Going Back

I saw her, exhausted. She napped beside me in a hospital bed, eschewing the couch. My angel, my Angela, I felt like I'd been dealt a royal flush. What were the chances? Through the fog of drugs and pain, my mind goes back.


My San Francisco suburb suggested I attend a conference on new regulations. In fact, the manager demanded it, and no amount of lobbying would change his mind. My face must have been glowing red, and the expression on it should have kept anyone away from me. It did not. A friend, or what counts as one in the office, came over to my desk. He picked up a football memento off one of the shelves. We both rooted for the same team, and he simply couldn't understand why I was so upset.


"Dude! Have you checked the schedule?" He asked.
"No, they aren't home for three weeks."
"Niners play Philly the Sunday before that conference."


Suddenly I had the upper hand!


"I'll agree to go, but with extras... and Niner tickets." The last part was a mumble.
"This is blackmail!"
"Oh, that's such an ugly word. Can we go with "incentive" instead?" I got everything but the tickets.


---


We lost, and I got razzed, but it never was mean. The only issue I had was finding my way back. I was working back with my phone when it happened. Bam! We'd both looking at our phones. Of course, I was at fault and the string of whatever she said in mostly Italian was bad. She stunned me. But when she was done, and ready to walk off... I said I was sorry, and she looked at my gear.


"Played a sorry game, too!"
"Wait!" She stopped.
"What?"
"Could I buy you a new cup of coffee at least?"


It turned into a great relationship. We had one rule. If our team was not playing against one another, we support each other.
Her job was ever better on the west coast, angering all those back home, no matter where we were. It went from fun, to serious, to move out west. I was hated in her circles. Mostly family circles. But someone had a bad heart.

---


In south New Jersey, Jake and K.C. were running hot down State Route 30 to an accident. They were both in their late 20's, husky but not fat, with closely shorn hair. Best for the job.


"Damn." They stopped close to the site, and arrived before the police. A motorist passing by called it in.
"Yeah, a Ferrari. Perfect for rich people who think 30 is more fun than the expressway. Trees are unforgiving."
K.C. was on the passenger side and looked in. "Well, not sure we needed lights and sirens."
"Maybe we did. Do you know who this is?" He flipped the license across the roof of the wrecked car. "Central, request immediate helicopter medical team, follow our GPG, plenty area to land."
K.C. checked, he was an organ donor.


---


The waiting room at the Cleveland Clinic had the major players from both of their families. What had started as flowers and prayers had damn near turned into a war. The Italians were protecting my wife, for why I don't know. And the Irish took some odd umbrage. Whatever. I was with the one I loved... no one could take away. There was plenty between us, but we knew I was a dead man.


"Listen. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone in the world."
"I feel the same, that's why I can't do this..." She laid her head on him. "No way."
"It’s coming. A week or two if I wait? Pain. Bad."
"I just can't!" She said.
"My angel, please," She injected him, waited, and then herself.
Soon all the alarms went off and a team brought me back to life. "Why?! I wept as I watched."
"Just relax."


"Think I deserve a heart? Think I want a heart?! Where is she?!"
"She's gone, sir, if you don't take it it's ruined."
"Is it really an Eagle player?"
"Yes.'
"That'll be awkward." He went under.

(WC-698)