H-1 UMAN-1

Chapter 4

"So now what?" I asked. " 'Cause I can't go home, and I can't stay here, I'm sick."

"Do you want me to take you to the doctor's?"

She's so sweet. Oh wait, I've said that already, no need to say it again. "Yes, Mrs. D., that would be-"

"Atchoo! Ugh, this is nasty."

"Sure sound like it. You were saying, though, before you were so rudely interrupted?"

"What was I saying? Oh, yeah- What I was trying to say was that your help would be wonderful. Ah-ah-atchoo!"

"No problem, sweetheart. You don't sound so good..."

"Tell that to my parents, why don't you, my mother's the one who was too busy getting drunk and refused to drive me this morning."

"Meet me by the exit, then?"

"All righty, see you there."

---

Twenty Minutes Later

Out Front

"Ugh, the weather is horrible." No one answered me, one of the perks of talking to yourself, I guess. You can chatter all day and never get a true response. I know from personal experience that talking to yourself gets very very boring very very fast.

In all honesty, I have no idea whatsoever what on earth I'm getting myself into. It's not like I've ever been to the doctor's. Why would we waste our hard-earned cash on a kid we didn't and still don't want?"

So yeah, I've never been, and I've heard horror stories of what goes on in there. Of course, it's rarely as bad as it seems, but I'm still a little nervous, and I can tell that Mrs. S. can tell as well, and I can tell she really wants to bring up the matter with me, and I have a feeling that she doesn't quite know how to talk to me.

I really Goddamn hate people treating me like I'm some freak. I get enough of that from my fellow students and classmates, I don't need it from everyone else, let alone a teacher.

Ah, what the hell, I'll just bring it up myself. "So, Mrs. S.," I said. "Everything alright with you today?"

At that, she seemed shocked. "You're asking about me, Vincent? You're the one who's sopping wet here, not me."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that I can't ask."

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm better than you, I take it."

"We're about equal in terms of morals."

"You know what I mean. I'm not sopping wet here, which, need I remind you, is the whole reason we're going to the doctor's."

"Rig-atchoo! Ugh, sorry. That was an accident, I didn't mean to sneeze on you, I promise."

"No worries. Now, we'd better get going."

"Right," I said. "Now I have no idea which car is yours, Mrs. Scialdone, so if you wouldn't mind, could you direct me to the right one so that both of us can get out of the rain here? I already have the sniffles, I don't want to contract pneumonia too."

"Righty then. Sorry. Okay, Vincent, my car is the silver Saab that's parked over in the opposite corner in the lot."

"Got it. Meet you over there?"

"Sounds fine."

Now, I should probably note something about Mrs. Scialdone. Some ten-odd years ago, she was headed home from work here at school at it was past ten at night, so the sun had long since set. Visibility was poorer than piss-poor, because one of the worst hurricanes in recorded history was passing over our area. Anyways, she was passing through one of the intersections about half a mile from her house when along comes this driver.

I don't know- I don't think anyone at this school knows, because police records are sealed for twenty years or more- what happened. Some say he was drunk, others say he was high, other people say he was on his holoscreen, and still others say he just wasn't paying attention.

Whatever the case, he hit Mrs. Scialdone right on her passenger-side door. Her old car, and ancient Lexus, was crumpled in, pinning her lower half against the driver's side door and dash. The only thing that saved her life was the fact that someone saw what had happened and called the police, because the force of the impact knocked her out. She only pieced together what had happened when she awoke three days later. By that time, it was too late to save her legs- they had been shattered in six places each.

She didn't want to amputate them, though, because despite what the doctors said, that she would never be able to walk again, that she would be forever confined to braces or a wheelchair, she believed that she would be able to walk again. And so she continues to do physical therapy every day, stretching out her legs, walking with her crutches and then some without. She can't do nearly as much without her braces, only about twenty steps or so, than she can with them. In either case, it's going to be a few minutes before she makes her way the five hundred feet across the parking lot in the pouring rain.

Ugh, I should have brought my rain jacket. Just another dumb-dumb move on my part. I didn't even think to bring my jacket. Yeah, that precaution probably would have saved me from this-

"Atchoo! Atchoo! Atchoo!"

Ay ay ay, this is nasty. But as I was saying, that simple little precaution would have probably saved me from this whole fucking mess.

Oh, and my mouth is awful. Sorry, whoever reads this (presuming anyone survives, that is. This basement that I'm now hiding in, trying not to die, is pretty damn cold. Let's hope I don't freeze to death before I'm done writing.)

Again, sorry. I need to let the anger and guilt I feel out, and cursing's a pretty effective way to blow off some steam.

But back to the story.

So here I am waiting in the rain, sniffling and sneezing, in the pouring rain (did I mention that I'm sick?), waiting for my teacher to come. Oh, she's over here now. Good.

"Sorry I took so long, Vincent," she said, looking embarrassed. "I know you're not feeling to well right now, and standing here in the rain probably doesn't help anything."

"No, not really," I replied, "but it's no big deal."

"No big deal?" Mrs. Scialdone sputtered. "You're now even wetter than before. I'm really, really sorry about that."

"No problem, Mrs. S. Let's-"

"Atchoo!"

"-go."

"Sounds good." With that, we were on our way, me sneezing and sniffling and spraying rhinoviruses everywhere the whole way.