I don't own anything, except Wolfe, and she's mine all mine I tell you.

Praise and reviews would be appreciated. I used the Lyrics from. "Here's to the night." By eve 6.

Aftermath

For my sanity and my father's pride I stick to the lounge with the bad coffee and the couch I've spent too many nights on, waiting for Wolfe to arrive. I felt sick just watching my father suggest wrapping the house and all the furniture in bubble wrap to prevent this, doting, joking, and checking out the nurses not realizing I saw him. A trauma room though, is not a great place to have a scene, so I held it in and came back here. Again I say putz, and although a Rabbi is a teacher and my dad does teach, I wish he had a better method than constant disappointment and lack of acknowledgement.

I'm starting to empathize with Charles Manson, I don't know whether that is a good thing or not, I'm not sure. All I need to see is my father playing the Good Samaritan and concerned husband. He's filling out forms to take his wife home before she has a chance to sober up and heal under physician supervision. He's keeping his pride in tact and the expense of his health insurance down, neither terribly important to anyone except men like my father, but it doesn't matter right now, and probably never will in this century.

'All my time is froze in motion

Can't I stay an hour or two or more

Don't let me let you go

Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well'

"One thousand two hundred and thirty six,…… seven,…… eight."

At least I won't be mourning this situation for any period of time and not in any way, because really, it's like smelling something for too long, you get used to it and soon you don't even acknowledge it. I know she's gonna be on the end of the bottle come sundown and be reciting every word from Evita at earsplitting levels, she's in her Over dramatic and Obnoxious phase right now or what I like to call Barbara Streisand on crack. She has five phases, Falling Down Drunk (AKA Barney Syndrome), Musical Theatre (Big Gay Al Syndrome), Over dramatic and Obnoxious (Barbara Streisand on Crack), Hell Fire and Brimstone (Railing on the Bisexual Syndrome), and last but not least Uninhibited Opportunistic Nudist (The Streak Syndrome).

I don't really see my parents leave although they're right in front of the door and I don't see Wolfe hold the door for them while she strolls in.

"Judging by the stitches she's somewhere between Barney and Streisand." I chuckle, she's right on the money as usual.

"Correct. What time is it?" She lifts her arm and moves her sleeve back, showing her tattoo of angel script and revealing a vintage Rolex.

"Just about seven in the morning. Are you going to school or are you going back home?"

"Actually I thought I'd at least call in sick and then probably go back to my place to help my mom sober up and keep and eye on her when Dad leaves for work."

"Let's see we'll need some supplies then and you need to talk to one of your "group" to get your homework." She just successfully used air quotes in a conversation and I say so, and soon neither of us can stop giggling, "come on grab your stuff and we'll get this over with."

I'm sitting in the passenger side of a 2004 Rolls Royce phantom on the way to my boyfriend's house, and I'm getting more nervous now than any other time in my life. I've got Wolfe as backup though, that should help, I hope.

"Just a question, if I am going to see the whole Girardi family which is likely, what is my story. Joan knows about my mother, she just can barely keep anything personal to herself. I'm screwed," I put my head in my hands.

"You're looking after your mother who took a spill last night, concussion tests and the like," she has done this for me for years, and I hope she won't stop any time soon.

She pulls us into the Girardi driveway and humms a funeral march as she does so. Sarcastic little brat, I'll get her back.