Occasionally I'd look out our kitchen door and see one of the neighbor ladies standing in her kitchen and talking with Martha Jane across the driveway.One of those neighbors, a Mrs. Johnson, would open her back door each evening just before dark and carefully slip her bathrobed, paraplegic husband in his wheelchair down the three or four concrete steps into their back yard. She would make him comfortable there on their little patch of grass, read the newspapers to him, or tune a station on their small brown GE portable that rested on the ground between his wheelchair and her aluminum lawn chair. Many afternoons, Martha Jane and I sat on the curb and watched this ritual. We would say hello to Mrs. Johnson and to Mr. Johnson, and Mrs. Johnson would smile and wave hello and bend down to Mr. Johnson and tell him who we were. Mr. Johnson was unable to respond. Nor could he move his legs or his arms or his neck. He slumped limply in his wheelchair, wearing striped pajamas and a brown. Lisa was breathing heavily and still staring at me with heavy- lidded eyes. Tim was right behind the Japanese girl with a dazed expression on his face."Hi there, I'm Aika," she introduced herself, then leaned up to give me a quick peck on the mouth. In a split second, I took in her features. Barely topping 5 feet, she was a hyperactive sprite constantly bouncing. She smiled as if it were the most comfortable position for her face to be in. Her chest was only slightly above the A-cup level, but on her very petite body it jutted out rather well in the baby T-shirt she wore. "We met last night in case you forgot."Like I could ever forget last night. She was one of the sorority sisters who came in after Tim's and my sexual adventure.Aika, still bouncing, continued. "We didn't expect you two to be here. I was just so tired of studying and convinced Lisa to buy me a drink and help me pick up on guys. Lucky we ran into you!" It must be fate." I murmured, still staring straight into Lisa's.
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