Sittin' here thinkin', like usual, is a bummer. Been doin' a lot of it lately, sittin' on a bar stool. The thinkin's mostly 'bout women. I like women. Hell, who doesn't? Problem for me is they ain't exactly beatin' down my door tryin' to get to me. I'm the beast in the drama, right? So where's my goddamn beauty! Answer, nowhere I know of. But, I'm a realist.

Like I'm sayin', pretty I ain't; hell, I got more in common with Quasimodo than Tom Cruise. When I was young, it made a difference; it bothered me, a lot: got me into a lot of fights—won most of them though. Now, in my thirties, it no longer does—bother me that is—well, that's what I keep telling myself. Helluva thing.

Who am I? I'm Oscar Church; Ozzie or Oz to my friends: six-two, one ninety, balding, and really-really not pretty. Yeah, and I know it and I deal with it. Long face, pinched nose, gray eyes too close together, and actual scars left over from major bouts with acne when I was young.

Girlfriends? None whatsoever, I mean almost never; I mean I really almost never had one. A couple when I was in the army is all, Filipinas, but no more. Last piece of ass cost me a hundred; the one before that sixty-five dollars—hey, it's all I had, and she was an amateur. Career, well, it ain't a career exactly; I clean up, do minor repairs, and occasionally a little bouncing at Santoro's place—uh—bar, seven nights a week. Good money though. Three bills a week tax free and a place to shack up in the back. Hard to beat that if I do say so.

Sittin' here thinkin' 'bout women is gettin' me nowhere. What I'd really like to be doin' is gettin' married. Hell yes I would! It'd be nice, I think, maybe, possibly. Anyway, just wanna try it, okay! Just wanna try it, I mean bein' married to a real honest to goodness woman. I'm thinkin' that'd be real good. Yeah, real good.

Two tours for Uncle Sam a decade gone made me tough, mean, and evil. Did a buncha stuff in the army, killed me some stinkies; but, learned me no goddamn fancy career—they'd lied to me 'bout that. Really pissed me off too. I wanted to do that computer stuff, but my fucking test scores weren't no good. Oh, they, my scores, were good enough to get me in; but instead of to school to learn computers, they learned me how to shoot and fight—I already knew how to do those—oh yeah, and crawl real quiet in really wet mud. But hey, I did get to travel some: Iraq, Iran, a couple of other places, but none of them were worth a shit.

"Oz, you daydreaming again?" said Amos. Amos Carter is my bud and the head barkeep at Santoro's.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "It's either that or spend all night talking to you." I was all but laughing.

"Yeah, well you could do worse," he said, throwing his bar towel in my direction. I caught it.

"Yeah, I reckon so," I said. "Anyway, I'm gonna be takin' a walk; I gotta get some air." I tossed a five spot down and pushed back from the bar. He waved at me as I slid off the stool and headed out. I shivered; the night air was cold. I'd gone maybe five or six blocks. To my left was a gas station with a combo-convenience store. The cold made me want to pee, so I headed inside to take care of my need—some things won't wait.

"Hey guy, where are the heads?" I said. A pasty faced youth looked up.

"Out back, across the parking lot," he said. I headed out and around the building. I could see the little out-building housing the station's restrooms across the parking lot. I saw the light go out in one of the rooms; somebody was finishing up.

The men's was on the left and I started up the three steps. I heard a noise, like a yelp coming from the women's. I heard it again. I went over and was about to knock.

"No!" said a woman's voice. "Please no!" It didn't take no genius to figure out what was going on. I threw open the door. Time stood still.

A man holding a switchblade turned to see who was interrupting his business. A woman with torn clothes and with her genitals exposed lay on the toilet floor.

"Motherfucker!" said the bladist. He came at me. The knife hand came out and thrust toward me. I grabbed the assailant's wrist, twisted it, bent the arm backward snapping it. I drove the point deep into the man's torso and twisted his wrist; he was dead even if he didn't know it yet. He began to sink floorward. I let loose the man's now dangling arm.

I turned my attention to the woman. She'd already been raped, that was clear, and she'd been about to be murdered. She stared at me. Her eyes were open wide and unblinking.

"Ma'am?" I said. She had pulled herself into an even tighter fetal ball. "Ma'am, it's okay. He's done."

I reached for her hand. I wanted to get her out of the freakin' bathroom. She pulled away from me. I backed away. I pulled my new cell phone; I hoped I still had enough minutes. I punched in 911. As I spoke to the faceless woman on the other end of the line, the victim whimpered. God I felt bad for her! It was tough being a woman, I guess.

We were soon surrounded by a mess of local cops. Amazing how a dead body can generate interest on the part of them guys, not to mention the media. I'd stayed with the woman until the arrival of the police and the EMT guys. I was questioned and released. Apparently the bad guy was well known to the uniforms. One policeman actually congratulated me for killing the asshole. I didn't feel all that good about it, but I'd killed enough in the Middle East so that one more stinky made exactly zero difference to me.

One night of excitement and then back to the grind. I never did get to talk to the woman, that is, not that night. Didn't know her name, nothin'. The cops and EMTers got her out of there and to the hospital pretty quick. I wondered how she was, but after a couple of days, memory of her began to fade.

One Month later:

It was Thursday night, 10PM, and I was fixin' an electrical wire in the kitchen. Cal Robey, the main cook at Santoro's was pissed because his refrigerator wasn't cooling like it was supposed to. A looker, that I had never seen before, came into the back where I was working.

"The bathrooms are out there and to the right," I said, pointing toward the double doors she'd just come through as she approached me.

"Bathrooms? Oh, no, I don't need the restroom," she said.

"Okay. I know it ain't me you're looking for," I said. "So whaddya need?"

"You," she said. I gave her a look.

"Me? What? I mean what would a woman lookin' like you want with a guy who looks like me?" I said.

"Hey, you ain't accusin' me of somethin' are yuh?" I said. "I ain't done nothin' wrong." All of a sudden she had a knitted brow, like she'd just figured something out. She looked—what—embarrassed.

"Huh? Oh no! No, no. I'm not accusing you of anything. Well, actually, I take that back. I sort of am," she said.

"Then what? I said. I know I had suspicion painted all over my face.

"Well," she said, now she was smiling. "I'm accusing you of saving my life. And I have a ton of evidence to prove that you're guilty."

"Huh?" I said.

"A month ago. In back of the Shell station," she said. She smiled, undoubtedly because I was becoming red-faced.

"Oh—the girl—in the bathroom—at the station," I said. "You look real different."

"Yes, the girl in the bathroom. The girl you saved from the man who was going to kill her. I'm Belinda Shafer," she said, stretching out her hand to shake mine.

"Ozzie—uh—Oscar, Oscar Church. Nice to—uh—meet yuh," I said. "I mean we already met, but..."

"Same here for sure. And yes, I guess you could say we did kind of meet before, but not formally. Can I ask you a question Ozzie? You don't mind if I call you Ozzie?" She said.

"Okay. And no—I mean you can call me Ozzie if you want," I said.

"Would you have dinner with me. I feel like—well—like I'd like to get to know my savior a little better," she said. I stared at her. Girls that looked like her made it a point to "not" talk to me. Yeah, I knew this was different: I'd saved her. But, dinner with her? Even if it wasn't a real date, I knew I'd never again have a shot like this one. Hell, I figured, I might even get a pretty good thank you kiss out of it, and I hadn't had a female kiss me in a coon's age.

"Okay. Sure—I mean fine," I said. She smiled.

"Great. Saturday night?" she said.

"Sure, sure, I'll get it off, and we can go someplace nice," I said. "I can afford it. You wouldn't think it, but I make some good bucks here." She frowned.

"Ozzie, this dinner, that we're going to have; it's on me. And, you're right; it will be someplace real nice," she said. She was smiling again. I was glad about that, but her payin'? That weren't gonna happen. Ain't no woman ever paid my way. She weren't gonna be the first, not hardly.

"Sure. Okay," I said, but I had my fingers crossed behind my back. Now we were both smiling big time. We talked for a few minutes about what time and how dressy and stuff, and then she was gone.

I didn't have a car, but I wanted to pick her up. She'd offered to drive, but I had not been goin' for that. So, I picked her up in a cab. She'd argued with me about that—gently—but had finally given in.

When she opened the door, she took my breath away. Short purple dress, high heels, fantastic rack and ass, the face of an angel, shoulder length black hair, dark eyes that positively sparkled, full lips clearly capable of destroying a man: everything was perfect. Me on the other hand...

I wore my bud Amos' suit. He was my size and I'd bought a new tie and a new pair of shoes to go with the outfit. I looked pretty good, well, for me.

I had the cabbie deliver us to the Crescendo, a dinner club that I knew about, heard about, but had never been to. I knew too that it was top of the line price-wise; but this was my chance. My chance to date a star quality woman. McDonald's, much as I loved their burgers, just wouldn't cut it.

"Nice choice, Ozzie. I mean real nice," she said. I smiled.

"Glad you like it," I said. I was feelin' real good.

The place had menus three foot tall. But, at least the damn things were in English. I got a look from the maître d' when we came in; she got a smile. Well, hell, I could relate.

We ate, we danced a little, three dances; and yes, I can dance. I'm not totally without social skills: I'd been in the freakin' army. But, not having had any practice in a long while, I was kinda rusty. Still, we got through it okay. We had a little wine, and I was feeling kinda mellow. I guess so was she.

"Let's get out of here, Oz. Let's go to my place for a night cap. Okay?" she said. I think my look must've have cued her about what I was thinking. And, it didn't seem to bother her a whit.

"Sure," I said. I signaled the waitress, asked for the check and a cab. The check came. It read a hundred and sixty-two bucks. I slipped two C-notes in the little black leather folder the check came in, and smiled the smile of the one who'd won the race.

"Ozzie! I can't let you pay for dinner. I invited you. You have to let me pay you back. I mean it," she said. She was reaching into her purse. I reached across and closed it with one hand.

"No way, Belinda. This has been the best night of my life. I'm payin' and happy as a pig in ... well, real happy that's all," I said.

"But..."

"No buts. I'm the guy. I pay," I said. She gave me a frustrated look, sighed, and allowed me to help her up from her chair.

"Okay, but that means you're definitely getting two night caps tonight, and no arguments!" she said. I spread my hands in a sign of surrender.

"Okay," I said. "I could use a little extra eighty proof reinforcement." She gave me a funny look, but I let it slide; I had other things on my mind.

The cab pulled up just as we exited the club. She slid over next to me and I put my arm around her; she cuddled up next to me for the ride to her house. I was feelin' fine, fine-fine super fine. Maybe this was gonna work out.

The driver got us to her place in twenty minutes. He helped her out of the car; I paid him, and we went inside her apartment building.

She led me up the steps, punched in the pass code on the pad at the door and we were in the foyer. Taking me by the hand she led me to the elevator. She hit the tab for the eleventh and top floor and leaned back against me. The smell of her was intoxicating. She reminded me of a summer night in the woods.

Arriving on her floor, the elevator door actually opened into her place, not into the hall in front of her place but her place; there was no hall. "Have a seat over there, Ozzie, I'll be back in half a minute."

"Okay," I said. I looked around. The place must've cost a fortune to live in. It looked like—no—it was a penthouse. A penthouse! My date had bucks, big bucks. It kinda shook me. Miss Shafer was way out of my class—money-wise.

True to her word, she was back in less than a minute. She handed me a stem glass with what was undoubtedly some high class red wine: no dago red for this woman; I'd have to be remembering that one. "Here you go Ozzie. I'll be back in just a few more minutes, okay?" she said.

"Sure bet," I said. And she was gone again. This time for maybe five minutes. When she returned, I noticed two things. One, she had a glass of wine for herself. And two, she was wearing a see-thorough teddy with absolutely nothing under it! I gulped my wine, and I mean all of it, and stared.

"You like the wine?" she said. I nodded, kinda slow, but I nodded.

"Yes. It's very—red," I said. "Almost as red as my face, I'm sure." She giggled.

"Well, yes, you are blushing," she said.

"No shit!" I said. She came to me, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me oh so gently on the lips.

"Take me, Ozzie. Tonight is for you and me. And before you ask, yes, I will gladly fuck any boy who saves my life." We both laughed, me a little hysterically.

"Well, then, I'll just have to make sure that I'm around a lot to make sure I'm always the guy saving the damsel in distress," I said. She gave me a serious look, then brightened, and led me down the hallway to what I was sure was going to be the bedroom. It was, and we used it.

She moved over to where the bed was and stood beside it with her arms folded smirking. She watched as I disrobed. I didn't exactly hurry, but I wasn't letting any grass grow under my feet either.

Maybe a minute later, I was naked and staring at the now also naked most beautiful woman in the world. There was not the slightest doubt in my mind about that. I went to her, bent down some, and kissed her lightly on the lips. As I did, I felt my cock poke into her leg. She responded with such delicate skill that I thought that I might die from happiness right then and there, and that with no complaints whatsoever.

She pulled me down and onto the bed, kissed me, and pushed my face onto the nipple of her breast. I suckled for some little time; she mooed as I did so. I slid down her body and looked at the gate to paradise; I kissed her there, then licked her, then sucked on her clit till she howled. Then, I did something that I'd never done with a woman: I turned her over and made love to her anus. She turned her head to try and see me, but that was a no go; so she just relaxed and let me do her. I sucked on her little brown sphincter as I had on her clit; I heard her sigh.

Turning her over one more time, I loomed above her and smiled: I hoped reassuring her that I was going to be gentle. I knew I was kind a big at six and a half inches, and the absolutely last thing I wanted to do was hurt her.

"It's okay, Ozzie, just put it inside of me; do me; do me now," she said. I lowered myself and I slipped the head of my dick into her easily. I push-pulled a few times finally burying myself deep inside of her.

She kicked wildly as I began to climax. "Make me cum, make me cum!" she screamed. Then she shivered; she'd made it; I was sure of it.

We lay, if not exactly exhausted, at least mildly out of breath. "That was wonderful, Ozzie. You're pretty good at this stuff aren't you," she said. I rolled onto my side and looked at her. I'd never been so happy.

"Good at it?" I said. "Well, it's not like I've had a lot of practice, but I guess I do okay." She gave me a funny look.

"It was good for you, right?" she said. Her brow was knitted.

"Good for me? No, no, it wasn't that," I said.

"Ozzie—I..." I smiled and started to laugh outright.

"Belinda, this was the best night I've had in my whole life. Ever!" I said. She relaxed, then put on the knitted brow again; but she didn't say anymore.

I didn't want her to cook breakfast, so as soon as the sun interrupted the relatively short span of sleep that we'd enjoyed, I headed for the shower and cleaned up. I didn't have a razor or any other of my man stuff, but I did the best I could.

Finished showering, dressed, and fully awake, I sat down on the bed beside

my slowly waking beauty. Her beauty to my beast.

Belinda was short at maybe five-two, slim, at no more than a hundred pounds, and delicate of movement. Watching her as she became wakeful she reminded me of Tinkerbell in those old Disney flicks.

"Howdy, sleepy head," I said, as her eyes fluttered open—those beautiful eyes. "Are you up for going out to breakfast?"

She smiled. "Okay, sure, but get outta here, so I can do my morning ritual. Okay?" she said.

"Sure bet, I'll wait in the other room," I said. She nodded and made a shooing motion with her arms. I laughed and went out.

The light of day exposed a view of the city that was quite—something.

I looked around again. I had a little time, so I was able to see a lot more detail. Her place really was a penthouse apartment. A helluva a lot different than my little cubby in the back area of Santoro's bar.

I was pretty nearly broke because of what it'd cost me for our evening at the Crescendo. But, I still had maybe fifty bucks left in my wallet, and maybe another five hundred in the ATM. I decided to take us to IHOP. Hope she liked strawberry international. One concession I made to her wanting to do the payin' was that I let her drive us this time, that in her powder-blue Buick; it'd save me twenty for the cab fare.

The place was busy, and it was still only a little after eight in the morning when we arrived. As soon as we were seated, the waitress arrived with menus and coffee; you gotta love efficiency.

We ordered, and ate. Oh, and we both had strawberry international. We talked about nothing and everything while we were chowing down. Then it was time for our second cup of coffee.

I was smiling to beat the band. I'd never gotten a woman without having to lay out the moolah: well, except for that stint in Manila while I was in the army; that'd been good duty.

"Busy next Saturday?" I said. "I was thinkin' maybe we could go for a drive or somethin'." Her look suddenly took on a decidedly questioning cast.

"Ozzie?" she said.

"Yes," I said. "Something wrong? Saturday not good for you?"

"Ozzie—let me think about it. Okay?" she said. The smile returned. "I'll call you later in the week. Okay?"

"Sure bet," I said. "That'd be good. We talked a little while longer and then it was time to leave. She gave me a kiss, and offered me a ride. I declined. Santoro's was only half mile off, and I figured to burn off a few of those calories.

"Sandy Gifford, I did not lead him on. I let him fuck me for goodness sakes. I owed him more than a thank you for damn sure, a lot more." said Belinda. "I—I wanted to reward him."

"Right, and a guy like him is right now figuring out how he's gonna be paying for the rings. Trust me. I've been in that bar a hundred times, and I know Ozzie Church real good, not really personally, but pretty good. I'd be surprised if he's had a piece of ass in the last year that he didn't have to pay for! You giving him your twat without so much as a warning that it was just a reward, and not an expression of love eternal, has set him up for a real bad day. I mean it Bell, you gotta tell him and that without dragging things out. The longer you wait the worse it's going to get."

"Sandy, you're exaggerating. Sure, he liked it—well—what we did; he's a guy for goodnesssakes. But, we don't know each other at all. He's not going to fall in love with me just because I let him have my ass. That would be stupid."

"Stupid? Of course it'd be stupid. He's a guy isn't he!" said Sandy.

"I don't know, Sandy. I guess it wouldn't hurt to set things straight with him. You know, kinda cut him off at the pass before it goes too far. But, how?"

"I'm thinkin', I'm thinkin'; give me a minute, okay?" said Sandy. Belinda sagged back into the couch she'd been sitting in during the conversation.

"Yeah, well take two minutes. I'm desperate here. I mean the guy saved my life. I mean literally saved my life! Now, if you're right, I may have to ruin his dreams. No problem, right. I can just see how the conversation will go...

"Hey guy, you saved me. I'm so grateful that I let you do something you'd only dreamed about. Oh what's that, you ask? You're wondering what that is? Well, look here guy. See where I'm pointing? That's my pussy. You got to have it for a night, with no limits. Ain't you the luckiest ugly shit in the whole wide world!

"Yeah, girlfriend, he's gonna totally understand. Shit!" said Belinda.

"Look," said Sandy, "here's what we're going to do."

It was the same IHOP I'd taken her to two days past. I was more nervous than I had ever been. Jesus, I hoped I hadn't done anything to queer my relationship with her. I jumped when she came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hi Oz. You look nice," she said. Well, I had dressed for the occasion. No mistakes, I didn't want to make no mistakes.

"Thanks, you look like a million bucks," I said. She smiled.

"Thanks," she said. I nodded.

"You wanna eat?" I said. It was already three in the afternoon, I figured it would only be coffee, but who knew? Maybe she'd wanna eat somethin'.

"No, no, nothing, thank you," she said. I had a bad feeling. Not even coffee? I had a really bad feeling. I took a sip of mine. She took a seat across from me.

"Oz, you became one of the most important people in my life a little more than a month ago. If you hadn't—well—been there, I wouldn't be here.

The other night, when we did—well—what we did, Oz, it was me rewarding you. I gave myself to a man who will always be a part of me. But, Oz, all it was, well, it was my gratitude to you for what you did. The chance you took. Oz, I am not in love with you. And, you're not in love with me. Heck, we hardly know each other.

I sat stock still while she spoke. I know my lips moved, well quivered, but no words came out; I had no words. I'd had the bad feeling that it was gonna be really bad; even worse than I thought, much worse. She was saying that she didn't want to see me no more. She was sayin' it without sayin' it. "Okay," I said. "I understand." She smiled and placed her hand on mine.

"Ozzie, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, disappoint you. I should have done things differently. I made a huge mistake..." she saw the look on my face and immediately tried to make me feel better. "No Oz, not that. I do not regret giving myself to you, and you were great. I meant that I should have let you know that I'm kinda, well, in a relationship."

I sagged back in my seat. "A relationship? But—I mean—we had sex. Your boyfriend..."

"Yes, I know, and I told him—afterwards—about it. Charlie Jensen's his name; well, he understood. He didn't even get mad at me; he understood. He and I—well—we're good.

"Oz, what we, you and I did, was kinda crazy. I do like you; hell, how could I not. But..."

"Yeah, I know. But, it's not the romantic kind of like," I said.

"I'm sorry, Oz. I really am."

"I know. Well, have a good life," I said. She nodded, rose, walked a few steps, turned, and mouthed me a kiss. Then she was gone.

I had never felt so low in my life. Did I regret making it with her? I think I did. Not sure why, but I didn't feel good about it, so I must've regretted it. Right?

Well, it wasn't all bad. I still had my health, a good job, and well ... that was about it, I guess. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why was I like I was? Why couldn't I even land a girlfriend? Fucking life! I hated it.

"What's the matter, Oz. One day you're up, next day you're down. Talk to me, Oz. This is your 'ole buddy Amos speaking," he said. I just looked at him and took another swig from the glass in front of me.

"Nothin'," I said. He looked at me funny. I threw a ten spot down on the bar, got up, and left. I heard him say something as I walked out, but I wasn't listening. I was done with this shit. Done with everything. Fucking done with it. If a body's got nothin' and no one; then, what the hell is it all for?

"Were you able to see him?" said Sandy.

"Yes—well no. He's in a coma. Charlie went with me. He'll be here in a second; he's parking the car," said Belinda.

"A coma? Jesus, what was he thinking?" said Sandy.

"And he's busted up pretty bad," said Belinda.

"Why?"

"Because he thinks I dumped him. That or something like that. I don't know. He left a letter. They say suicides always leave a letter. It was addressed to me. Shit! What did I do, Sandy. What the fuck did I do?"

"Bell, you can't blame yourself. What you did was stupid, but not that stupid. There had to be things going on in the guy's head that you had no way to know about."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean obviously. But, what I did set him off. Pushed him over the edge. They can't let him die. They just can't. I called dad. He's retiring in a few months, but he's still at the Pentagon. He's made sure that Ozzie'd be getting the best help available. He'll get better; he has to," said Belinda.

"You speak to the doctors yet?" said Sandy.

"Yes, and so did Charlie," she said. "He says what you said, that he had to have had issues that just came to the surface all of a sudden. Probably didn't know it himself; he just did it—jumped."

"Wow."

"They promised to let me know if—when—he comes out of the coma."

"Bell?"

"What?"

"If—when—he comes to, are you really going to see him? I mean do you think that that would be wise given everything that's gone on so far?" said Sandy.

"Yes, maybe, I don't know. Maybe. What I want to do is kick his high school ass! But—well, I just don't know," said Belinda.

"You know, Bell, I didn't want to say it; but, well, I think that is exactly what you should do. Not physically of course. But, well, verbally. Be frank with him. Tell him like it is. Let him know that you will always be grateful, and more than grateful for him risking his life for you, but tell him he needs to grow up."

"Yes, I think you have a point. Yes, indeed, a very good point," said Belinda.

"Hey Sandy. Bell, where do you want this stuff?" said Charlie, as he shut the door behind himself.

A uniform? An army uniform. Hadn't seen one of those in a while, a long while. "Well, you're awake. It was touch and go for a while there," said the uniform. A major. What was a major doing in my cubby? Wait!

"Touch and go?" I said. "I'm not at Santoro's, am I?" I repeated. The uniform smiled.

"No, you're in Veteran's," he said. "Next time you try to off yourself you might want to do it from a floor or two higher up. The fact that you tried it from the third floor saved you—or not. Depending on your point of view I suppose."

"What are you saying?" I said.

"You don't remember trying to kill yourself? Three people saw you jump. You know, there are actually laws against attempted suicide?" he said.

"Suicide? What..." It was all coming back to me. Belinda—dumping me ... the bar ... Amos..."

"You were pretty liquored up. I figure that, and the fact that you were too lazy to try it from a little higher up saved you. But, as for that," he looked down at the chart he was holding, "a half dozen broken ribs, a punctured lung, broken arm and leg, subdural hematoma, a bunch of other stuff. Well, I guess I should be thanking you. Your act proved to my colleagues that I really can raise somebody from the dead.

"But, do me a favor will yuh. Next time you go for it, do it when I'm not on vacation. I'd really appreciate it," he said. "Oh, and in case you care, I'm your doctor, Major Clausen."

"How long... ?" I said.

"You've been in a coma for the past three months. They called me a while ago when your vitals showed you might be coming out of it. I wanted to be here, so they called me. At any rate, you'll be released after we run a few more tests and make sure you're going to be okay.

"Most of your broken bones are healed, and the swelling of the brain is gone. But, I still have a few concerns, so you won't be moseying outta here right away. Could be another week or more. Any questions?" he said. I shook my head no.

"Oh, and one more thing, you will be seeing a psychologist. Believe it or not the D.A. requires it."