Once when we were younger men, Patroclus was wounded during training and I bandaged his leg and did such a poor job that it wouldn't stay up. The linens were slipping down his leg every other step, but he didn't want anyone else to affix them, even though anyone could have done a better job. I am no healer, never have I been.
Maybe it was because he knew I would have to fix them every few minutes, that he insisted it be me. He might have been testing to see how many times I would do it. He would say, "Achilles, it's fallen again" and each time I would try to fix them better but again they would fall. And he laughed. He could have done it himself, even, and done better. Maybe he thought he was torturing me and at the time maybe I thought that he was.
What I wouldn't give to fix that bandage again.
Forgive me for rambling. I am in my cups tonight.
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