THE UPGRADE

(a fiction by Cella)

She fidgeted in her seat, staring intently out the window. First Class doesn’t feel much different than sitting in coach – at least the chair is bigger and softer, she thought. She always liked sitting by the window, partly to rest a pillow against the bulkhead to relax, partly because looking out the window somehow helped steady her nerves during flight. She didn’t like to fly at all, but flew just often enough to have learned to grin and bear it. She was oblivious to the bustle through the aisle, the murmur of passengers searching for their seats, and luggage being banged about into overhead bins.

Strange, usually the First Class seats are full by the time us coach folk get on the plane.

She continued to stare, wishing she was already at her sister's house in Pasadena and the stress was behind her. Her mind began to wander to the fun they had at Disneyland and Knott's the last time she visited as she watched the handlers bring another load of luggage for the cargo hold.

“Miss...” he said politely.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The two gentlemen boarded the plane after everyone else to slip on as anonymously as possible. He was a little nervous about taking commercial flights, mostly because he hated going through airports, wishing he could be anyone but himself while the paparazzi were around. And O'Hare was not a small airport. At least they couldn't get past the security checkpoint without a boarding pass, but some even managed their way around that. The best he could do to be incognito was his usual rumpled carpenter pants, an olive green Old Navy sweatshirt and light green short-brimmed cotton hat to cover his mess of cowlicky red hair. It was the expensive sunglasses worn indoors and the enormous bodyguard, on the other hand, that made one wonder who he was.

It had also been a while flying commercial. He felt spoiled with the record label flying him back and forth between coasts on chartered jets and company planes over the last four years. It was definitely one of the nicer perks of fame. Even though his superstardom had brought him financially to that point, he had yet to be willing to throw money into joint ownership of a private jet, still thinking of it as a luxury, not a necessity, but the hassle through the airport was beginning to make him change his mind.

When they got onboard and saw their seats were both on the aisle, the bodyguard wanted to ask the lady by the window to swich seats so his charge can be safely tucked out of sight – well, as much as one can be on a plane. While his bodyguard lifted the bags into the overhead bins, he reluctantly decided he would ask her, even though he just didn't like putting people out for his own benefit.

“Miss?”

No response from the lady looking out the window.

“You know what, J,” he said in a low southern tone, “let her be. It IS her seat, after all, and she’s already comfortable.”

“When I get back...” the bodyguard started.

“Now don't yell too much at the travel gal when we get back about two aisles, ok? It's just one time. Besides...” he looks at her then back at him, “she doesn't look too dangerous, and how much trouble could happen with me on the aisle?”

“All right, C, just this once.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He got situated in the seat, pulling out a magazine from an old backpack his Mom just found from his halcion days as a YMCA camp counselor. His bodyguard sat down once he was in his seat, trying to keep him shielded from any onlookers in Coach, which wasn't hard to do, considering his size.

He tried to look out the window, but was still blocked by his still-staring seatmate. Wonder what's so interesting out there, he thought. Maybe it's her first time flying. He sat back in his seat and took a deep breath, closed his eyes and began to quietly hum. The music was always wafting through his head, sometimes spilling out into audible notes. He had sung so much over the last few years that it had become habit, but today he hummed a tune he recorded on a demo album, before that talent show was ever on the air.

Goodness, it's been almost nine years since that demo. Seems like two lifetimes ago.

He was starting the second verse when she realized what the person next to her was humming, and she started singing the words in her thoughts.

You take my hand as our shadows dance
with moonlight on your skin...

One of the tapes in her car held that song and a burned copy of the demo cd sits on a rack in the living room – a gift from a fellow fan. It didn’t take more than a couple lines before she had a realization. While looking out the window, her eyes widened and her heart began to pound.

Oh my God, no – it can’t be him – let this be a cruel joke. I have no makeup on, my hair’s a mess – it can’t be him.

Her mind flashed back to that innuendo-laden fansite she used to post frequently to, but given everything that had happened in the last 18 months, she now only lurked every once in a while. Even though she wasn't near as “enthusiastic” a fan as she once was, his beautiful music was constantly with her, easing her heart many a difficult time.

She remembered back to all the pictures, audio and video still on her hard drive, and the videotapes filled with performances and interviews from those first years of his stardom. His second album was even more beautiful than the first, and every once in a while, she'd have a pang of regret about the solo tour she never did attend. She started remembering about a little fan letter she wrote once, not too long after his first tour began, that said she wished she could one day just have two minutes of his time to have him all to herself.

Lord, she thought, I guess I really should be careful what I wish for. Her heart continued to pound and she could feel her face get warm. She moved herself, glanced her eyes left sheepishly, and spied that still-ubiquitous WWJD bracelet on his right wrist. All she could think was I am the luckiest girl on the face of this earth.

She turned her head more to find the lanky redhead with a hat on, now thumbing through a magazine, still humming. He looked at her and politely smiled and she returned one. She slowly sat back in her seat. I always thought I'd die in a plane, but not THIS way. She glanced up at the hat and remembered something from her past.

“It's funny. My dad used to wear a porkpie hat all the time when I was a kid. I guess they've made a comeback.”

“A what? Pork pie? That's a funny name. I think the store called them bucket hats.”

Then he realized his faux pas. “Oh my goodness, where are my manners,” he said as he removed his hat in the presence of a lady, revealing the flattened mess of slightly-wavy reddish-brown hair. He ran the long fingers of one hand through his hair a few times in a vain attempt to neaten the style, which only served to make it stick up more.

She smiled at him. “Oh, much better,” she said sarcastically with a crooky smile. He snickered.

One of her favorite pictures of him from an old meet and greet came to mind – a freckle-faced, big-grinned, fresh-from-bed looking closeup, showing his hair in every direction, wearing just a plain white t-shirt -- much like how he looked right now. And it only took that one gesture to remember again just why she was so taken by him from the beginning -- what caused her to write stories, to imagine being with him. The voice wasn't just angelic, it was the man, and his modesty only served to intensify the female fans' desires. That, mixed with those enigmatic fears and little idiosincricies made her so often want to drown in him back then -- to be able to touch the divine sent to earth, no matter how many times he said he wasn't as innocent as he looked.

But the last 18 months had cooled that tempest within her, replaced by grief, acceptance and moving on to a new life with old friends in a new city.

The plane started pulling back from the gate and onto the path leading to the runway. She didn't know what was worse, the wait to takeoff or the takeoff itself. Just get me to L.A.

Just as the plane finally turned and the engines revved, she lowered the window halfway, sat back in her seat and tried to remain calm, quietly taking a couple deep breaths while her heart nervously pounded away. As the plane accelerated, she gripped the armrest and closed her eyes.

She felt a large hand cover hers and she opened her trying-to-not-look-worried eyes to him.

“It'll be alright,” he said with a smile in his soft southern accent.

“I'll be better once we're at cruising altitude and they start serving,” she confessed. “Takeoff's the worst for me.”

He gave her small hand a squeeze and let his hand remain, seeing it gave her some comfort. She bore though the fear as the plane climbed.

The last person I'd want to see me this way, she thought. Someone upstairs has a sense of humor......Thanks.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They remained quiet as the plane finally reached cruising altitude. She raised the window a bit more and her nerves settled down, seeing that the sky was clear and the clouds were few. He felt the tension leave her hand, so he patted her then removed his hand. She looked at him and gave a little smile in response.

“You were right, you are better now.”

She sighed. “Well, so long as we don't get a bunch of turbulance, I should be ok. I sure envy people who can just read a book or sleep and be unconcerned. Sometimes I have to work so hard at remaining calm. For as expensive as they are, it's too bad that these First Class seats can't make me any calmer...like having a valium stuck in the seat pocket.”

He chuckled. “No, can't do that! Is this the first time you've flown First Class?”

“Yeah, it is. I took a bump off the last flight and they gave me a voucher for a free round trip, then the gate lady was so appreciative, she let me fly First Class on this flight.”

Although I had no idea that farting around for four hours in O'Hare would've turned out THIS good.

“Wow, you made out like a bandit. Well, welcome to the other side of the curtain.” He looks at his watch. “You know, the Captain should be out in about five minutes to personally greet all the first class passengers.”

He could see the confusion in her eyes. “What?” she said.

“Yeah, but some of your lower-fare airlines, though, will only send out the Co-pilot to greet us.”

A toothy smile comes over her face. “You're messing with me.”

“No, I'm not,” he said with all seriousness. “The meet and greet happens just before the flight attendants start their dance number.”

She giggled and gave him a gentle smack on the arm. “Quit it, now! You're so silly.” She paused and looked at him sweetly. “You're trying to calm my nerves by making me laugh.”

Still wonderfully silly and sweet – Hollywood hasn't changed him a bit.

“No, I'm not, I'm telling the truth!” He looks over at Jerome and taps his arm. “J tell her – the flight attendants really did some great high-kicks on the last trip, didn't they?”

Jerome frowns and rolls his eyes. “What have you been telling her, C?”

“I'm sorry - by the way, this is Jerome. He protects me from crazy little ladies.”

Jerome outstretches his enormous arm across the aisle and they shake hands. “Are you a crazy little lady?” his voice booms.

Her eyes widen. “Well...um...I've always considered myself a bit of a nutball, but I'm not crazy enough to make YOU mad at me.”

Both Clay and Jerome laugh. “Yeah, you definitely wouldn't want to get on his bad side. He'd squash 'ya like a bug,” Clay replies.

“Speak for yourself, C. I've seen your bad side a time or two.”

“Yeah, but ONLY a time or two,” Clay clarifies as the flight attendant approaches.

“Would you like something to drink, ma'am?”

Oh, Lord, I hate 'ma'am.'

“Just water, please.”

Clay looks at her with a chuckle. “Just water? The first time in First Class and you ask for water? Not even free alcohol to steady your nerves?” He paused and his eyes got wide. “Oh my, I can't believe I just encouraged drinking.”

“God, am I that bad?” She looks up at the flight attendant, who's wondering if she wants to change her mind. “No, water's fine for now, thanks.” She looks back at Clay.

“No really, sorry, you're doing ok. I didn't mean to imply.”

“Well, I'm not beyond swigging a little bottle if things get rough, but I've yet to do it.” She thanks the attendant for the glass of ice and water bottle. “But really...Teatotaller, Cheap Date, whatever you want to call it, I pretty-much always drink water. Must be the 'health conscious' Angelino in me. I like Pepsi, but it'll keep me up all night if I drink it now.”

“You don't drink? Even in L.A., it's not too often you find people who don't drink.”

“Well, I only drink when I gamble,” she says with a smile. He looks at her with a bit of confusion in his eyes, wondering if she's kidding.

“No, really I'm not kidding about that. I like Bailey's and I like Blackjack, but I think the last time I had a Bailey's was over a year ago, and it's been eight or nine years since I've played Blackjack.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Unless, of course, you count the times I play on a plane to keep my mind off being IN the plane,” she chuckled. “Beer stinks to me – wine stinks – liquor is...I just don't know how people can drink that fire water. Bailey's is it for me – even my moderation is done in moderation.”

His eyes changed from concern to relief. Ok, she's definitely not an alcoholic gambling addict, he jokingly thought.

She looks at him very seriously, thinking about his, and then her own late alcoholic father. She leaned a bit toward him and talked softer. “Don't worry about me, I'm all too familiar with the evils of drink. I had one of those guys, too, growing up.”

What she said needed no explanation, but he was taken aback a bit that she made such an intimate statement.

Now her eyes grew concerned. “It looks like I'm the one who needs to apologize now. I'm very sorry I brought that up.”

“No really, it's ok. I understand what you meant.” He felt a kinship with her, rather than a revulsion about that painful chapter of his life, and he knew that was the point she was trying to make. It was still weird, though, to have a complete stranger know stuff about you. THAT kind of stuff. He smiled at her. “So, you live L.A.?”

She smiled back. Apparently everything was ok. The last thing she wanted to do was tick off this beautiful man who apparently still owned a big piece of her heart.

“Actually, not anymore – not for over 10 years now, but I was born and raised there. My sister and a few of my friends still live in L.A. and Orange County. I sort of was the first to leave, then over the years my other girlfriends started moving out of state, too – Oregon, Wyoming, Idaho...”

“Well then, maybe you can answer a question for me.”

“Ok, I'll try.”

He leans to her and whispers, “Is it just me, or is EVERYONE crazy in L.A.?”

She starts to laugh. “Oh my God, how funny. No, not everyone. You just unfortunately live and work in the world's biggest nutfarm and they won't let you leave.”

“Yeah, and me allergic to nuts, too.”

Her laughter increased with the joke and she had to wipe her eyes. “Oh man, my stomach. You're killing me, here!” Clay was quite pleased with making his audience-of-one laugh. He always loved hearing the sound of a woman's laughter and appreciated that she had a sense of humor. I could be sitting next to a lump for the next three hours, or worse, a salesman!

“Ok, so there ARE sane people there?”

“Actually, the truly sane ones move to Orange County...or out of state.”

“Oh, like you?”

“Yeah, well...I suppose so,” she chuckles. “I sometimes didn't feel too sane doing it.”

“So do you regret moving away from L.A.?”

“Sometimes...mostly when there were one too many overcast days or when the snow on the ground wasn't melting. And snow in April just stinks. But the thing about it, though – I did learn to appreciate a clear, sunny day. You get so accustomed to the good weather in L.A., you take it for granted. Columbus is overcast so often that I always noticed a blue sky.”

“Columbus...Ohio? Georgia? You haven't picked up any twang, so I'm guessing Ohio.”

“Yeah, Ohio. I didn't even know there was a Columbus, Georgia until I moved.”

“Well, that's nice, you looking on the bright side of it. So why did you move?”

“I had a job transfer. I had an opportunity with the company I was with, but turns out we were all laid off a little over a year after the bunch of us got there.”

“Goodness, that had to be a rude awakening. But you stayed there?”

“Well, I met my husband a couple months before the layoff. We had a mutual friend who introduced us and that was that.”

She's married. He finally looks down and sees the wedding ring. “That sounds really sweet. How fortunate you both found each other.”

“Yeah. If I hadn't met him, I would've moved right back in with my Mom after the layoffs.”

She got quiet and stared at the water bottle. Now, I don't have either of them.

“Are you alright?”

She looked at him, smiling through the tears in her eyes. “Um...why don't you tell me about some of these crazy people you've met.”

He lightly touched her forearm. “I'm sorry, did I...”

“No no, it's ok, really -- I'll be fine,” she said as she dabbed her tears with a napkin. “Go on, tell me what it's like being a North Carolina boy in La-La-Land.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“May I clear your plate, ma'am?”

A little frustration comes over her, but she politely says thank you. As she lifts her tray, Clay takes an end and helps pass it to the attendant.

Stop calling me ma'am! I'm not that old and you're not that much younger than me! She lets out a grunting sigh as the attendant moves to the next row.

“Anything wrong?”

She leans and whispers to him. “I know it's her job and I know it's respectful, but I just hate 'ma'am.'”

He chuckles. “It's funny how women can be so fussy with what they're called.”

“Well, women don't like to be reminded about how much older they are compared to the person talking to them.”

“I can tell you – but you didn't hear it from me – outside of Hollywood, rich southern women are the WORST about handling their age. I overhear things at parties and fundraisers that just makes my skin crawl thinking about it. I can't believe people purposely allow themselves to be burned and peeled and lipo-sucked and cut up.”

“So living out in Hollywood after all this time, you still haven't fallen under its 'eternal youth' spell yet? You can't tell me nobody's brought it up to you.”

“Oh yeah, they do,” he says with a bit of frustration, bringing his fingers to his temples. “All the time with 'you should have those crow's feet botoxed.'”

“For the love of God, tell me you're not listening to them. Getting rid of your little smile lines would be like...like...” she smiled when she found the perfect analogy. “...like Shania Twain covering up her midriff.”

He gives a little crooky smile and has a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, I definitely would miss that cute little belly button of hers.”

“I knew you'd like that.” She looks up across the aisle. “Jerome?”

He looks up from his book. “Is he giving you any trouble, ma'am?”

Clay smacks Jerome on the side of his arm while his right hand gestures at his neck and whispers loudly, “Ixnay with the am-may, J.”

She chuckled. You are just too frickin' cute for words, sweetie.

“No, not yet. He's being a good boy. Hey, would it be alright that if I ever find out he's seriously considering being botoxed or nipped-and-tucked, you'd let me fly out and smack a thimble against his head?”

“Oh sure, no problem with that. I can't ALWAYS keep him in line.”

“Gee, thanks you two! You weren't kidding when you said you were a bit of a nutball. So anyway, moving on...did you like your fancy first-class meal?”

“That sure beat having to pick up a sandwich in the terminal. I didn't think real plates and real utensils still existed on planes. But you know, actually, my favorite thing to eat on a plane is when we'd fly home after a Thanksgiving or Christmas visit and Mom would send us off with a bunch of plain-old turkey sandwiches on white bread. She always made sure there were some without mayonnaise for Matt.

“Oh Lord, that brings back memories of my Mom doing the same thing when I would drive back to UNCC after Christmas break. Of course, she'd also send along a big container full of mac and cheese.”

“You know, I tried to make mac and cheese from scratch a couple times, and both times the egg curdled and I ended up with a kind of macaroni quiche. It must be one of those recipes where it's all in the technique.”

“I have no idea – I just know Mom makes the best.” He pauses a moment. “I hope you don't mind me asking this, but, it sounded like...your mom's not...here...anymore?”

“No, no she isn't, and I really miss her. It was two years ago. But...I guess short of happening in your sleep, she went real quick and peaceful. My dad passed away a long time ago, but that was different and it just wasn't the same feelings.”

He started remembering about his beloved stepdad finally passing after his illness. “Not with me. I really miss my Dad.” She reached out her hand to his. “Yeah, I bet you do. I can imagine how rough it would be to...” She fell silent.

“To watch...it happen?” He made a pregnant pause and sighed. “It broke all our hearts to see him so ill. When it was finally over, even though the pain was indescribable, I knew he wasn't suffering anymore and I knew that God was taking care of him now. Every once in a while, though, I can really feel him with me. I remember the first time that happened was when Clive Davis presented me with the double platinum for the first album. I could hear Dad tell me how proud he was of me, and I remember looking up to heaven, listening to him just for a couple seconds. I just know in my heart there's life after this one.”

She smiled at him. “I remember that...you looking up. That was a really beautiful moment, and if you don't mind me saying, I'm glad it was on national tv for all of us to see.”

“Gee, you must really like Diane Sawyer.”

She snickered. “Actually, honestly, she was ok with me until that second interview with you, then she got on my Shit List.”

He chuckles a little. “You weren't as forgiving about that as I was, but yeah, I definitely know what you mean. I just was sitting there, trying to be pleasant, but inside I was so steamed at her for bringing, you know, 'certain things,' up again.”

“Bitch.”

“Hey now. That'll be enough language like that from you, young lady.”

Ooh, Alpha Clay came out to say hi! That just sent a lovely chill down my spine. And 'young lady' to boot! Can we just stay on this plane forever?

She chuckles and salutes. “Yes, sir. Sorry sir.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So, aside from being overcast all the time, what's it like living in Columbus? I seem to remember the arena being nice and having a great crowd there, but that's pretty-much all I get to see of any city.”

“Columbus is a great city to live, but not to visit. There's nothing really 'touristy' about the place – just people living their lives. But actually, I forgot to mention, I don't live there anymore. I was in Columbus on this trip for some last bits of business I had to take care of. I moved to Idaho three months ago, near Boise.”

She's married, but she keeps saying 'I.' Did her husband...? He was quiet a moment, then his heart broke for her. My God, she's had all three pass away? She's so young to have all that happen.

“I think I just figured out why you had the tears earlier.”

She could see the sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah, I think you did.”

They were quiet a moment, just looking at each other.

She took a deep breath and broke the silence. “So anyway, um...my girlfriend and her husband moved from L.A. about four years ago and bought this 10-acre property with trees, a couple ponds, outbuildings and this enormous house – obviously Mormon country – and there was this little two-bedroom farmhouse that came with the property, so they sold it to me. We're all out in the middle of frickin' nowhere, but at this point in my life, I'm happy to just be around Edina and Mark and have my cats...oops...er, my dogs that meow. Actually, I'd like to fix up the place a bit – finish the basement, create a huge master suite for myself. I guess I'll eventually get around to it.”

“Well, what do you do for a living?”

“I'm a paralegal, but I'm totally burned out of it. I'm definitely not a Type-A personality. What I'd love to do is just write my stories and travel. Matt and I used to talk about buying a cabin in the woods and renting it out, or having a bed and breakfast, but we never got around to doing it.”

“The area sounds so nice and peaceful. Maybe your friends would let you build a small cottage on the property and you can rent it out. That would beat going to work full-time.”

She pauses a moment, snickers and smiles in a slightly evil manner. “You know what would be REALLY cool? If I could run an 'ultra-super-inclusive' bed and breakfast, ONLY for the stars. With all the ridiculous stuff gullible stars are willing to buy just because it's expensive or ultra-inclusive, I'd love to charge some movie star $10,000 to stay at my place for a week and eat the plain old food I cook. The draw, is that we're out in No Man's Land – no paparazzi, no fans, just a quiet respite from the frenetic Hollywood life.”

Clay snickers. “That's quite a little scheme you've got there. You think your place is that quiet?”

“Oh, heck yeah it is. So long as the star didn't tell anyone about the place, nobody would know where they were.”

“Then how would other stars find out about this Shangri-La?”

“Eek, that's a good question. I knew there'd be a catch.”

He snickers. “You give up too easily. I know – the former guests are allowed to refer only ONE star to your place EVER, which keeps it ultra-inclusive. Hey, this is kind of fun to be thinking up all this! It would be pretty wild to have Julia Roberts stay in a little farmhouse. She'd probably say it reminded her of home.”

“You know what,” she smiled smugly a bit, “I don't want any women at my place. Just the handsome, talented men. Women, feh – they're too darn demanding and high-maintenance. I'M the Lady of MY Manor.”

He chuckled. “You go, gurrl! It's your place – you can run it however you want.”

“God, that would be so cool if it ever happened. I'd only need to work three or four weeks out of the year. I could cruise; I could send Edina and Mark off on trips – just live a quiet life but have this wild connection to Hollywood.” She sighed and looked at him contentedly. “You really know how to keep a girl's mind off things.”

He gave her a bright smile, seeing the softness in her eyes. “You are very welcome. You're quite entertaining yourself.”

She hears a rattling and sees the flight attendant putting dishes and cartons onto her cart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“For dessert tonight, we have ice cream sundaes in a selection of flavors from the Illinois Gourmet Ice Cream Company, with your choice of toppings. We have vanilla custard, chocolate chunk, butter pecan and chunky peanut butter swirl.”

“Oh, I remember passing by that ice cream stand while going through the airport. Wish we could've stopped to get a scoop then – the cones we passed by looked awfully good...” he tilted his head up over the cart to see Jerome. “...but CERTAIN PERSONS wouldn't let me stop.”

Jerome puts down his book. “Let's see. Stop for ice cream, get mobbed, don't enjoy ice cream because you're BUSY getting mobbed, then miss plane. Ok, we can do that next time.”

Clay sits quiet for a moment, then looks up at the attendant with a funny scowel on his face. “I hate it when he's right.”

The attendant smiles then looks at her. “Ma'am, what would you like?”

She's too busy chuckling to care about “ma'am” anymore. “I love a good french vanilla. I'll try the vanilla custard with some caramel sauce, please.”

“And for you, sir?”

“The peanut butter swirl sounds really good. If you don't mind, though, could I first see the carton for a minute?”

She hands him the carton and he inpects the ingredient list for any nuts aside from peanuts. “That'll work. I'll have two big scoops – just plain, please.”

The attendant handed each of them their ice cream. He takes a whiff and closes his eyes. “Oh man, I just love the smell of peanut butter.” Clay holds up his spoon to her with a full eyebrows-up smile and she returns it with a big toothy grin. They clink spoons and dig in. Clay took one big first spoonful and let it roll around on his tongue while she took a much more ladylike taste of hers.

“Mmm, this is heavenly,” she says.

“You want heavenly – you have GOT to try this. Do you like peanut butter?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, you're gonna LOVE this. I wonder if they have a website. This would've been worth getting mobbed.” He pushes his dish a little closer to her. “Go ahead, try some.”

She takes a small spoonful to taste and is quiet as she lets the flavor absorb on her palate.

“Isn't that just the best thing you've ever put in your mouth?!?”

Her body suddenly goes spastic. She covered her mouth and nearly choked on the ice cream while she tried to stifle the tremendous laugh inside her. She knew he meant the ice cream, but that wasn't the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh my God, are you ok, honey?”

She continues to intermittently cough and takes a swig of water. “I will be in a second. You, uh...need to give a girl a little warning when you phrase your questions like that.”

“...little warning when you phrase...?” She suddenly sees his mouth drop open and turn several shades of pink.

This is way too good an opportunity to pass up. “I mean, I was married for 10 years, and...and I can't speak for whatever, um, experience, you may have, but...I do seem to remember...”

“Ok, ok – you made your point!” He looks at her and giggles. “That really was a poor choice of words, wasn't it?”

She smiles. “Guess it depends on what answer you were looking for.”

“You're enjoying this aren't you.”

“I am enjoying this IMMENSELY. Wait, are we talking about the ice cream or the...”

“Well, now I know what they mean when they say I talk too much. Ok, I'm gonna shut up now and let us both finish our ice cream.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Shortly after the attendant cleared their dishes, his tongue began to thicken and itch, and soon it was becoming harder to breathe. Oh, no, it had to be the ice cream, but I read the label! What have I done to myself. Don't panic – panic just makes it worse. Breathe easy. Breathe, period! Lord, help me. My Epi-Pen... His eyes started to close.

He grabs for her hand with his right and reaches out to Jerome with his left.

Feeling his hand smacking hers, she looks over and sees his distress -- his face swelling, bumps already showing up on his arms.

“Clay? Oh, holy God, he's having an allergic reaction. She looks across the aisle just as Jerome realizes what's happening.

“Jerome -- Jerome, please tell me he's got an Epi-Pen on him.”

Clay's arm moves toward his leg.

“Your pants?” She starts patting at the cargo pockets.

His hand shakes and points to the floor -- to the backpack.

“The bag.” She unbuckles herself, pulls the bag up and throws it on her lap, furiously unzipping it, throwing out items and searching for the shot he needs.

“Jerome, have you done the Epi-Pen before? I have no idea. Where the hell is it?” She opened the smaller outer zipper, finally grasping at the bright yellow and grey cylinder.

“Yeah, I have. He made me practice with a dummy pen, just in case. He didn't get this bad this fast that time in Portland – he was able to do it himself.”

“Well, his 'just in case' just arrived – here you go.”

Without looking down, Clay unbuckled himself and started fumbling at his pants, undoing the button and grabbing his zipper, but he could tell he was ready to black out. Her eyes turned wide.

“Clay, what are you doing?”

“I've got to get at his leg,” replied Jerome as he got the pen ready. “He has to take the shot in his thigh.”

“Oh crap. Ok, relax Clay, let me do it. You just keep breathing. Try to lift up a little.” She finishes unzipping the pants and lowers them half way down his leg. She pulls up the left leg of his boxers, exposing enough of his thigh. Jerome makes a direct hit and starts counting. She grabs Clay's weak hand as Jerome gets to ten, takes the pen away, then starts massaging the injection site. Both of them wait in silence for the longest time...five seconds...ten seconds. Clay sat there still, but he was managing to breathe.

“Is it working? Can you breathe better?” He squeezed her hand a bit, then held it firmer.

“Oh, thank God.”

“We may still have a problem,” Jerome interrupted. “The pen only works for 15 or 20 minutes.”

“What? Oh, Christ.” She looks up at the flight attendant who's been watching the whole time and fortunately staying out of the way. “Miss, how long until we land?”

She looks at her watch and quickly calculates. “We're still 40 minutes outside Burbank.”

“God. Can we land in Ontario?”

“Let me check with the Captain.”

After two or three minutes, but what seems like forever, she comes back. “Ontario won't give us clearance to land due to high winds, but the captain has already notified Burbank about the situation and they've given us clearance to get in as quickly as possible. They'll have paramedics waiting at the gate. That may buy us five or ten minutes.”

“Oh great, that still means at least thirty minutes.” Then she took a deep breath. “Ok, we need another Epi-Pen just in case.”

“I'm on it.” The flight attendant grabs the mic and thinks a moment.

“Clay, how you doing?”

He manages to whisper, “It's working.”

“Do you know if the one Epi will do it for you before we get you to the hospital?”

He nods his head, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his body, making his heart beat faster. The swelling in his tongue is down, making it easier to breathe and talk, but he can still feel it thick in his mouth.

“I don't know. This one is pretty bad.”

“Ok, just relax. We're gonna keep helping you until the paramedics get here. Just try to help yourself by taking it easy. Let us know if you start getting worse – squeeze my hand if something starts happening.”

“Ladies and Gentleman, may I have your attention, this is your flight attendant. We have a gentleman in First Class with a severe allergic reaction. We have the situation under control, but we may need an additional dose of epinephrine for him. If there is anyone on board with an Epi-Pen, please press your call button.”

The flight attendant comes back over with a few blankets. “Here...to keep him warm.”

“Good idea, thanks,” she says as she starts laying one on his lap, then one across his shoulders. “Now how is this gonna work?” she asks the attendant. “They're not going to wheel him through the airport, are they?”

“No, we won't reach the gate completely. We'll park and use two sets of stairs. He'll be taken by ambulance off the tarmack to the hospital.”

Thank God. I can only imagine the paparazzi feeding frenzy if they went through the airport.

The flight attendant in Coach quickly comes through the closed curtain and whispers to the First Class attendant. “Nobody's got an Epi-Pen.”

Dammit. “Ok, thanks.” The attendant comes over and looks at her, then she looks at Jerome. They can see in her eyes what they were afraid of.

The countdown started.

“Just relax – you're gonna be fine. That one Epi will be enough, I'm sure. We'll be on the ground in notime.”

She was lying to him and he knew it. It was going to be the longest 40 minutes ever, and the only way that one Epi was going to work for 40 minutes was by the sheer Grace of God. Suddenly a peaceful feeling warmed over her.

“Settle back, sweetie,” she said to him quietly as she moved his blankets. He adjusted himself best he could to rest, just breathing, trying to listen to his body – to make sure everything was functioning, checking for any sign of worsening. His thigh really ached from the shot.

She moved her own seat back to meet up with his. Clay felt her hand run gently through his mussed hair and touched the back of her hand against his cheek. She finally settled her hand square upon on his chest, over his heart. He looked at her laying sideways toward him. Her eyes were closed, but there was a determination on her face. He knew she was praying for him and a warm wave went through him at the thought. He laid his head back and started to relax, then began to pray himself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later, her hand tightened against the blanket. The almost trance-like state she was in while praying was usurped by the rollercoaster ride the plane was now experiencing as it descended through thick cloudcover. He lifted his own hand and clasped it over hers, trying to comfort her when she looked up at him. He could see the phobia growing in her eyes with every shake of the plane.

“Do you know 'He's Everything to Me'?” he asks.

“What, Clay?” she replies as she cranes her neck toward him, not quite sure she understands the question.

“The song, 'He's Everything to Me' – it's sort of a hymn...do you know it?”

“Yeah...actually, I do. We sang it every Friday in Chapel for most of my elementary school life. I always liked that song.”

“Me, too. It's always given me strength when I'm nervous or afraid. I so want to sing it to you to make you feel better but...”

“Oh no, don't sing – you need to conserve your energy.”

“I know I can't, but...would you please sing it for the both of us?”

Her eyes widened. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he smiled. “I bet you have a pretty voice. Would you sing it for me, please?”

A softness came to her eyes and her arm became less tense. He could tell she'd do anything for him. “Sure. Sure, Clay. Whatever you want.”

“Come'ere next to me so I can hear you.” He pulled her arm and settled their clasped hands back over his chest. She shuffled herself closer to him, the side of her jaw finally settling against his shoulder.

“In the stars...” he quietly starts her.

“In the stars...” she repeats and nods her head. He settles his head back then tilts his ear toward her. She took a deep breath and began to sing, in almost a whisper, a concert just for him.

In the stars his handiwork I see.
On the wind He speaks with majesty.
Though He ruleth over land and sea.
What is that to me?
I will celebrate nativity.
For it has a place in history.
Sure He came to set his people free.
What is that to me?

He began to lightly squeeze her hand over and over, as if gently massaging it to help soothe her even more as she sang. It seemed to be working.

Till by faith I met Him face to face.
And I felt the wonder of His grace.
And I knew that He was more than just a
God who didn't care,
That lives away up there, and
Now He walks beside me day by day
Ever watching o'er me lest I stray
Helping me to find that narrow way.
He's everything to me.

She paused a moment.

“Don't stop, honey,” he whispered. “Keep singing. If anything's wrong, I'll let you know.”

“Sorry – I will. I was just thinking about the meaning of the lyrics for a minute.”

By now, her hand had relaxed under his. “It's a great song, isn't it?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it's almost like He's sitting right here with us.”

He moved his head closer and whispered. “He IS here, honey. Will you keep singing for both of us?” She took a deep breath and continued for another ten minutes.

Finally the plane comes out of the cloudcover, clearly seeing the San Gabriel Valley below. The attendant makes her final announcement. “Ladies and Gentleman, in preparation for landing, please be aware that we will be exiting passengers by stairway from the rear of the plane while the paramedics board from the front of the plane. Your cooperation with the flight and ground crew is greatly appreciated.”

The attendant puts down the microphone and addresses the first-class passengers. “Now for all of you, it's going to get very crowded very fast in here. I will do my best to get you exited quickly, but I'm going to need you to please remain quietly seated when the paramedics board. I will exit you row by row to exit by the rear of the plane as space becomes available to do so.”

She smiles at Clay. “Looks like you're gonna make it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On final approach, Clay's airway begins constricting again. Oh, no. Don't panic. Jesus heal me. She feels Clay squeeze her hand and she looks at him, looking at her.

“Oh, crap.” She looks across the aisle. “Jerome.”

“Oh, no.” He reaches over to hold onto him. “Hang in there, C.”

“We're almost on the ground, sweetie.” She looks out the window and sees Burbank whizzing fast beneath them in the half-light of dusk. “We'll be on the runway in just another minute or two.”

He sits there with his eyes closed, laboring for each breath. Lord, You kept me going this long, I know You're not going to let me stop breathing until the shot gets here, but please have them hurry. The plane bounces as the tires hit the runway. They can all feel the plane breaking hard then turn left toward the terminals.

Jerome looks out the window. “I see the emergency lights flashing.”

Clay's fading as the plane keeps rolling. “Hang in there, sweetie, you lasted this long. The paramedics are right outside,” she says, but on the inside she's screaming for them to stop the plane.

His hand is getting weaker in hers and his breathing is even more labored and further between.

He took one second too long between breaths for her comfort. “Clay, don't you dare stop breathing, now! Keep breathing, baby, the paramedics are coming.”

The attendant opens the door the second they stop and the deafening noise of the airplane fills the cabin as the paramedics rush onboard. She squeezes Clay's weakening hand. “Clay, they're here. You're gonna be fine in a minute. Keep breathing, sweetie.” Jerome looks up and yells frantically over the din, startling just about everyone. “Epinephrine! He needs an epinephrine shot NOW! He can't breathe!”

20 seconds later, the shot's been administered and Clay can feel a large surge of adrenaline running through him. Another 20 seconds goes by and the swelling in his tongue has gone down enough for him to breathe better. That shot was a lot stronger than the Epi-Pen. As they get the basket inside, he squeezes her hand to let her know it's working, then he looks at her and swallows.

“You're coming with me.”

“What? I don't know if they'll...”

He squeezes her hand tightly and pierces her eyes. “You are coming with me.”

She smiled at him and saluted with her left hand. “Yes, sir.”

They let go of each other's grip when the medics lift his limp, lanky body into the basket. Just before they pick the basket up, she gets out of her chair, grabs his hat and puts it over his forehead then lifts the blanket well over his chin to shield his face. I don't know who's out there, sweetie – I just want to keep you safe until you get in that ambulance. Jerome sees what she's doing and smiles a bit.

The medics carefully take the basket down the stairs and lay it directly on the stretcher inside the ambulance, with she and Jerome following.

“You heard him – I have to go along, Jerome,” she yells over the airplane's whine.

“You just get into the ambulance, I'll take care of it.”

Half way up into the back of the ambulance, she's stopped by one of the medics.

“I'm sorry, there's no...”

His voice booms at the medic. “She's his guardian angel and I'm his bodyguard – wherever he goes, we go!” Her eyes go wide with surprise. I'm his WHAT?!?

The paramedic looks up at the hulking man. “Alright, you'll get no argument from me, but you'll have to sit in the front seat.” The medic turns to her. “And you just stay out of my way while I'm working!”

The next 15 minutes were frantic between the ambulance ride and the emergency room, but she managed to hold his hand the entire ride there. “You made it, sweetie, you made it.” Their grasp finally had to be broken once they took him into the treatment room, then she sat for over an hour in a private waiting area before a nurse finally spoke with her.

“The very large man in the recovery room wanted me to get you. You can see him now, but he's resting.”

She takes her back to the quiet observation room – Jerome's sitting on a recliner next to the hospital bed and Clay is asleep, looking far less swollen, clothed in a hospital gown and tucked tightly in white cotton sheets and blankets. Tears well up in her eyes at the sight of him, looking exhausted and weak, with an IV taped to his arm and a pulse monitor on his finger. She's almost afraid to touch him.

“Clayton, sweetie...” she quietly said.

Jerome's voice whispers from behind her. “He's stable, but they're keeping him overnight for observation. Nobody's allowed to come anywhere near this area tonight. Everybody's been called – Kim will be here in a couple hours and his mom is flying in.”

She leans forward and gives Jerome a long hug around his neck. “You are the greatest. Seeing you at concerts and hearing stories over the years, we always knew you kept him safe, but tonight, it's just so easy to tell you care far more for him than just being his bodyguard.”

“Wow, I don't know what to say.” He was silent a moment, then looked over at Clay and rubbed the stubble on his face a few times, letting out a relieved sigh. “We did it. I don't know HOW we did it, but he's still here.”

She turns to Clay and lightly smooths his hair. “Yeah, we really do know how.” She looks back at Jerome and points skyward. “It was all Him.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jerome gets up from the chair and offers it to her. “Thanks. I will in a minute.” As she still stands at his bedside, Jerome gets another chair from across the area and sets it down at the foot of the bed. He sits down, affording him the opportunity to look in all directions in case someone manages to break through the perimeter he's established with the security staff.

She finally sits in the recliner. “Go ahead and take a nap,” he offers. “I'll wake you if he wakes up.” She reclines the chair and leans herself against the thick armrest. In a few minutes she drifts to sleep.

About twenty minutes later, her body shakes violently as if she's trying to keep from falling and wakes up. She realizes what happened and sighs, then finally notices that Jerome is not in his chair.

Oh, thank God he wasn't here – how embarrassing that would've been. He probably would've laughed his ass off. Dang, that happens the night after every plane ride!

She looks over at Clay's profile, still sleeping off the exhaustion. Even sick as a dog, sweetie, you're still so beautiful. She yawns and leans her head against her arm to watch him sleep and sees his eyes twitch and flutter every once in a while. Oh God, he's dreaming. She observes for a few minutes, then, as if singing him a lullaby, she quietly whispers a Woody Guthrie tune that seems to perfectly fit this whole day.

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd like to dream my troubles all away
On a bed of California stars
Jump up from my starbed and make another day
Underneath my California stars

They hang like grapes on vines that shine
And warm the lovers glass like friendly wine
So, I'd give this world
Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She wakes up later to a commotion coming from the treatment area and sees Jerome get out of his chair. After a few minutes he comes back.

“What's going on?” she whispers.

“Another big emergency is coming in,” he said as he sat back down in his chair. She turned over and started to stretch, then brought the recliner up and sat forward. “I think I'm going to take a little walk around.”

“That's fine, but don't go into the main waiting area, ok? Try to stay in the general ER area. You may not be able to get back here again if you do – I gave Security orders to keep a close eye on who comes and goes.

“Yeah, sure. I won't go far.” She rounded the curtain and walked to the entrance of the darkened Recovery Area into the bright ER hallway. To her right, on the far side of the treatment area, she could see ten people surrounding someone, everyone seemingly talking at once. She stood there watching, and she began to remember that awful day.

Ma'am, would you please come with me and I'll update you on your husband's condition.

Just tell me if he'll be ok.

He's had severe head and chest trauma. We just don't know yet.

Suddenly she heard another commotion coming toward her from her left. The double-doors swung wide at the end of the hall when a stretcher and several medics rushed a woman about her age in for treatment. As they passed immediately by her, she could hear the woman softly asking over and over, “Where's Greg...where's Greg...is he ok?” She felt her heart start to break. Lord, please don't let what happened to me happen to her.

The almost nauseous feel of her hungry stomach made her continue down the hall. She stopped at the nurses' station and overheard one of them on the phone.

“Yeah, they just brought the wife in. The husband got here about five minutes ago – they're still working hard on him. He stopped breathing once on the way over.”

The nurse finished her call and looked up. “Can I help you?”

“The two that just came in? What happened?”

“Car accident on the 5. They were able to take the wife by ambulance, but they life-flighted the husband here.”

She grew silent for a couple moments then got herself back to the task at hand. “Um, is there a vending machine in this area? Someplace I could get a snack around here?”

“Yeah, around the corner to the left there's a machine. We also have a little break station back behind here if you just want a cup of coffee or some tea.”

She thanked the nurse and went to the machine. For a hospital, there wasn't the healthiest selection, but she bought some fig bars, hoping those would be at least filling. She walked back around the station to the cubbyhole of a breakroom – two chairs and a small table on one side and the usual trapments on the other – coffeemaker with accompaniments and a water cooler. She filled a styrofoam cup with water and drank it all down at once, then refilled the cup and sat down. The wonderful smell of the cookies as she opened them made her realize just how hungry she was. She ate one of the bars quickly and drank all her water again. She got herself a second refill, then managed to slowly, quietly eat the rest of her meal.

“WHERE'S GREG!!!” the woman suddenly screamed from the treatment room.

The desperation in the scream unnerved her, and suddenly every memory from the night of Matt's accident flooded upon her. She tried hard to steel herself against the overwhelming loss. Not now – not tonight, she told herself. Be strong for Clayton. You can have a good cry tomorrow when you're away from all this. After she felt strong enough to move forward, she got up, threw the trash away and walked back to the Recovery area. Jerome starts standing when he sees her come in.

“I'll be back in a few minutes,” he whispers to her as she approaches.

“Oh, sure. No problem.”

She went back to Clay's bedside and was just about to touch his hand when the woman suddenly shrieked again. “GREG!! GREG!!”

The grief broke through the wall she had built. The sounds of the IV dripping and the blips of the monitors grew louder in her head. She looked at Clay lying there peacefully, but now instead saw Matt's face, swollen and battered, barely recognizable, breathing on a respirator. Tears began to freely flow down her cheeks.

I told you a thousand times to wear a seatbelt, hun. I told you I didn't want to see you end up in the hospital, but you just wouldn't listen. I never wanted to see us end this way. How could you just leave me like this?

Jerome came back and she looked over at him. His eyes went wide with both concern and confusion when he saw her tearful face. She was fine when I left – what happened? She walked over to him and whispered.

“Jerome, I – I can't do this anymore. I can't be here anymore, there's just too many bad memories. I feel like I'm gonna suffocate if I'm here much longer. I have to leave. I just...I need to get back to the airport and get my rental car.”

“Take it easy – are you sure you won't stay? He may wake up for a little bit. Can't you stay for him?”

“I can't. Dammit, I wish I could, but I just...I need out of this hospital. Tell him I'm sorry – I can't hang in there anymore, not here.”

“Alright, alright, take it easy, I'll see what I can do. Wait right here a minute.”

She watches Jerome speak to the charge nurse, then pulls out his cellphone and makes a quick call. He talks to the nurse a while longer then motions for her to come over to them.

“I've explained everything. Lisa will take you to the side employee exit and the taxi should be here in less than 10 minutes. In the meantime, give me your contact information so he can reach you.” The nurse hands her the back of a small medical form to write on. Once done, she hands the slip to Jerome.

“Are you sure you won't stay?”

“I can't...I just can't stay here.”

There's disappointment in Jerome's eyes, but he continues to speak with nurse Lisa. She goes back one last time to Clay's bedside and touches the back of her hand to the back of his and whispers quietly to him.

“I don't know if I'll ever hear from you again...but thanks for the best flight of my life, sweetie.”

“You ready?” asks Lisa. She nods and they quietly walk out of the Recovery Area.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Through the small window, she sees the taxi arrive. “Thanks again for everything, Lisa, I really appreciate this,” she says as she shakes her hand. “Take good care of him and tell him I'm sorry I had to leave.”

“Don't worry – I will, and he's doing fine. He'll probably be sent home tomorrow then feel like crap for a day or two.”

She snickered. “Thanks, that helps.”

She takes a deep breath, opens the door and nonchalantly gets into the cab.

“Hi, thanks.”

“Hey, how's it going,” says the cabbie.

“Doing ok. Burbank Airport, please.”

“You got it.”

As the taxi rounds the bend, she stares at the crowd of reporters surrounding the main entrance of the hospital.

Oh. My. God. I had no idea.

“Man, I wonder what's going on over there.”

“I don't know. Maybe there was a big accident.”

“Maybe so.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Good grief, why in the world did I leave him?!?” she yells to herself in the darkened rental car. “He's going to wake up and... You're stronger than this, girl! How could you not be there for him?!?” She clutches the steering wheel tight as the wave of regret consumes her and tears stream down, dripping into her lap.

Half-way around the hospital property for the second time, there's no way to get into the building. Every entrance now has at least a few people loitering around. She parks in a far spot near the same side employee exit, knowing she can't get in without some reporter also trying to get into the building, or worse.

What in the hell have I done? Good God, if I had just tried to calm down more I wouldn't have been so hasty, and now... Her eyes fill with tears a final time and she has a good cry – over Clay – over Matt – over this long, hard, emotionally-exhausting day. After she manages to regain her composure, she starts the car up and stares at the exit, seeing him asleep in the hospital bed in her mind's eye.

“Bye Clayton. God and Aiken forgive me, I'm so sorry I left you.”

She gets out her cellphone and calls her sister.

“Hey, it's me. Yeah, I'm ok – I'm sorry I worried you – it is pretty late. Yeah, my plane did have a medical emergency onboard. It's on the news already? Dang. It was Clay? Well, is he alright? I guess that means he'll be ok, thank God. Listen, today's been really...tiring – if you don't mind, can we skip Disneyland tomorrow – maybe go day after tomorrow, instead? After my heart stops breaking I'll need a bit of cheering up. I think I'll just be sleeping in. That is, if I can stop crying long enough to fall asleep. Thanks, I appreciate that. I should be at your place in about 45 minutes. I love you, too.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Clay wakes up from a deep sleep around seven in the morning, groggy, his leg still sore. He looks to his right and sees Jerome catnapping in the recliner.

“Hey, J.”

Jerome wakes up and looks over at him.

“You look as awful as I feel.”

He smiles. “It's been a long night, no thanks to you. Kim was here for about an hour, but she had an early interview to go to and said she'd be back around 9:30. Your mom should be landing at 12:45.”

Clay smiles at Jerome. “Thanks for letting everyone know...and remind me to give you a raise.” He realizes who's missing and looks around the area.

“Is she here? I can't believe I didn't even ask her her name.”

“She was here quite a while, C, but I don't know what happened. She was ok, then all of a sudden she had to get out of the hospital. She said it brought back too many bad memories? I tried to get her to stay, but it was almost like she was a caged animal that needed out.”

He lied there and thought for a few moments. “God, that poor thing. I bet it was because of her husband. It must've been pretty rough, because she never did say what happened to him, but I could tell she was holding back a lot of despair.”

Jerome reached into his jacket pocket and gave Clay the slip of paper with her information. “I got you this, just in case you wanted to contact her.” Clay read the paper and smiled.

“Her name is Evelyn.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days later, a press release was sent out from his publicist:

Clay wishes to express his sincere appreciation to all who assisted with his medical situation: the flight crew; the ground crew and paramedics at Hope/Burbank Airport; and the medical staff at Providence St. Joseph Medical Center. Thank you for your continued prayers and God bless you all.

Clay was released from the hospital yesterday and will be recuperating at home with his family and friends for the next several days.

~ The End ~

--------------------------------------------------------

- Dedicated to my good friend and “Mamasan,” Shirley, and her beloved Georgie

- Special thank yous to Lynda for her contribution to H.E.T.M.; to Jannet, Sue and Lila for first-class info; and to Julie for allowing me to constantly bounce stuff off her.

Learn more about allergic reactions and the Epi-Pen at these sites:

http://www.allergic-reactions.com/epipen_main.html

http://www.calgaryallergy.ca/Articles/epipen.html

http://www.moondragon.org/health/disorders/allergies.html

- He's Everything to Me, written by Ralph Carmichael

- California Stars, by Billy Bragg, written by Woody Guthrie

--------------------------

~Posted 3.6.2004~

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Thanks,

-Cella

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