No bridge. No self-esteem. No Matthew. What I did still have was a kicking headache, the sweats, blurry vision, and rapid heartbeat. I sat back down in my cell. Was it normal to feel like this after four beers and a glass of wine? Maybe I had diabetes? I did pee very often and my mom had once mentioned that that was a big sign. Panic. Sweat. Google: “diabetes.” Ugh! Frequent urination. Excessive thirst and hunger. Fatigue. Irritability. Blurry vision. I had it, I really had it. I was thirstier than a dehydrated camel, so hungry that I could eat an entire deep-fried cow with mashed potatoes on the side, so tired that I halfway envied Bob for being in a coma, and more irritable than a bloated bowel. And now I’d have to start giving myself insulin injections. Where was I going to do that? I couldn’t do everything in the bathroom—talk, eat, and insulin. I needed a second opinion. WebMD.com. But before I could click enter, an e-mail from Brian popped up.

It was titled “Rock on!”

“Rock on” without irony plus an exclamation mark was in the same heinous category as “all about,” and “you go, girl.” This might have been it for Brian. “Congratulations to you all on the bar.” Yeah, and a big congratulations to you for bedding your mom. “So, as everyone knows, Evan didn’t pass the bar. I think we really need to be there for him. I say we all meet for drinks at the Vegas after work today. See you all there ” Roughly half the state of Pennsylvania had been cc’ed.

In all the hoopla surrounding dentures and diabetes, I’d totally forgotten about Evan. There were so many new knots in my stomach, I couldn’t decipher if any of them belonged to Evan anymore. Perhaps not. And, even if I did feel bad for him, I wasn’t about to join this cheer-up squad. I’d console Evan in my own way. No more sarcastic comments. No more eye rolls. At least not until the New Year. By then, I’d probably be in a diabetic coma anyway and the only eye rolling that’d be happening would be to the back of my head.

“Um. Sheila. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Standing before my cubicle was Evan himself.

“Um. Sure, Evan.” We were like two kids meeting on the jungle gym for the first time.

“Mind if we go out there?” Evan nodded his head in the direction of the hallway. We proceeded past Matthew who looked up long enough to give Evan a compassionate smile.

“Sheila. This is really awkward. Um. I know we’re not really friends. But I don’t have any friends here and I really need some help.” I summoned as much empathy as I could and nodded.