“I’ll never be married,” mused the middle-aged woman as she sipped on free champagne and watched with shameful bitterness as a toddler in a tuxedo chased a group of newborn ducks. “I’m going to become one of those angry spinsters who’s mean to children and gives her cats people names.”
With sarcasm dripping from every word, he said, “It’s good that you don’t drink at happy hour, when I’m the only one sipping on something stronger than Diet Coke with a lime wedge.”
“Getting good and hammered at happy hour is too expensive,” she replied, and chugged the rest of her wine.
As the shadows made their way up the mountains of the Eastern Kentucky town of Hazard on a muggy, August Friday night, the four handsome boys, all of high school age, reached for a beer from the back of the shiny, black SUV.
Four hours later, as the EMT’s pulled the last of the four boys’ lifeless bodies out of the twisted heap of metal, four pairs of parents sat on their living room couches in their comfortable homes, completely unaware of the pain that would soon come their way.
Uninhibited by staring faces and oblivious to the infidelity in her voice, Mr. Large beamed a smile that chased both ears. His wife could never really tell if he believed her or was simply preoccupied with the accessibility of beer (probably the latter she supposed quietly, economizing on breath).
Then again, what made him spin? His head around his shoulders spun all night,spinning and rotating around the axis of his mind, a moon to earth, a moon with many craters, many craters indeed.