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          ARRoGANT                CoURiERS      WiTH     ESSaYS

Grade Level:       Type of Work           Subject/Topic is on:
 [ ]6-8                 [ ]Class Notes    [Creative Essay on a     ]
 [ ]9-10                [ ]Cliff Notes    [Young Boy Losing his    ]
 [x]11-12               [x]Essay/Report   [Parents                 ]
 [ ]College             [ ]Misc           [                        ]

 Dizzed: 11/94  # of Words:1688  School: ?              State: ?
ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>Chop Here>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ>ФФФФФФФФФ
     "Hello?"
     "Martin, it's Bob.Angela was in a car accident last night..."
     "Oh my God! Is it serious?"
     "Yes, it's pretty serious. She's still unconscious. Hey listen, buddy,
I have to go out of town for a while and I was wondering if you could call
the hospital every once in a while because apparently somebody she knows
should be around after she wakes up. It sounds kind of silly to me but..."
     "I'm leaving right now."
     "Do what you want, Martin. Why don't you get some more sleep; after
all it's three in the morning. I've got to go- my plane leaves in an hour.
Thanks so much for bailing me out at such short notice, old pal."
     "Hey no problem, buddy, it's only your wife; no need to be worried or
anything..." Martin said sarcastically to the dial tone. Martin ran to the
shower and was dressed and in the car in ten minutes.
     "Excuse me, could you please tell me what room Mrs. Angela Warner, I
mean Smith, is in?"
     "Yes, sir, she's in room 23, but you can't see her until 6:30. You may
wait in the lounge at the end of the hall if you wish."
     "Thank you very much."
          Martin looked through the little square window of her door. The
private room was cold and dark with green tile covering the walls halfway.
She had tubes in her nose, her head bandaged heavily, her arms in casts and
her neck in a brace. She had a long cut along her right cheekbone.
          "You're still beautiful, little Angela," Martin murmured softly
to himself as tears welled up in his eyes. He turned away and walked down
the hall to the private lounge. As he walked in and sat down, he scanned
the people already there. There was a seemingly nice older couple, two
middle-aged women and a young boy.
     "I REALLY hope her foot feels better after surgery," one of the women
said.
     "No you don't, Susie. You're the one that didn't want to pitch in some
money to help her pay the bill," the other said icilly.
     "I wouldn't talk, Candyce. You don't even want to be here. I loved
those fake tears of concern when they wheeled her in; that was a nice
touch," Susie laughed wickedly.
     "She wouldn't even need to have surgery if it weren't for you dropping
that iron on her foot."
     "That was an accident!" Susie's voice started to raise.
     "Oh yeah, right. It just happened to be after she told you she was
engaged to Brad," Candyce said sarcastically.
     "That was over a long time ago! How dare you imply..." Susie
hissed and stood up to slap Candyce when a nurse walked in.
     "Miss Lane, Miss Rucher? Emilia has awakened from the anaesthetic. You
may see her now."
     "Is she alright?" Susie said with concern oozing from her voice.
     "Did they save her foot?" Candyce was near tears.
     "Emilia will be just fine. Her foot was saved. Follow me, please."
Candyce and Susie shrieked with apparent joy and smiled so sweetly at the
nurse, syrup dripped from their mouths like the drool of a rabid dog. As
soon as the nurse turned her back to lead them away to their sick friend,
they glowered at each other wickedly.
     "With friends like that, who needs enemies!" Martin thought to himself
as he sighed pityingly and reached for a pamphlet. He glanced at his watch:
5:00a.m. He looked over at the little boy who sitting alone in a corner,
silent with a blank stare on his face accompanied with an occasional
heart-felt sniffle.
     "How to Deal With Death: The Revised Edition. What an
uplifting topic. I should come here more often," Martin thought
wryly and tossed the pamphlet on a nearby table. He glanced over at
the older couple. Thet were just sitting there, admiring the lovely
chocolate brown, seaweed green and bright orange modern murals.
     "This is TOO depressing. I've got to get out of here," Martin thought
to himself. "I'm going to get some coffee. Could I bring you back
something?"
     "No thank you, dear," the old woman said politely.
     "Well, if you wouldn't mind, I'd really enjoy a ..." the woman nudged
the old man.
     "George! Where are your manners?" she hissed and then smiled sweetly
at Martin who pretended not to notice.
     "Come to think of it, I don't really want anything at the momment,
thanks," the old man quickly corrected himself.
     "You sure have him well trained, lady," Martin snickered sarcastically
to himself. "How about you, son?" The little boy just sat there, tears
streaming down his face at the mention of the word `son'.
          Martin walked quickly out of the room and sown the hall to the
nurses' station.
     "Is there any change in Mrs. Smith's condition? She's in room 23."
     "No, Mr. Smith. We will notify you if any change occurs."
     "Thank you very much. By the way, I'm not Mr. Smith..." Martin stopped
himself when he realised the nurse's attention was directed elsewhere. "It
doesn't really matter anyway," he thought.
     "Martin walked over to the coffee machine and after a lengthy battle
reached in and pulled a strong black coffee  and a hot chocolat out of the
slot. When he turned around, Martin saw Candyce and Susie embracing Emilia
and giggling as she wiggled her toes at the end of her cast. Even from that
distance, their artificiality was so recognisable, Martin wanted to flee
from the scene in utter disgust.
          He walked in on yet another arguement as he entered the lounge.
     "Why did he have to marry her?"
     "I like her..." the old man started.
     "Did you say something, dear? Well anyway, like I was saying, I told
him, Bob, she will only bring you bad luck, being a divorcee and all. The
people at work won't respect you, and most of all, what will the rest of
the family think?"
     "I like her..." the old man tried again in vain.
     "Well I'll say, I don't think I want to stay here anymore. Personally,
I hope sher never wakes up. Enough said, let's go," the old woman
orderedsnobbishly. The old man took her minkwrap from a hanger and placed
it gently on his wife's shoulders and proceeded to follow her out of the
room like a lost puppy following his mistress home.
     "Try not to trip over your leash, mister," Martin thought to himself,
astonished that the man would take this treatement so willingly. Then it
dawned on him: Bob, divorcee...."They must be Bob Smith's parents! How
could she say that about Angela?! How could he let her say those things
about Angela?!" Martin looked over at the boy, still gaping with rage. He
suddenly realised he had been screaming by the look of shock on the boy's
face.
     "Here, this is for you. I don't believe it..." Martin handed him the
hot chocolate.
     "Gee thanks, mister. How come you were screaming about what they said
about some lady?"
     "That some lady is a very special lady who happens to be my ex-wife,"
he said icilly.
     "But you care, don't you?" the boy asked seriously.
     "With all my heart, but..."
     "So that's all that matters. My mommy says so all the time..." his
voice quivered and broke into uncontrollable sobs. Martin put his arm
around the boy's shoulder who immediately wrapped his arms around Martin's
neck and cried into his chest.
          6:30a.m. Martin put a pikllow under the boy's sleeping head and
covered him with his jacket. "The poor little guy," his heart went out to
him: the boy's parents had been in a train accident late last night and
would probably not survive to see the sun rise.
          Martin looked in the window again at the coldness and unfeeling
of her room. All of a sudden, he ran down the hall to the boutiques and
bought an armful of flowers, trinkets and stuffed animals. He slipped
silently into the room and arranged everything. The room looked as though
somebody had breathed life into it. Flashes of red, bursts of yellow,
explosions of orange, waves of purple and the clear beauty of pink all
broke through the institutional cold and gave the room warmth and charm. He
tore open the curtains and drank in the radiance of the rising sun. He
walked over to her bed, took her hand gently and began describing the
magnifiscence of the flowers and the dazzling sun. He told her about
picnics they would have and walks through the gardens and boat rides on
little ponds. "I wouldn't mind waking up to this," he continued eagerly,
but then stopped, despair inundating him, washing away his dreams. "Only
it's Bob now, not be anymore," he murmured sadly and walked slowly over to
the window. He looked out and down onto a garden where a few patients were
being walked around. "That should be us," he murmured softly to the window.
     "That should be us! We had so much happiness!" Martin turned and said
pleadingly to her unconscious face. He took a few quick steps and was at
her bedside again.
     "I love you, Angela," he bent down and kissed her deathly pale cheek
softly. "I never stopped."
     "And I love you. little Martin," her face flinched in a momentary
attack of pain. "Go and get some doctors, please."
          Martin stared in shock. Gradually a boyish grin crept over his
face and he turned and ran to get some help.
     "You'll have to wait outside while we examine her, Mr. Smith."
     "No, I'm Mr. Martin Warner," he said confidantly. Martin walked back
down the hall to the lounge to check on the boy. As he neared the open
door, he saw a nurse comforting the child who sobbed hysterically.
     "Mommy and Daddy would NEVER leave me! You're lying!" he screamed
desperately. Martin turned and walked down the dim hall very slowly. He
didn't even care about getting his jacket back.
                    He can replace his jacket.
                    The child can't replace his parents.
