Shame #2

So there’s this crosswalk at school where middle-aged black women in old cars hit students, like, daily. It’s to the point where you just kind of get periodic updates of the newly hospitalized with your breakfast bran muffin. So, not surprisingly, this particular bright sunny morning, this chick gets laid the hell out. But enough about her.

Being that I have a colossal cop fetish, I was actually at the police station flirting with a university cop when the call came through. It elicited from me a mild interest at first, but then back to business. That is until I heard the name come over the radio. Amanda Knight.

Now Ms. Knight had been in my Freshman Orientation class. This class had one goal, and one goal only: to put you in enough annoying, interaction-demanding situations that that you would form relationships with your fellow students/sufferers. Well it worked. I knew her enough that condolences were appropriate at the very least.

After a brief trip to deodorant alley, I was of to the gift card aisle at Wal-Mart. They don’t exactly make a sorry-you-got-made-roadkill type commiseration card. So I grimly stared at my options. I finally selected a pseudo-playful card with a horse telling prostrate cowboy, “Hope you get up soon partner.” Congratulating myself on remaining compassionate and semi-inappropriately witty I began my trek to the hospital.

Upon arrival I began broadcasting my pilgrimage details to all who would listen. I received the desired “oh, how sweet of you” response from everyone except the old janitor, who regarded me with distaste and ambled on. Intoxicated with my own kindness, I swaggered towards Amanda’s door. A nurse was on her way out, and upon hearing my intentions, was more than happy to show me in.

“Amanda? You’ve got a visitor…” I stepped out smiling from behind the nurse and stopped cold. Sitting around the bed were about a half a dozen people all looking at me curiously. Amanda leaned forward in bed and we regarded each other for a moment. I had no f*cking idea who the girl in the bed was, and her eyes conveyed the same message to me. But the ball was firmly in my court and after a moment’s hesitation, I stammered something about having a class with her a couple quarters past and wanting see if she was alright. Her mother immediately started exclaiming loudly how sweet the gesture was. Her mothers voice seemed to pull her out of the quizzical open mouth stare she was giving me. “Uh...yeah, that’s nice of… thanks.”

As I frantically moved on to the lighter joking topics of scholarships for crosswalk victims, I scanned the rest of the occupants of the room out of the corner of my eye. Her mom was the age-exception, as the others were obviously friends of this Amanda that shared the same name as my friend. I made a few more polite, get-well type comments and made my escape. As I was leaving, the who-the-hell-are-you looks from her friends that I made contact with were enough to make my overly casual exit as uncomfortable as a spiked suppository.

Outside the room I leaned against the wall and exhaled. As I entered the nearest elevator, I pulled out the card and realized things could be worse, she could have a written reminder of the hospital stalker. The elevator dinged and the door slid open to reveal the nurse who let me in with one of the other nurses I had talked to. “Oh… suga, you didn’t giver the card?” I blinked. “Uhh… noo… I forgot… and I have to run, soo…” They were apparently saddened by this news, until an idea hit one of them, “ I’m going to her room right now, I’ll give it to her” They immediately brightened at this solution to the problem and both smiled joyfully at me. I stared unhappily at her outstretched hand and slowly handed her the card.

I never saw Amanda again, but for a solid year, I couldn’t go anywhere on campus without seeing her friends. They were everywhere, staring, smiling, whispering… Adding to my complex was the fact that every time I saw them, they would lean to other girls and begin talking, at which point everyone in the group would turn my way.

Just recently I was walking past the crosswalk again when yet another student decided to become a statistic. As I continued walking away, I glanced back over my shoulder at the gathering crowd. The poor schmuck totally had my sympathy and well wishes, but unless he ever reads this, he’ll never know.