To: Alison Kirby
From: Graham Morgan
I’ll take care of it.
G.M.
I was less than impressed with his response. It’s not like I expect him to expound on his thoughts, but something more than five words would be nice.
Yeah. Today sucked.
* * *
As soon asI step foot into my place, I start to remove clothing. Shoes first, then the clothes. Getting my bra off is a priority. Once that’s done, I slip on my favorite pair of yoga pants and an old UConn sweatshirt.
“Finally.” I sigh like I’d been wearing a straitjacket all day. Honestly, bras are sort of like that. Tight and constricting.
Walking into my tiny kitchen, I find the nearly empty bottle of wine in the fridge and pour myself the remainder. I take a sip but need more than one before I can figure out what to make for dinner. In my cupboards, I find a can of soup and a few saltine crackers. “This will have to do tonight.” And it’s fine. It’s what we ate growing up when things were tight. I can do the same now.
Lighting up my two-burner stove, I set a small pan on top and empty the soup contents inside all while drinking my wine. There’s probably only a sip or two left, and that saddens me because I could really use more so I can relax, maybe get some sleep.
When my food is ready, I carry the bowl and crackers into my sitting area. I can’t decide if I’m in the mood for television, but the silence is bothering me tonight. “Might as well see what’s on.” Picking up the remote to my twenty-one-inch TV, I press On. It takes a minute for it to come to life, but when it does, I tune in to the local station and the first thing I see is some sort of special report. I’d like to tell you that I’m surprised, but I’m not. In a city the size of New York, there’s always something going on that necessitates a special report.
This time it’s live. I blink a few times when I recognize a familiar building in the background. “Is that my street?” I stand up and walk to my window. It’s facing the alley, but if I open the window and lean out to my left, I can see the street. So, I do all that. I can’t make out much, but I do see the lights from police vehicles bouncing off the building across the street.
Returning to my spot on the love seat, I pick up the remote and turn up the volume just as a Channel 2 reporter appears on the screen. “We’re live here in LIC where a near-catastrophic accident occurred. But thanks to some quick thinking by a mystery man, that accident was avoided.”
“Catastrophic accident?” I lean forward, thinking it’ll get me more news faster or something if I’m closer to the television. “Mystery man?”
I watch as the reporter continues. “It happened here on 30thStreet right in front of Mike’s Pizza.”
“Ooh, I love Mike’s Pizza.” I eat it way too much, though. Having a place like that less than a block from my apartment is dangerous for someone like me who has to watch every morsel that goes into my mouth. But, boy, would I love a slice right now….
I focus back on the television rather than on food. I need to know what happened right outside my apartment building.
“Allegedly, a bus carrying a group of elderly sightseers started to weave dangerously back and forth on 30thStreet, causing property damage to cars parked on the street. Several eyewitnesses reported that there didn’t seem to be anyone in the driver seat.” The reporter turns to her left. The camera pans out and a man steps onto the screen. He has gray hair and a beard. I’d say he’s probably my dad’s age, around sixty. “Sir, you witnessed this accident, is that right?”
“I sure did.” He nods. “That damn bus nearly hopped the curb several times. That is until that superhero fella ran toward the bus.”
“Superhero?” The reporter chuckles.
“Damn right,” the older man says gruffly. “He ran right up to the door, yanked it open, and jumped into the seat. He got that big bus stopped right away.”
“Do you know thesuperhero?” She says the word in kind of a snotty way. I’m thinking whoever risked their own life to save peopleshouldbe called a superhero, even if she doesn’t agree.
“No,” he snaps. “How would I know who he is?”
“Well, have you seen him around?”
“Ihave,” says a woman from somewhere off the screen. The next thing I see is a woman about my age approaching the reporter.
“Miss, you know who he is?”
“Well, I don’tknowhim, but I’ve seen him. He’s got a little dog.”
“Oh.” The reporter is chuckling again. “His sidekick?”
“I wouldn’t joke about this, girly,” the old guy grouses. “He saved lives tonight. My Mrs. was right in the line of the bus. I can’t imagine my life without her. I owe that guy.”
