I’d been ready to leave by eight a.m., and had done my best to make the hours go faster, but still I’d left way too early and then driven around town with the radio on loud. Despite driving to the opposite side of town, I’d still ended up sitting outside of her house stupidly early. I was nervous, and maybe that was stupid, too. Once upon a time I’d known this woman—though then she’d been a girl—even better than I’d known myself. I’d held her when she’d been sad, and brushed away her tears with my fingers. I’d fought with her when she’d been angry, and laughed with her when she’d been happy. I’d kissed her mouth, and her eyes, and run my tongue over every inch of her skin. Yet here I was now, nervous to even sit in the same car with her. I wondered if she’d forgotten about my offer to drive her to her appointment. Perhaps I was being ignorant again. I hadn’t thought that she might need specialist transport if she was back in a wheelchair because of her injury.
