and we talk. "Mr. Douglas, I really think…"

"Please call me Brian."

"If you call me Emily." We both nod. "Brian, I don’t want to face a major problem with Mikey. As I said in the car, he is totally smitten with you. You are all he talks about. The problem I face is disappointing him in his enthusiasm."

"Emily, let me take this very slowly so you and I can understand each other. I met Mikey one week ago, and I am being honest with you as I am sure you are being with me." I paused, took a sip of my tea and looked her straight in the eyes. "I have been unable to get him out of mind. He is in my thoughts for every minute of the day. I am totally enamored by him. I am definitely and irreparably devoted with him." I pause again and she was ready to say something. I hold up my hand to stop her. I take another sip of tea. "I’m sure I love him, if that’s possible after knowing someone for only one hour. And I think it is." I pause again and tears come to my eyes and start rolling down my cheek. "I am positive I love him. I didn’t do a line of writing all week until you and I spoke to you on Friday and I knew I would be coming up here today. I know my writer’s block was because of him." I take a deep breath. "However, I am not free to act upon any feelings I may have for Mikey, and I think it’s better for all concerned if…I…never…see…him…again."

Emily sits there, slightly hunched over, with her mouth opened and stares at me. I reach for my handkerchief and blow my nose. She looks down and shuffles some papers on her desk. "May I ask why Brian?"

It takes me a few minutes to compose myself. "I’m not in the a position to take on the responsibility of raising a child, especially one in need of so much attention and care as Mikey. I’m not in that position either financially or emotionally. I have a play that I need to complete for rehearsals beginning the first week in January and that’s going to take all of my time and energy. I support myself with various jobs to bring in the needed bucks so I can live. I keep very irregular hours. I live in a dump of a place – no place for a child." I just sit there and stare at her after I pronounce my litany of reasons why I cannot continue to see my lovely Mikey.

"Anything else?" she asks quietly.

"As a matter of fact…yes. There is one more thing." I blow my nose again, take a sip of tea and inhale deeply. "I’m gay."

"I see. Thank you for being so honest with me."

"Outside of my family, you’re the only person I have ever told." And I start blubbering uncontrollably. I’m blowing my nose and wiping my eyes – I am an absolute mess! She lets me sit and continue sobbing until I have myself under reasonable control again.

She begins to speak slowly and softly. "Brian. Let me begin by saying that your sexual orientation will have absolutely…" I know what she's going to say. My mind is reeling. I will never see my beautiful Mikey again. Oh, god! What am I going to do? What am I going to do? How did I let myself get into this situation? "…nothing to do in our decision concerning the adoption of our children." I think I'm going to faint! Did she really say it was possible? I am staggering! I cannot believe I heard what I heard! "We have permitted adoption by gay people before. So get that part out of your mind. As for finances, we have generous subsidies for the people who accept our children. When the child is…"

"Excuse me, Emily. Did you really say that…thing about gay adoptive parents?"

She laughs. "Yes I did. And it's true. Your life is your life as far as we are concerned. The most important aspect of our screening process is the stability of the home and not the sex life of the prospective adoptive parents or parent."

I slump back into the chair and let lose a big sigh. I shake my head. She is smiling at me. "I don't know what to say. I am really stunned, Emily."

"Happily stunned, I hope."

"Absolutely!

"Very well then. This is what we are going to do. You will visit with Mikey today and again next Sunday and then we will talk again. Does that seem fair?"

"Oh, yes! Very fair."

She makes a short telephone call. She then pulls a form out of her desk. "Would you please fill this out to the best of your knowledge." I fill out the form; it's the usual crap - name, address, etc.

"When we spoke last weekend you were about to tell me about Mikey's…uh…amputations."

"Yes. Well we do not know exactly how he lost his arms. We do know that a bilateral disarticulation at the shoulders was performed on him. The best guess of the doctors is that it happened when he was about three years old; judging from some scarring that he has on his chest they think it was quite probable that he experienced a serious electrical shock of some kind. When he was about five he was dumped on our doorstep. I mean he was literally dumped here; he was in a crate and it was thrown from a car at our front door on a miserable, rainy, windy night. We have never been able to find out anything about him except what he has able to tell us."

"God! What a sad case."

She takes the sheet from me and stands up. She asks me to follow her and I do.

We go to a small room off of the day room of the residence hall and there's Mikey sitting in a chair. He doesn't see me yet but my heart is doing back flips when I see him. He is watching the TV, something about astronauts and he is very absorbed in it. He is dressed in a red, short sleeve tee shirt and new-looking jeans. He is sockless and his sneakers are untied. The little sleeves of his tee shirt hang pathetically straight down. I walk up and stand in front of him. "Hi, Mikey," I say softly.

He looks up and lets out a shriek. "Oh, Brian! Oh, Brain!" he repeats over and over. He starts to cry. I pick him up and he wraps his legs around my waist, crying on my shoulder. I hold him close and rub his back soothingly as I also begin to cry. I look around and notice that we are alone in the room. I kiss his cheek and he kisses mine. I am holding him so tightly I'm afraid I'll hurt him.

"Oh, Brain, you came back!" he blubbers as his gorgeous little nose begins to run. I take out my handkerchief and wipe his nose.

"Of course I came back. I would never miss a chance to be with you."

"I'm so happy you’re here today!"

"I can tell." I sit down on a small couch holding Mikey across my lap. I continue to rock him, all the while continuing to stroke his back. I hold his head against my chest and pet his incredibly soft, shiny blonde hair. I can feel his left shoulder pressing against my abdomen. We both continue to cry. I place one hand on his right shoulder and slowly feel where his arm once was. He looks up at me and gives a beautiful, shy smile. Again my heart does a flip - this kid is so loving and so beautiful it absolutely takes my breath away. "I love you, Mikey," I whisper softly in his cute little ear.

He begins a new round of blubbering. Between sobs and tears he say, "I love you too, so much, Brian. I really do. I'm so happy now."

I don't know how long we sait there together, but it wasn't long enough for me.