JESUS! IT MUST BE 11 O'CLOCK. I've got an 8:30 class tomorrow, Goddamit! If it's anyone but Cari, I'm gonna be pissed.
I open the door. By God, it's Cari. Holy shit.
She's got sweats and a t-shirt on, but she still looks amazing.
Those blue eyes ... My God ...
“Hey, Dave . I'm heading out with some of the sisters. We're gonna stop at McDonald's on the way back. You want anything?”
“Um, sure.” I hand her five bucks. “Could you get me a value meal with a Big Mac and six-piece McNuggets, hon?” When she's sweet like that, the “hon” thing just comes out. Luckily, she ignores it and smiles.
She smiles. “Sure. I'll be back in a bit... Hey, I didn't wake you up, did I?”
“Um ... No ... No. It's just been a long day's all.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
I smile. “Oh, no. I'm fine. We'll talk when you get back. Thanks, though.”
“Okay, Dave. I'll be back in a little bit.” She pauses. “Take a nap'r something while I'm gone. You look really beat.”
She leaves, and I close the door. Hopefully I can get some sleep now.
I roll half-way back to my bed, and there's another knock.
Must be Cari double-checking on me. I must really look like shit.
It wasn't Cari.
Two girls. They look vaguely familiar, but I can't place them. It's not surprising. Most places, if you're handicapped, you're a minor celebrity. The chair really sticks out. And Ramapo's a little podunk college. Out of 2,000 students, there may be 20 of us. Maybe.
“Hi, Dave. Do you remember us? I'm Sheila and this is Amy. We met you a few days ago? Could we come in?” Amy, the non-blonde one, carries a Bible.
Okay, so there's two girls at my door, it's 11:30 and change, and they want to come in. And I'm gonna say no....why?
“Sure. C'mon in.”
Both girls have their hair up in schrunchie-type things. The one who doesn't have the Bible (Sheila) is wearing a cross. (Not a crucifix, mind you, a cross.) They look nice enough. The kinda kids you wouldn't mind your sons dating, if you had any.
“We were thinking about you tonight. We decided to come over.” Sheila.
I smile cordially. “Oh, okay. Cool. Thanks.”
Why on Earth were two girls thinking about me at 11 at night? I mean one girl, okay, if it's the right girl, but two?
“The Lord put it upon us to come pray with you for healing.”
Yeah. It figures. If you're up there: Nice one, God. Thanks!
“Um, the what, now?”
“The Lord. Have you found Jesus?”
“He lost'r something?”
Predictably, she ignores my half-assed witticism.
“We came here because the Lord put it on our hearts that you need to be healed. And to be healed, you need to be saved.”
“Oh. Yeah. That. I'm actually okay with the whole handicapped thing. I mean, I've had twenty years to get used to it, y'know?”
Also by Brian Hartman
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The Weakly Herald (Issue #6):
by Victor Schwartzman
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