The Beautiful Truth

// 82

Three weeks later, I was in Dr. Bovich's office, watching him with complete detachment while he read the final version of my script. It had, to this point in the semester, after Spring Break, become standard operating procedure. Through the course of the semi-probing questions from him and monosyllabic answers from me, Dr. Bovich had recognized why I was suddenly able to write what I did...and subsequently taken it easy on me.

So it seemed. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was using this project to distract me from the real love tragedy of my life. I wanted Dr. Bovich to paint the margins of my bound script red, but his lack of edits was maddening. At times, he almost looked choked up. I, on the other hand, was annoyed.

My phone had been vibrating in my bag for the last five minutes. I'd only turned it on before our meeting to check my email. I was expecting my flight information for the end of the semester. With Barton due back in three weeks, I couldn't wait to get out of here.

"You can get that," Dr. Bovich said, not looking up. "I'm completely consumed."

I sighed. "I'm sorry."

He waved me off nonchalantly.

I finally reached down and into my bag. Before I could answer, my phone stopped pulsating. But the screen read 'Alex Love, 9 missed calls, 3 voice messages.'

My heart pounded as I pressed play for the voicemails, not bothering to leave the room first.

Barton.

What happened?

"Sawyer, uh, hey, this is Alex. Give me a call when you get this, it's pretty important."

That one was two hours ago. I'd been in Dr. Bovich's class and completely unaware that he'd called, apparently not noticing when I'd powered on earlier.

"Hey Sawyer, I know you don't want to talk to me, but I need you to call me back. I don't want to leave you a voicemail about this, so please...call me."

My heart as beating double-time as I scrambled to press play on the third message, left just now.

"Look, you selfish, self-absorbed bitch," Alex spit into his phone. "I don't know where you are, but I thought you might like to know your roommate is in the hospital at Highland down in Oakland. I'm getting on a plane right now. I'll be there in an hour. God, I can't believe y—"

"Shit," I said emphatically without thinking as I cut off the message before Alex could berate me any more.

Dr. Bovich finally looked up. "Is everything OK?"

I shook my head with wide eyes, momentarily unable to move while my brain reconciled that before panicking and trying to figure out the how and why of this situation, I needed to figure out my next move.

"I gotta go," I said, suddenly on my feet.

"But your scr—"

"Keep it," I countered, already halfway out the door.

"Sawyer, do you need a ride someplace?"

I turned back to see my teacher had followed me out the door, script still in hand. I was lucky to have someone looking out for me like him. "Can you take me to Highland Hospital?"

Dr. Bovich looked kind of stunned, but didn't hesitate before reaching back inside his office for the jacket he kept on the back of his door.

Ten minutes later, I was nervously bouncing my leg in the passenger side of Dr. Bovich's Saab while he battled the traffic down College Avenue and 580. It should've taken ten minutes. Twenty minutes later, we still weren't there.