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‘I need to get to the hospital! He’s in bad shape! He’s going to need me. I’m sorry, Ms. Summers, but I’m leaving now,’ stated Gwen through her tears as she stood up and grabbed her books. ‘Tell the principal for us, will you Ms. Summers?’ requested Charlotte as she hurried toward the door with her friend. ‘We don’t have time to report to anyone and Gwen’s in no condition to drive. Her boyfriend’s back!’ As Charlotte drove them to the hospital, Gwen called home. ‘Mom! Jason and Brad found Steve! He’s alive, but in pretty bad shape. I’m on my way to the hospital right now. Tell Lisa and call Amber. I’m too worried to talk to people now. I’ll call when I know more.’ As Charlotte was approaching the hospital, Gwen was filling in Uncle Joe on the situation. Charlotte suddenly pointed to a helicopter landing in the parking lot. Several men were placing cones and directing any traffic away from the area. By the time Charlotte found a parking space, Steve was being lowered to a waiting. To tell the truth, I do remember that night but only up to the point where somebody mentioned tequila, after that my only lasting memory is my inability to crawl out of bed for the majority of the following day. Maybe she got to see the restrained, rhythm aware me: though I seriously doubt it. Nonetheless, I am required, am obliged, am obligated to honour the responsibilities of shared experience and invite her to join me, regardless of whether I would really prefer my own company. “Oh, do sit down!” It sounds churlish but it is the best I can manage and regardless of my tone she doesn’t require a second invitation. Barely have the words left my mouth than she has her rounded buttocks perched prettily atop the padded bench on the opposite side of the booth’s table. Slowly and regretfully I rotate my still tapping toes and gorgeously shod foot out of view and beneath the hideousness of the tabletop, fix an ‘interested’ look across my face and watch the incessant movement of her.
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