Every night before I leave work, I call Mother and hang up when she answers. I just want to make sure she's still alive, and if I actually spoke to her, she would make me feel guilty for going out instead of coming home to take care of her. I am pathetic. Anyway, by 5:25 pm, I am settled in the back of the lounge, sipping a gin and tonic and looking forward to hearing people with really bad voices screw up otherwise decent songs. I personally could never get up in front of a crowd of people I don't know and sing. I know everyone would make fun of me. I would probably cry. Like a little girl...

There are a couple of people sitting at a table near me, and since I don't have anyone to talk to, I try to listen to their conversation without actually appearing to. The man is wearing a really odd-looking hat with a feather sticking out of it and he's drinking a beer. I never did like beer. It always left a funny taste in my mouth. Anyway, Mother says that beer is the devil's brew. My dad used to drink gin and tonics, so I guess that's where I got it.

There is a girl sitting at a table near me who seems pretty nice. I would talk to her if I weren't so shy. I don't know why I can't talk to people who can talk back. I guess it's because I usually say dumb things. Or, I turn red and stutter. So, I prefer to keep my mouth shut. It's safer that way.

That girl is getting up and she's walking towards my table. Oh shit. What if she talks to me? What do I say? I look into the drink (like it's going to give me an answer), and I can already feel the blood rushing to my face. Please don't talk to me please please please don't talk to me. She keeps walking...right into my table.

"Oops! Sorry!" she said, as she walked by and right out the door of the lounge.

I'm holding my breath (it must be unconciously, because I would never intentionally hold my breath. Mother says that is dangerous), and I let it out in a whoosh, sucking more in so fast I feel I am hyperventalating. I need another gin and tonic.

Right now I am on my third gin and tonic and this girl is getting ready to get up and sing. I have seen here before. She's almost as pathetic as I am. All she knows how to sing is Neil Diamond's "I am...I said." I really wish she would pick a new song. I know all the lyrics to that song now:

I am...I said
LA's fine, the sun shines most the time
And the feeling is laid back.
Palm trees grow, and rents are low but you know I keep thinking about,
Making my way back.
Well, I'm New York City, born and raised,
But nowadays I'm lost between two shores.
LA's fine, but it ain't home,
New York's home but it ain't mine no more.

I am...I said,
To no one there.
And no one heard at all,
Not even the chair.
I am...I cried.
I am...said I.
And I am lost and I can't even say why.

OK, that obviously is not the whole song, but that's all I can stand. I really wish she'd pick a new song. If she insists on singing Neil Diamond, that's great, but how about "Song Sung Blue." I really like that one: "Song sung blue, ev'rybody knows one; Song sung blue, ev'ry garden grows one." Or, if she doesn't like that one she could always go for a more upbeat one like "Sweet Caroline." But, hey, I guess I can't complain.

Here she goes singing about how she wishes she were back in New York City. I am so damn tired of this song.

"Why don't you get another song?" Oh Christ. Did I just say that?

"You suck!! Can't you sing anything else? What the hell's the matter with you?" Oh shit. Mother was right. The alcohol is going to my head. I have to leave. Everybody is looking at me.

I rush out of the door into a drizzling rain. I need to go back to the hospital and talk to someone. But it's raing and I can't walk 8 blocks in rain. I'll take the bus. I will sit on the bus and not talk and I will think. Here comes the bus. On the bus I go, to the back of the bus, sitting down on the bus.

I am such a rotten person. I can't believe I yelled at that poor girl, Mother would be so disappointed. I am a bad person. I don't take in stray animals, I don't always leave a 15% tip, and I have late fees at the library. I need to go pay those fees. I bet that girl I always see in the French Literature section doesn't have late fees. I feel like such a failure.

Here I am at the hospital, outside the room of that accident victim. I can hear his wife getting ready to leave. I guess his name is Claude. I can hear his wife getting ready to leave. She keeps saying, "Oh. Claude," over and over again. She's probably in shock. I'll talk to him tonight since he is new here.

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