So Randy and Yvonne tried the over-the-shoulder flip again unsupervised, this time incorporating it into the other moves they had learned. But that second time they tried it, Yvonne asked Randy to throw her a little higher, for fun. “And I said sure,” said Randy, continuing his story, “and, well … Yvonne’s pretty small … and I’m pretty strong, and when I threw her up and over—a little higher—well … I guess I threw her a little too high or somethin’.”

“Oh, no,” groaned Chad.

“Yeah.” Randy took a moment to relive the incident, and then added, “And she landed on her face.”

Randy took another moment to relive the incident. And then added, “And it broke.”

Chad took the same moment to imagine the incident. And didn’t know what to say. This was truly one of the saddest things he had ever heard—and also one of the most absurd. And something about the absurdity of it made him want to snicker. But he didn’t, because he could tell that the big guy was pretty broken up about what had happened. So he stifled his snicker.

And the fellas sat in silence for a long time.

And Randy relived his dancing debacle. Over and over.

And Chad relived his imagined version of the dancing debacle over and over. And wondered if Yvonne was okay. And took a swig of his beer. And hoped he never broke anybody’s face.

And Randy hoped that Yvonne was okay, too. And took a swig of his beer. And vowed that he was done with breaking people’s faces. On purpose or accidentally.

And then he crushed his can on his head and tossed it in the paper bag he had brought his six-pack of beer in. And Chad wished that he was as good at crushing a beer can on his head as Randy was.

And then Randy grabbed another beer and opened it and started drinking it. And then shared the kicker to his story: “I had to take her to the emergency room.”

“Oof,” groaned Chad.

And then he tried to imagine the drive to the emergency room.

And then wondered which emergency room Randy had taken Yvonne to. “Fort Kent?”

“Huh?”

“Fort Kent or Caribou?”

“Oh. Fort Kent.”

Chad shook his head in pity. It was thirty-eight miles to Fort Kent. “That’s a drive,” he said flatly.

“Yup.”

Randy relived the thirty-eight-mile drive to Fort Kent.

And Chad imagined the thirty-eight-mile drive to Fort Kent. And then asked, “What’d they say?”

“What do you mean, ‘What’d they say?’”

“At the hospital?”

“What do you think they said? They said her face broke, dude.”

“Yeah, where?”

“Orbit—somethin’.” Randy indicated his eye and couldn’t remember the term “orbital fracture,” so he said, “Her eye bone and cheekbone broke.”

“Oof.” Chad took a swig of his beer. And then asked, “Blood?”

“Oh, yeah.” Randy took a swig of his beer and then sneered, “And she cried!”

“Hate that,” griped Chad.

“The whole way.”

“Ugh.”

“And then—when we get to the hospital—she asks me to call her old boyfriend—who lives up there—to come be with her!”