Surviving my Scholarship

Pink Lady

                Hospital. The obvious next step after a drunken individual swings from a harness system found in a storage room and precariously placed upon a chandelier. It held my weight. Why wouldn't it hold hers?

                Mr. Galloway overacted when he discovered his wife was swinging from the chandelier. How he didn't hear her screeching down the hallway was a mystery to me. He had carried her to the waiting hovercraft and drove her personally to the hospital for "the works."

                After a few hours testing, they both came storming into the house. He was about to come barreling his anger at me, but Mrs. Galloway had other ideas. She was angry at him for putting her through that embarrassing ordeal. He countered with the obvious drinking too much is tacky and that she was literally hanging on a thin rope so far off the ground. She huffed and crossed her arms with a swift if we went out more and had some fun she wouldn't have to do stupid things when it appeared in the house. He scoffed and pointed out that there were death threats against her life. She sighed and looked down in defeat.

                I simply followed the argument from my placement on the couch as if it was a ping pong match. My gaze never stayed on one person too long as the argument progressed. At least it wasn't pointed at me.

                "We can't live our life like this anymore, always in fear," she looked up on the verge of tears. "It's time we faced it head on and started actually living again. I want to go dancing like we did when Pierce was younger. I want to watch the sun reverse on Make Out Ridge and picnic. I need to live!"

                Mr. Galloway moved forward circling his arms around her in a comforting embrace. She pushed into him letting all her frustration out. I slowly slid off the couch. I moved as few muscles as possible as I made my way to the door. That was my cue to exit door number one.

                "Perry," Mr. Galloway called out.

                So close! I turned facing him. He stroked his wife's hair gently. Occasionally, he would place small kisses on the top of her head. The gesture made me think of Pierce and I blushed. He had done the same thing a little bit ago. Does that mean he likes me?

                "Bruised tailbone," he stated. "I should have listened when you tried to tell me. I'm sorry."

                I stepped back in shock. I didn't realize he knew that phrase. I smiled slightly and turned to leave. She had swung from the chandelier fine. We had lowered her to the ground with ease. Just as she was pulling out her foot, she got tangled in the harness and fell on her behind. Nothing, serious. Just a soft thump on the ground but in her drunken state she cried and bellowed in imagined pain.  

                "Probations over," Jon snatched Bubo away from me. He leaned into the struggling device and it hummed viciously at him as he fought to keep it in his hand. "All good robots go to sleep."

                Bubo dropped quietly into his hand. The life was gone out of my annoying little friend. I frowned as I glanced down at the thing. I had gotten used to him following me around. I turned waving my hands in the air at the realization of its stillness in Jon's hand. I'm free!

                "Is that a bowtie drawn on him," Jon looked up with an eyebrow raised.

                "Formal dinner, had to dress the part," I shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. I merely had to find a marker that would write on the thing and then painstakingly hold it down as I drew on the little bowtie. It took me hours.