Then the gun swung down on Robert. It cracked a new sound loose. The word SEWER seemed to appear overhead. Magnolias did one clownish roll into the gutter. Robbie’s arms flew way way out. Next phrase I got was “MANNED FLIGHT.” The pistol whipping was, in memory, just a single heavy curving blow. But it had these filmy strips spoked within it, like big feathers comprising a single silver beating wing.

I was left standing untouched except for the hatpin burning my entire left sector. Had I been less rich-looking, not an apparent leader? Robert was down. The kids ran, cursing, hurling back at us the insult word beginning F-, a description of gay men that I cannot bring myself to write here even now. How had they known? Were the velvet and magnolias a magnet tip-off? But that year everyone was wearing velvet!

Robert waited on his back, palms up and opened alongside his head. The street had grown far darker. I saw his arms and legs now moving like a swimmer’s. “Back stroke,” I thought. I heard a bubbling sound. It seemed I’d have a long way to bend down in order to help him. Just as I commenced stooping, a pain the likes of which I’d never inhabited (seemed I was in it, not the other way round) that pain and a gush of crackling adrenaline struck me at the back of either knee. I fell half on top of him. “Here’s another fine mess we’ve gotten us into.” I tried “wit.” My left hand clutched my left side and I knew what the warmth was but remained fixed upon the one hurt worse.

He tried saying something agreeable but his mouth sounded full.

Only when I bent closer over Robbie did I see how blood hid the entire blond face. His forehead was a black fringe come all across it. But, odd, he looked so beautiful, even hurt, the damage appeared half-planned. I made no sense. I must find help.

“You all right … I mean basically? Still here, right?” I crouched over him as if scared they might come back.

He turned his head and the street light showed me a great gash above one eye and I could only scream then. I was hurt but alive. Imagine if they had scarred him! I next screamed like some outraged little girl, “Not the face! Not thiiiis face!”

I called it over and over to a God I did not believe in, except, during Serious Uncatered Sewer Emergencies. One second-story window lit, offered the promise of help, fell immediately dark.

I grew practical-nursish. “Stay put, darl. Hart’s off for help. Don’t move.” As if he could! But now he pointed to his face, saying just “Our, ouurs.”

I could always interpret his odd sounds: “‘Eyes.’”

“Your eyes. Yes. Wait. Here, babe.”