Page 14 of When Ben Loved Tim
“My car!” he says incredulously. “Do you realize how many cylinders this baby has?”
I hazard a guess. “One for each wheel?”
“Huh?”
“Isn’t that how it works? The wheels go on the cylinders, right?”
“You’re thinking of axles,” Tim says, “but even then, this car wouldn’t have four. Are you messing with me?”
“Ha ha! Yeah… Totally. It’s a beautiful car.” Whatever it is.
“Thanks. My parents gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”
“An older man!” I breathe. “Just how I like them! And rich too. Make sure to leave me something in your will, gramps.”
Tim laughs. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen. But only for another month. If you need a roommate in the retirement home, give me a call.”
Tim’s attention is fixed on the street. “The light is about to change,” he says.
“That’s convenient,” I reply.
“About to turnred,” he emphasizes. “Slow down!”
“I can make it.”
“No you can’t!”
I don’t see what all the fuss is about. We blow through the intersection unscathed. The other drivers are so impressed by my skill that they honk in tribute.
“Is it too late to call an ambulance?” Tim moans. “You know what? Take me home. I don’t care if I ever walk again.”
“We’re almost there,” I assure him.
When we reach the hospital, I drop him off at the emergency room doors, where he leans against a pillar supporting the covered entrance and watches me park. Once we’ve reunited, I make him get into one of the wheelchairs we find near the doors, which feels like putting a cute guy in my shopping cart. I’d push him through the express lane checkout if that was an option. No need for a return receipt. Instead we venture inside to the front desk and explain the situation to the woman stationed there.
“Do you have insurance?” she asks.
Tim shrugs. “Probably.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Out of town.”
“But they’re rich,” I explain, “so if they don’t have insurance, they’ll pay in cash. Or do you accept gold bullion?”
The receptionist eyes us wearily before sliding a clipboard over the counter. “Fill out what you know and someone will see you soon.”
I snatch the clipboard, and after rolling Tim over to the waiting area, delight in asking him all manner of personal questions.
“August twenty-fourth,” he says when we get to his date of birth.
“Wow, that was just a few weeks ago!” I say in surprise.
Tim sounds muted in his response. “Yeah.”
“Must have been a good one. You got an amazing car.”
