~42~ Second Thoughts

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"Aces and eights, I win!" ~ The Famous Last Words of Wild Bill Hickok

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Wednesday  -  October 3rd 

It's been two days since the Slapstick incident, and all the subsequent fun we've had in the aftermath. The strangest change in the aftermath of the whole Slapstick affair is that the tentative détente with April seems to be sticking. With Someone's Sister smoothly receded back into the shadows, regulated back down to the role of the haughty waitress of our lunch life. She only stops by to drop off May's lunch with a small snarl. Then does her obligatory watching thing and then just disappears, sometimes with only the vaguest promises to return.

True to her word, I also never heard another word from Mrs. St. Claire regarding my Chin check note. But I have heard from May, that the very next day, much to Chin's dismay, her entire collection of ancestral Celestial furnishings has mysteriously vanished. Sadly just like Mr. Chins, who was also never to be heard from again.

Although May claims that she can still smell "something seriously nasty" lingering around the classroom. So I am starting to suspect that maybe old Mr. Chins might not have made it safely back to his ancestral homeland in Wisconsin after all? That his ghost still might be buried somewhere in the back of the coat closet in the corner.

After three days of walking around in her bulky brace, I can tell that May is highly agitated. But I can tell that she is doing her best to suppress her frustration. She continually leans on me now for support when we walk together, and I am more than happy to be supportive. Of course, I offer up a piggyback ride whenever I can, for her leg's sake. But of course, she declines on "not another piggyback ride". Insisting instead that her leg feels much better in the walking caste thing that is hobbling her.

So I push my luck and double insist that it would be medically better for her if I carry her around. Especially when her leg pains her to the point wincing with every step. Sometimes May will finally give in with an air of resignation and allow me to have my way with her. Regardless of her faux brave protest otherwise, I think she is happy to have me insist more often than not at the end of the day. Thankfully we never have gotten around to having that full-on Talking Time about my Mr. Helper piggyback fetish issues.  

Even with that being said, I can't seem to shake the shiver that has attached itself to my spine since that fateful day. When we are apart I am continually plagued by deeply troubling thoughts, about all the things that could go wrong with May's navigations on any given day. I have spent several sleepless nights, spiraling through the myriad of pitfalls that May has to navigate around on a daily basis. Chin's future furniture pranks, stairs, cars, open manhole covers, empty elevators shafts ...ancient unexploded landmines left over from the old Conquistador war days. 

During last night's insomnia interwebbing session, I've finally reached the point that the entire world is way too dangerous a place for May to walkabout carefree. I am left with only two conclusions: That in order for May to stay safe, she must either remained locked up in the proverbial "Ivory Tower" for safekeeping. Or in the alternative, she must be armored up like the Suicide Skateboard Kid, to the point that nothing can hurt her.

Knowing May as I do now, the whole Ivory Tower is going to be a big "No Go". After all, this is the same girl who thinks piggyback rides are an infringement of her independence? So I can only imagine how she is going to react to the padded safety cell I have in mind. But the idea of armoring her up? Now that is something that I might be able to work around.  

But where to locate the local armory now becomes the issue? Unless of course, I knew someone in the world of warmongering? Someone who would know where to find the best used war stuff? With these thoughts in mind, I roll out of my room and into the TV living room to intentionally start a conversation with a former warmonger. 

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