We’re in the ER and the doctors are being stupid. They won’t let Cynthia in to see her Dad so we’re sitting in the hallway outside his door watching people rush in and out, here and there. This place never seems to calm down.
Cynthia’s biting her lip, trying not to cry. I stroke her arm comfortingly, but she doesn’t even look at me. I suddenly remember I haven’t called my mom yet. Crap.
I pull out my cell phone and realize it’s dead. Great. Just great. I see a phone down the hall. Oh well, better now than later before my mom calls the police out to look for me.
That wasn’t a joke. She’s seriously done that to me before.
I tell Cynthia quietly, feeling bad leaving her alone on that chair.
I pick up the phone and call.
She picks up the phone before it’s done with the first ring, already freaking out.
Her: Oh my god, it’s the hospital. What did he do?
Stupid caller ID. I love how she instantly assumes it must be my fault, makes me feel great, you know? Really trusted.
Me: God Mom, I didn’t do anything.