Rock
10/27/07, 10:10 AM
Note: Some of the formatting was altered/lost when pasting the story into the thread.
Late
A Short Story by Eric J. Caspary Jr.
It was 11:14AM. I’m going to be late, again, he thought to himself. As the
boy whipped into the parking lot, he scanned over the vehicles scattered throughout. He
didn’t find what he was looking for. The boy’s car skidded to a halt in a far-off corner of
the parking lot, and he stepped out of the car.
The boy closed the car door. Then he took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The crisp spring air tasted magnificent. He paused and savored the moment. He longed for something, something more than what he had. But alas, his dead-end job holding up the ladder for a painter afforded him few luxuries, and the light at the end of the tunnel was as dim as a blonde with implants. Yes, a blonde with implants. Oh, how the boy would like to have one of those. Suddenly, the boy snapped himself out of it and became indignant. No I wouldn’t, he contended. You’re better than that, he told himself. While his next-door neighbor, a blonde with implants, had tempted him on many an occasion with her frequent offerings of pie, the boy held steadfast in his belief that he would one day find the girl he was searching for and it would be meaningful. He had always thought her offer to be slightly peculiar, in that she baked more than anyone else he knew. Although the boy always felt bad, he graciously declined, being that he didn’t really like pie anyways, and all.
The boy walked briskly through a parking lot, his eyes passing over a number of vehicles littering it until he spotted a navy blue pickup, which was idling. He approached it, opened up the passenger side door, and stepped in.
“Hey Jim,” the boy said.
“Hey little brother,” the man in the driver’s seat responded. “Happy Birthday! How old are you? 26, 27?” Jim probed.
“I’m 19, Jim,” the boy retorted, slightly annoyed.
“No matter,” Jim replied. “You’re going to love what I got you! Get out for a second.”
Both Jim and the boy jumped down from the F-250. Jim walked around to the back of the truck to the tailgate, and the boy followed his lead. Jim stood waiting, looking at the boy intently as if he was expecting something. The boy walked over and peered into the bed of the pickup. A long rectangular object resided in the bed, wrapped in blue “Happy Birthday” paper.
“Open it,” Jim offered.
The boy quickly unwrapped the object, already having a pretty good idea of what it might be.
“Oh, wow, Jim. You bought me a new ladder. Thanks,” the boy articulated halfheartedly in a monotone voice.
“I knew you’d like it! It’s aluminum!” Jim exclaimed.
Like a giddy schoolgirl, Jim ran around to the front of the truck and jumped back in. The boy hesitated for a moment, and then returned to the passenger’s seat. Jim shifted the truck into drive, and the two started on their way to the job site.
The boy gazed out the passenger side window, observing the vehicles and pedestrians as they passed by. Whenever he was going anywhere, he liked to play a game where he’d examine each car and guess its make, model, and year without looking at any badging if at all possible. Late 90’s Eagle Summit. ‘90 Ford Taurus SHO. 2001-or-so Chrysler Town & Country. He prided himself on his car knowledge, but there came a point where particular models didn’t interest him enough or differentiate themselves enough from one another to necessitate his knowing them down to the exact year. It was no matter, though. He knew the ones that counted. 2002 BMW M3. ’99 Acura Integra. ’95 Chevy Cap…
“You hear me, Birthday Boy?”
His memory game was interrupted by Jim, who was asking him a question that he had only caught the tail end of.
“I’m sorry Jim, I was daydreaming. What was that?” the boy asked apologetically.
“No problem buddy. I was just asking you what you thought of Angela.”
Angela was one of their co-workers, and while she was kind of cute, she was a little “rough,” to put it kindly.
“Well, Jim, I think I’d have to say she’s a little rough around the edges,” the boy remarked.
You couldn’t blame her entirely, though. She was a product of her environment. She had worked almost entirely with men for the last ten years and had to develop a “tough outer skin” in order to handle the constant verbal abuse. The boy felt bad for her sometimes.
“Yeah, well, I think I’m going to ask her out,” Jim declared. “She asked me a question the other day, and then said goodbye to me before she went home. She doesn’t exactly hate me, you know what I mean?” he continued.
“You’re right, Jim. Basically, what she’s saying is that she wants to have sex with you as soon as possible. You’d better hurry, though. You never know how many other people she might extend this offer to in the next 24 hours.”
Jim never acknowledged the boy’s cynical remarks, however, as he had cranked up the radio and had started singing along boisterously to Kansas’s “Carry on Wayward Son.” The boy could do nothing but smirk, and resume gazing out the window. The beaten-up pickup rolled into the gravel parking lot of the job site, and the boy began removing his seat belt. As the truck rolled to a stop, the boy jumped down and grabbed his ladder out of the back of the pickup. The boy looked down and examined the ladder as he walked to the building they would be painting.
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Jim suggested, beaming.
The boy didn’t even know what to say. “She sure is, Jim. You really outdid yourself this time,” the boy replied.
As the workday began, the boy began thinking. Being that he didn’t have to do, or even move, much throughout the work day, he found himself doing lots of thinking while he was at work. He thought about how his job title ended up being “Ladder Holder-Upper for a Painter.” He thought about back when he had just started, when he was still young and “wet-behind-the-ears.” He thought about the good old days, when he and Jim would go to Dairy Queen after a hard day’s work, set up the ladder in the parking lot, and each sit on different rungs eating their ice cream. Those days were long gone now, though. His aspirations for going to college had been lost in a sea of debt accrued by his parents’ reckless spending. He had slowly been accumulating funds to put towards college, but it was slow going. Sometimes, he felt like he’d never have enough money. The harsh reality of the boy’s plight hit him like a freight train.
“What am I even doing here?” the boy implored Jim.
“You’re holding my ladder, birthday boy. Hold it steady now.” Jim responded.
“Of course,” the boy uttered weakly.
Monday turned to Tuesday, Tuesday turned to Thursday, and then the weekend finally rolled around. He didn’t know what he was going to be doing this weekend, if anything, but all he knew was that he was glad it was the weekend. He walked towards his ’93 Ford Taurus, which was nestled in the far corner of parking lot. “It’s time to ride,” he whispered with resolve. Once he got behind the wheel, he knew why he was alive. From the minute the engine first turned over, a wave of adrenaline shot through him like that he knew only the Taurus could provide. He revved it up to five grand, and a symphony only the heavens could compose greeted his ears. Nearby children and small animals scattered. He pulled out onto Chestnut Ave. and chirped second. The Taurus’s V6 screamed for more punishment as redline quickly approached. He punched third, and the Taurus lunged forward. The boy cruised down Overlook, checking his rear-view for any approaching vehicles. There were none, of course. He was rapidly approaching his street, Kildare Dr. He slowed enough to make the turn with relative ease, then accelerated out of it. He was counting the house numbers as he sped down the street. 758…760…762…he yanked the e-brake and cut the wheel hard. His tires hit the gravel driveway, and he slid into his spot as if he had done this 100 times before. As the cloud of dust began to settle, the boy sat in his driveway, laughing maniacally.
“Whoa dude, settle down.”
The boy brought his vision back to eye level to observe one of his roommates, Jay, standing to the immediate left of his driver’s side window.
“Sorry man, you know how I get when I drive that thing.”
The boy stepped out of the Taurus slowly, and started walking towards the house. As he was walking, he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. By that time, however, it was entirely too late. He could do nothing but brace himself for the fall. His roommate, Terry had come barreling from his left side, while Jay got down on all fours behind him.
“You freaking jerks,” the boy yelled as Jay and Terry dashed into the house laughing.
He stood up, and then he brushed himself off. First, the boy stood there, looking rather unamused. Then he laughed out loud. He continued his stroll towards the house, approaching the front door slowly so as to avoid any further ambushes. After convincing himself that the coast was clear, he stepped inside and darted down the steps to the basement. A lone electric guitar awaited him, half shrouded in the darkness of the corner in which it sat. He walked over to his PA deliberately, and turned it on. Then he powered on his Peavey amp. He strapped on his guitar. His poster of Steven Seagal looked on majestically. Before he could strum his first chord, however, his cell phone rang. The boy picked up.
“Hello?” the boy answered inquisitively.
A familiar voice could be heard on the other end of the line. “You need to come to the hospital. Your mother’s been in an accident,” his father, James, said quickly and with plenty of concern in his voice.
“What room is she in?” the boy questioned.
“Room 432, Bed ‘B’,” James replied.
“I’ll be right there,” the boy responded with as much courage as he could muster as he ended the call.
He started feeling hot as he considered the situation at hand. What had happened? How badly was she hurt? Is it serious? He had a lot more questions than answers. It made him sick to his stomach with worry. He left everything as it was and rushed up the basement steps. As he reached the top of the steps, he ran down the hall and flew out the front door. He sprinted towards the Taurus, whipped the door open, and slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, and Taurus’s V6 roared to life once again. As he sped down the interstate, all he could think about was what condition he would find his mother in once he got to the hospital. He hoped for the best. It was all he could do.
When the boy arrived at the hospital, he pulled into the first parking spot he could find, and walked briskly towards the front entrance. Upon entering the hospital, he immediately felt lost and out of place. He wandered about for a few moments trying to get a sense of direction before he stopped at the information desk.
“Could you direct me to the elevators?” the boy asked.
The receptionist appeared to respond without thinking. “Sure. Continue heading down this hall, and take the first right. Go all the way down to the end of that hall, and make a left. You’ll see them to your immediate left.”
“Thank you,” the boy replied earnestly.
The boy boarded the elevator, and his worries continued. The closer he got to his mother’s room, the more his nervousness grew. As he was about to open the door to his mother’s room, he thought he was going to throw up. He paused for a moment, and then turned the handle.
As the boy entered the room, he was greeted by the upturned heads of his father and aunt.
“Hi Baby,” his mother uttered weakly.
The boy rushed to his mother’s side. “Mom – what happened? Are you OK?”
“Claire hit her head pretty good. We’re still waiting on the results of the CT scan,” his father informed.
“Oh no,” the boy whispered.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a little while,” his mother reassured.
“What happened?” the boy continued.
“I hit somebody. Rear-ended them,” she stated rather matter-of-factly.
The boy searched for something to say, but could only frown.
“Where did it happen?” he asked finally.
“I was driving down Chestnut this afternoon, and the person in front of me stopped rather abruptly.”
The boy suddenly became uncomfortable.
“At about what time did it happen?”
“Oh, about 5:30,” his mother said casually.
The boy’s heart sank. He thought he might vomit.
“Here, take a seat,” his father offered.
“I couldn’t, Dad. Thanks, though.”
“No, really. I was just getting up to go grab something to eat.”
“Alright, thanks,” the boy said as he more fell into the seat than sat. The boy thought for a moment. “When are we supposed to hear something?” he inquired, addressing everyone as a whole.
His Aunt, Clara, spoke up. “The doctor just told us that they’d have the results in another 30 minutes or so.”
“Did you guys eat dinner yet?” James asked.
“I didn’t eat yet. Let’s go get something,” Aunt Clara responded.
The boy was too concerned for his mother’s well-being to eat anything. He mumbled something to his Dad about not being hungry, already deeply involved in his own thoughts. He considered praying, but he wasn’t a terribly devoted Christian and he didn’t want to be one of those Christians who only prayed in times of need. What have I done? I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been acting. Driving around like I’m some kind of badass or something. What an idiot. And now I’ve hurt my own mother. The more he thought about the way he had been acting the past couple of weeks, the more it hurt. What am I going to do? I have to tell her. I’m going to tell her.
The boy shot up with a start.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
The boy paused momentarily, afraid of what his mother’s reaction might be.
“I think I caused the accident.”
“What?” his mother asked, suddenly becoming alert.
“I caused the accident. I was on Chestnut at 5:30. I pulled out in front of someone, and sped off. I heard their tires squeal, but I assumed nothing had happened. I’m so sorry, Mom. I don’t even know what to do.”
“Oh, baby,” his Mom whispered softly.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I never meant to hurt anyone,” Jake reasoned.
“Jake, I told you about driving around like that. I don’t think you fully understand the consequences of your actions. Someone could have been killed,” his mom said sternly.
“I do now. Mom, I couldn’t possibly feel worse about what I did. I fully accept any consequences.”
“Jake, we’re going to have to park the car,” his Mom spoke with stern resolve.
“I understand, Mom. I’m fine with it. I just want you to be okay,” Jake said with concern in his voice.
“I’ll be fine, Jake. I’ll be fine.”
Jake grasped his mother’s hand, and she squeezed. They both smiled.
© 2005-2007 Eric J. Caspary Jr. All rights reserved.
Late
A Short Story by Eric J. Caspary Jr.
It was 11:14AM. I’m going to be late, again, he thought to himself. As the
boy whipped into the parking lot, he scanned over the vehicles scattered throughout. He
didn’t find what he was looking for. The boy’s car skidded to a halt in a far-off corner of
the parking lot, and he stepped out of the car.
The boy closed the car door. Then he took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The crisp spring air tasted magnificent. He paused and savored the moment. He longed for something, something more than what he had. But alas, his dead-end job holding up the ladder for a painter afforded him few luxuries, and the light at the end of the tunnel was as dim as a blonde with implants. Yes, a blonde with implants. Oh, how the boy would like to have one of those. Suddenly, the boy snapped himself out of it and became indignant. No I wouldn’t, he contended. You’re better than that, he told himself. While his next-door neighbor, a blonde with implants, had tempted him on many an occasion with her frequent offerings of pie, the boy held steadfast in his belief that he would one day find the girl he was searching for and it would be meaningful. He had always thought her offer to be slightly peculiar, in that she baked more than anyone else he knew. Although the boy always felt bad, he graciously declined, being that he didn’t really like pie anyways, and all.
The boy walked briskly through a parking lot, his eyes passing over a number of vehicles littering it until he spotted a navy blue pickup, which was idling. He approached it, opened up the passenger side door, and stepped in.
“Hey Jim,” the boy said.
“Hey little brother,” the man in the driver’s seat responded. “Happy Birthday! How old are you? 26, 27?” Jim probed.
“I’m 19, Jim,” the boy retorted, slightly annoyed.
“No matter,” Jim replied. “You’re going to love what I got you! Get out for a second.”
Both Jim and the boy jumped down from the F-250. Jim walked around to the back of the truck to the tailgate, and the boy followed his lead. Jim stood waiting, looking at the boy intently as if he was expecting something. The boy walked over and peered into the bed of the pickup. A long rectangular object resided in the bed, wrapped in blue “Happy Birthday” paper.
“Open it,” Jim offered.
The boy quickly unwrapped the object, already having a pretty good idea of what it might be.
“Oh, wow, Jim. You bought me a new ladder. Thanks,” the boy articulated halfheartedly in a monotone voice.
“I knew you’d like it! It’s aluminum!” Jim exclaimed.
Like a giddy schoolgirl, Jim ran around to the front of the truck and jumped back in. The boy hesitated for a moment, and then returned to the passenger’s seat. Jim shifted the truck into drive, and the two started on their way to the job site.
The boy gazed out the passenger side window, observing the vehicles and pedestrians as they passed by. Whenever he was going anywhere, he liked to play a game where he’d examine each car and guess its make, model, and year without looking at any badging if at all possible. Late 90’s Eagle Summit. ‘90 Ford Taurus SHO. 2001-or-so Chrysler Town & Country. He prided himself on his car knowledge, but there came a point where particular models didn’t interest him enough or differentiate themselves enough from one another to necessitate his knowing them down to the exact year. It was no matter, though. He knew the ones that counted. 2002 BMW M3. ’99 Acura Integra. ’95 Chevy Cap…
“You hear me, Birthday Boy?”
His memory game was interrupted by Jim, who was asking him a question that he had only caught the tail end of.
“I’m sorry Jim, I was daydreaming. What was that?” the boy asked apologetically.
“No problem buddy. I was just asking you what you thought of Angela.”
Angela was one of their co-workers, and while she was kind of cute, she was a little “rough,” to put it kindly.
“Well, Jim, I think I’d have to say she’s a little rough around the edges,” the boy remarked.
You couldn’t blame her entirely, though. She was a product of her environment. She had worked almost entirely with men for the last ten years and had to develop a “tough outer skin” in order to handle the constant verbal abuse. The boy felt bad for her sometimes.
“Yeah, well, I think I’m going to ask her out,” Jim declared. “She asked me a question the other day, and then said goodbye to me before she went home. She doesn’t exactly hate me, you know what I mean?” he continued.
“You’re right, Jim. Basically, what she’s saying is that she wants to have sex with you as soon as possible. You’d better hurry, though. You never know how many other people she might extend this offer to in the next 24 hours.”
Jim never acknowledged the boy’s cynical remarks, however, as he had cranked up the radio and had started singing along boisterously to Kansas’s “Carry on Wayward Son.” The boy could do nothing but smirk, and resume gazing out the window. The beaten-up pickup rolled into the gravel parking lot of the job site, and the boy began removing his seat belt. As the truck rolled to a stop, the boy jumped down and grabbed his ladder out of the back of the pickup. The boy looked down and examined the ladder as he walked to the building they would be painting.
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Jim suggested, beaming.
The boy didn’t even know what to say. “She sure is, Jim. You really outdid yourself this time,” the boy replied.
As the workday began, the boy began thinking. Being that he didn’t have to do, or even move, much throughout the work day, he found himself doing lots of thinking while he was at work. He thought about how his job title ended up being “Ladder Holder-Upper for a Painter.” He thought about back when he had just started, when he was still young and “wet-behind-the-ears.” He thought about the good old days, when he and Jim would go to Dairy Queen after a hard day’s work, set up the ladder in the parking lot, and each sit on different rungs eating their ice cream. Those days were long gone now, though. His aspirations for going to college had been lost in a sea of debt accrued by his parents’ reckless spending. He had slowly been accumulating funds to put towards college, but it was slow going. Sometimes, he felt like he’d never have enough money. The harsh reality of the boy’s plight hit him like a freight train.
“What am I even doing here?” the boy implored Jim.
“You’re holding my ladder, birthday boy. Hold it steady now.” Jim responded.
“Of course,” the boy uttered weakly.
Monday turned to Tuesday, Tuesday turned to Thursday, and then the weekend finally rolled around. He didn’t know what he was going to be doing this weekend, if anything, but all he knew was that he was glad it was the weekend. He walked towards his ’93 Ford Taurus, which was nestled in the far corner of parking lot. “It’s time to ride,” he whispered with resolve. Once he got behind the wheel, he knew why he was alive. From the minute the engine first turned over, a wave of adrenaline shot through him like that he knew only the Taurus could provide. He revved it up to five grand, and a symphony only the heavens could compose greeted his ears. Nearby children and small animals scattered. He pulled out onto Chestnut Ave. and chirped second. The Taurus’s V6 screamed for more punishment as redline quickly approached. He punched third, and the Taurus lunged forward. The boy cruised down Overlook, checking his rear-view for any approaching vehicles. There were none, of course. He was rapidly approaching his street, Kildare Dr. He slowed enough to make the turn with relative ease, then accelerated out of it. He was counting the house numbers as he sped down the street. 758…760…762…he yanked the e-brake and cut the wheel hard. His tires hit the gravel driveway, and he slid into his spot as if he had done this 100 times before. As the cloud of dust began to settle, the boy sat in his driveway, laughing maniacally.
“Whoa dude, settle down.”
The boy brought his vision back to eye level to observe one of his roommates, Jay, standing to the immediate left of his driver’s side window.
“Sorry man, you know how I get when I drive that thing.”
The boy stepped out of the Taurus slowly, and started walking towards the house. As he was walking, he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. By that time, however, it was entirely too late. He could do nothing but brace himself for the fall. His roommate, Terry had come barreling from his left side, while Jay got down on all fours behind him.
“You freaking jerks,” the boy yelled as Jay and Terry dashed into the house laughing.
He stood up, and then he brushed himself off. First, the boy stood there, looking rather unamused. Then he laughed out loud. He continued his stroll towards the house, approaching the front door slowly so as to avoid any further ambushes. After convincing himself that the coast was clear, he stepped inside and darted down the steps to the basement. A lone electric guitar awaited him, half shrouded in the darkness of the corner in which it sat. He walked over to his PA deliberately, and turned it on. Then he powered on his Peavey amp. He strapped on his guitar. His poster of Steven Seagal looked on majestically. Before he could strum his first chord, however, his cell phone rang. The boy picked up.
“Hello?” the boy answered inquisitively.
A familiar voice could be heard on the other end of the line. “You need to come to the hospital. Your mother’s been in an accident,” his father, James, said quickly and with plenty of concern in his voice.
“What room is she in?” the boy questioned.
“Room 432, Bed ‘B’,” James replied.
“I’ll be right there,” the boy responded with as much courage as he could muster as he ended the call.
He started feeling hot as he considered the situation at hand. What had happened? How badly was she hurt? Is it serious? He had a lot more questions than answers. It made him sick to his stomach with worry. He left everything as it was and rushed up the basement steps. As he reached the top of the steps, he ran down the hall and flew out the front door. He sprinted towards the Taurus, whipped the door open, and slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, and Taurus’s V6 roared to life once again. As he sped down the interstate, all he could think about was what condition he would find his mother in once he got to the hospital. He hoped for the best. It was all he could do.
When the boy arrived at the hospital, he pulled into the first parking spot he could find, and walked briskly towards the front entrance. Upon entering the hospital, he immediately felt lost and out of place. He wandered about for a few moments trying to get a sense of direction before he stopped at the information desk.
“Could you direct me to the elevators?” the boy asked.
The receptionist appeared to respond without thinking. “Sure. Continue heading down this hall, and take the first right. Go all the way down to the end of that hall, and make a left. You’ll see them to your immediate left.”
“Thank you,” the boy replied earnestly.
The boy boarded the elevator, and his worries continued. The closer he got to his mother’s room, the more his nervousness grew. As he was about to open the door to his mother’s room, he thought he was going to throw up. He paused for a moment, and then turned the handle.
As the boy entered the room, he was greeted by the upturned heads of his father and aunt.
“Hi Baby,” his mother uttered weakly.
The boy rushed to his mother’s side. “Mom – what happened? Are you OK?”
“Claire hit her head pretty good. We’re still waiting on the results of the CT scan,” his father informed.
“Oh no,” the boy whispered.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a little while,” his mother reassured.
“What happened?” the boy continued.
“I hit somebody. Rear-ended them,” she stated rather matter-of-factly.
The boy searched for something to say, but could only frown.
“Where did it happen?” he asked finally.
“I was driving down Chestnut this afternoon, and the person in front of me stopped rather abruptly.”
The boy suddenly became uncomfortable.
“At about what time did it happen?”
“Oh, about 5:30,” his mother said casually.
The boy’s heart sank. He thought he might vomit.
“Here, take a seat,” his father offered.
“I couldn’t, Dad. Thanks, though.”
“No, really. I was just getting up to go grab something to eat.”
“Alright, thanks,” the boy said as he more fell into the seat than sat. The boy thought for a moment. “When are we supposed to hear something?” he inquired, addressing everyone as a whole.
His Aunt, Clara, spoke up. “The doctor just told us that they’d have the results in another 30 minutes or so.”
“Did you guys eat dinner yet?” James asked.
“I didn’t eat yet. Let’s go get something,” Aunt Clara responded.
The boy was too concerned for his mother’s well-being to eat anything. He mumbled something to his Dad about not being hungry, already deeply involved in his own thoughts. He considered praying, but he wasn’t a terribly devoted Christian and he didn’t want to be one of those Christians who only prayed in times of need. What have I done? I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been acting. Driving around like I’m some kind of badass or something. What an idiot. And now I’ve hurt my own mother. The more he thought about the way he had been acting the past couple of weeks, the more it hurt. What am I going to do? I have to tell her. I’m going to tell her.
The boy shot up with a start.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
The boy paused momentarily, afraid of what his mother’s reaction might be.
“I think I caused the accident.”
“What?” his mother asked, suddenly becoming alert.
“I caused the accident. I was on Chestnut at 5:30. I pulled out in front of someone, and sped off. I heard their tires squeal, but I assumed nothing had happened. I’m so sorry, Mom. I don’t even know what to do.”
“Oh, baby,” his Mom whispered softly.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I never meant to hurt anyone,” Jake reasoned.
“Jake, I told you about driving around like that. I don’t think you fully understand the consequences of your actions. Someone could have been killed,” his mom said sternly.
“I do now. Mom, I couldn’t possibly feel worse about what I did. I fully accept any consequences.”
“Jake, we’re going to have to park the car,” his Mom spoke with stern resolve.
“I understand, Mom. I’m fine with it. I just want you to be okay,” Jake said with concern in his voice.
“I’ll be fine, Jake. I’ll be fine.”
Jake grasped his mother’s hand, and she squeezed. They both smiled.
© 2005-2007 Eric J. Caspary Jr. All rights reserved.