It was claimed that the people who motioned to her from the street had her best interests at heart. It was further claimed that they'd heard her story from folks in a neighboring township. I can categorically state that this isn't true. Why? Because I was one of those people (the ones in the street, I mean). The fact is that we were still trying to get to the bottom of the whole situation. I made damn well sure that there was a special solution in a small bottle in my backpack. In case things got hairy, I'd always be sure of what—and whose!—buttons to push if control became an unforeseen factor. Brunch with Steve and Lonnie had already gotten old more than a year before. From where I see things now, there's no doubt that we tried. And didn't fail. Until later. But that's a tale for another day, I'm afraid. But, just to be clear, I'm not really afraid, except of the 'big stuff'.
We intuitively felt that she'd hidden behind a piano to try to ride this thing out. I called out from the bottom of the driveway and her husband told me that she'd shredded the tickets of all but their slimmest markings. I knew him to be a trustworthy type of gopher but something about his aplomb just didn't sit right with people who know how to read people like books. Books about people, not just ordinary non-living things. I took the husband under my wing and got him established down near the Mexican border. He was delivering major weight on an almost weekly basis. I ended up finally learning to swim. When my show premiered on the Prison Network I overcame my inherent bashfulness and put in for bush removal. First I'd have to get the Governor's approval. That wouldn't prove easy. It sure didn't stay that way.
Once it hit three-fifty I made the call. The call of a lifetime, some would call it. When she answered I could tell she'd calmed down. I invited her out to dinner and promised her all-you-can-eat Cobb salad (her favorite, if you don't know). She got ready and came down in her best things. I was sporting a major 'office casual' look. Before I could ask her to sign up, she took my hand in hers and promised to never lie. That was a lie. I wondered aloud if she ever felt that an inherent 'wrongness' pervaded existence as a whole. She responded with a whole song-and-dance involving her Pastor, the Chief of Police and a policy wonk from Montclair, New Jersey. When I got home later that evening, I looked my remaining children directly in their eyes and promised never to lie to them. That was a lie. Oh well....
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