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But nah, she’s all biz. I ask, “How much, sugar?” She smirks—ooh, that smirk made me mad! Like, who’s she to judge me, right? She says, “50 bucks, blondie,” and I’m like, “50?! For what—two minutes?” Made me wanna scream, but I laughed instead—happy, surprised, all at once. Did ya know—fun fact—back in the ‘50s, gals like her charged a damn nickel? Inflation’s a bitch, huh!

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We get to the hospital, and it’s chaos. I’m running through the halls, heart pounding. Finally, I find my mom. She’s okay, just a little scare. I’m relieved, but also mad at myself for freaking out.

John W. Zimmerly Obituary