The Valentines Day Fiasco

"What's going on?" I ask rushing passed him.

"There may be a bomb in front of the building," he replies.

"Oh my God, a bomb!" Marsha repeats over and over, holding her coat closed around her naked body as we rush down the four flights of stairs to the back exit of the building.

There are firefighters stationed on each of the landing between the flights of stairs to insure a safe and speedy evacuation. Rushing out the back door of the apartment building amongst the crowd of other residents, I realize what cattle must feel like being herded along. The firefighters direct us down the little alley behind my build and into the basement garage of another building almost a block away. I guess they are trying to get us in out of the cold and away from my building in case the bomb goes off.

"Why would anyone bomb an apartment building?" I ask.

"Why would anyone bomb any building?" Marsha replies.

A firefighter standing at the entrance to the basement garage overhears our conversation. "They're not sure it's a bomb yet. Someone spotted a briefcase laying beside the steps at the front door. We can't take a chance that it might be a bomb."

Suddenly Marsha's pretty face turns ash-white. Her mouth drops open. "Oh my God! It's my briefcase! I sat it down this afternoon to throw that snowball at you! I forgot about it."

"What!" the firefighter snaps.

"That's not a bomb, it's my briefcase," she answers.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I'm sure I left my briefcase out front. Whether that's the one they think is a bomb or not; I don't know."

He gets on his radio and talks with someone for a few moments before he asks Marsha to come with him. He tells me to stay put. I object, but it's a waste of breath; he refuses to let me go with them. All I can think about watching them walk away from me toward the front of the building is that I may never see her again. Marsha keeps looking back over her shoulder at me, like she's scared. My mind fills with strange thoughts about her being dragged off to prison for causing such a huge false alarm; about a bomb going off and killing her; about her gorgeous nakedness under that fur coat.

Several minutes go by, my mind is working overtime. I'm terrified! What are they doing to my Marsha? A firefighter finally comes into the garage and announces the all clear. Like a thief on the run, I race to the front of the building. I try to stop as I round the front corner of my building, but I slip on the slick snow and slide right into three firefighters standing there, their eyes wide as I crash into them. They try to catch me, but I go through them like a bowling ball. They all remain somewhat on their feet. I end up sprawled on the ground, nearly buried in the snow.

A sudden pain is shooting through my right arm, which is twisted up underneath me. "Oh damn, I think I broke my arm! That really hurts," I cry out trying to get up.

As soon as I try to stand I discover a whole new meaning for the word pain. My left leg collapses out from under me. I scream and crash back into the snow.

The three bullies who knocked me down try to help me up, but I can't move. It hurts far too much to move. "Where does it hurt?" one of them asks.

"My ankle is killing me," I mumble through clinched teeth. "I think I broke that too. Oh shit, does that ever hurt!"

Marsha kneels beside me. "You just lay still for a minute." Her soft voice sounds so good and reassuring to me. "Are you sure it's broken?"

"If it ain't broken, it sure missed a damn-good chance," I try to joke.

"You just relax, Honey, the Paramedics are right here. They'll help you," Marsha says.

"Don't leave," I mumble. "I'm scared."

"I'm not going anywhere except to the hospital with you," she says with a sweet smile.

"You can't, you don't have on any clothes," I whisper.

"Oh damn!" she snaps, making sure her coat is still concealing her nakedness. "Give me your keys. I'll get dressed and get a cab to the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I try to get my keys out of my pocket, but of course, my right arm seems to be in serious disrepair at the moment and won't function. I love the feel of Marsha's slender hand gently sliding into my pant pocket. "Don't leave yet, please," I beg.

"I'm not, Honey." She smiles down at me.

"Are you okay? I mean, are they gonna put you in jail or charge you with anything?" I ask.

"I'm fine. A bit embarrassed, to say the least, but fine otherwise," she replies. "You wouldn't be laying here like this if I hadn't left that damn briefcase out here."

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who came charging around the corner like a mad woman," I reply. "They aren't gonna put you in jail are they?"

"Stop worrying about me. The Captain told me what a screw-up I am, but he shut up after I mentioned a nice donation to the Firefighter's Relief Fund. You're the one with the problem right now. Let's worry about you."

"I'm okay; it just hurts a little," I assure her.

"A little?" she repeats.

"Well, maybe more than a little; maybe a lot, but I'll live I think," I try to say with a smile.

"You better, little lady, you owe me. You got me all hot and bothered, and I'm still hornier than a three-peckered billy goat right now. You've really stood my world on end in the last couple hours," she whispers down to me.

"Good," I reply, with no trouble smiling this time. "But you better be saving all that horniness for me."

"You never have to worry about that, Sweetness," is the last thing I hear from her as an EMT pulls her out of the way so he could start working on me.

They are trying to be careful moving me onto a backboard and carrying me, but every little movement is met with intense pain. I can see tears rolling down Marsha's beautiful face as the EMTs load me into the ambulance. I hold my left hand out toward her.

I hear her yell, "I'll be there just as soon as I can."

The ambulance doors close, shutting me off from the one thing I need and want more than anything else on planet Earth, my wonderful Marsha.

Within two hours Marsha is standing over me. I'm laying on a gurney in the hospital emergency room. They have already taken a series of x-rays of my arm and ankle. We're waiting now for the verdict on just how bad the breaks are. Marsha is holding my left hand and continuously brushing my hair back out of my face.

"I guess I really screwed things up, didn't I," I say.

"It wasn't you, it was that damn fire alarm that interrupted things," she says, smiling down at me and moving my hair again.

"I was really enjoying what we were doing. I think it was downright rude of the fire department to set the alarms off at that particular moment," I joke.

"You were enjoying it? How do you think I felt? You had me about to climb outta my skin, and when that damn alarm went off, I almost did," she says with the cutest little giggle.

"When we get back home maybe I'll finish up that little project. But I'm not so sure I'm gonna like seeing you without your skin," I say.

"Well, we're probably going to have to postpone it for a while. I would imagine they're going to want to keep you here for a couple days," she says, fussing with my hair again.

I don't know what it is about being sick or hurt that makes people want to fiddle with your hair. I guess it's just a way of showing that they care about you and are concerned about your condition. Maybe it's just because they figure your hair is something they can touch without causing you more pain. But whatever it is, I love it when Marsha is doing it.

"I don't wanna stay in the hospital. I hate these places. Please don't let them keep me," I nearly beg.

"I'm sorry, Sweetness, there's nothing I can do about it. It's up to the doctor," she replies.

"No it isn't. This is America. They can't make me stay if I don't want to," I reply.

"If they want to keep you here it's only in your best interest," she says.

"My only interest, best or otherwise, is getting back home and into my own bed, with you," I say.

"Well, I'm pretty damn interested in that too, but like I said, 'we're probably going to have to postpone it for a while'," she replies. "Right now, let's just worry about getting you all better."

"I will be better, as soon as we're back home," I say.

"Well, if that's the case, you should be better in just a couple of days," the doctor announces walking into the room. "The ankle is just sprained. Pretty severely, but just sprained nonetheless. The arm has what we call a green-tree fracture. Which means, it isn't broken all the way through. It's like a green tree branch that's been bent far enough to crack and splinter, but not far enough to break off. It'll heal quickly."

"Then why do I have to wait a couple days? I don't need to stay here, do I?" I ask.

"If you didn't live alone, I'd send you home. But you're going to need a little help getting around for the next week or two and I can't allow you to go home by yourself," he explains.

"But I don't wanna stay here," I object.

"You won't be able to walk at all for a day or two. You can't use crutches or a walker because of the broken arm. You won't even be able to hop to the bathroom by yourself," he says.

"She won't be alone," Marsha says, "I'll be with her."

My heart soars. I squeeze her hand tight. Just the thought of her staying with me for a couple of days sends chills racing up and down my spine, and in a few other places I won't even mention right now.

"Oh, I thought she lived alone," the doctor replies, his eyes squinting a little.

"She does, or at least, she did, but she's moving in with me as soon as she's well enough. I mean, if she will," Marsha says smiling at me. "In the meantime, I'm staying at her place."

"I can see by that huge grin on her face that this case is closed," the doctor says with a grin almost as large as the one on my face. "That's only the second proposal I've ever witnessed. The other one was mine. We'll get a cast on that arm and have you outta here within an hour.

"Great," is all I can manage to say at the moment.

"The nurse will be in here in a few minutes and we'll get everything taken care of," the doctor says walking out the door.

I look up into Marsha's big bright eyes and squeeze her hand tighter. "Did you really mean all of that?"

"I meant it more than anything I've ever said," she replies. "I guess the only question now is; will you have me?" A look of sincerity adorns her beautiful face like none I have ever seen before. This isn't the same self-confident woman I see at work every day. She's suddenly not so sure of herself.

"I think that's about the stupidest question I've ever heard," I reply. "You know damn good and well I will."

"No I don't," she mumbles. "It's not every day I ask someone to live with me. I mean, I think you love me too. I honestly don't feel like today is a one-night-stand."

"I'm praying it won't be," I say. "I can't think of anything that would make me happier than us living together as a couple. But I do have one very important rule in my life that you need to be aware of. I am totally monogamous."

"Ditto, Sweetness," she replies with a sexy grin. "I'll let you know right up front; if I ever catch you or even suspect that you're seeing someone else, male or female, you'll learn what's meant by the fury of a red-head."

"Cool, but this little blonde can get pretty scrappy when I need to," I tease.

"Yeah, I know. I just saw you tackle those three huge, well-armed, well-armored, firefighters, remember?" she jokes.

"I was out numbered, and they took me by surprise," I say.

"What's your dad going to say?" she asks, that serious look creeps back across her gorgeous face.

"What can he say? I got my prescription filled, didn't I."

"Yes you did, and just so you'll know, I'm wearing the prescription right now," she says. Turning around, she quickly lifts her skirt to flash her behind at me to prove she has them on. "The medicine is in here."

We're both laughing when the nurse strolls in pushing a cart with all the makings for a cast, and nearly catches Marsha with the back of her skirt pulled up.

"What'd I miss that's so funny?" the nurse asks.

"Nothing, just a little inside joke," Marsha replies before breaking out in near-hysterical laughter.

"I need to get you two outta here; you're having way too much fun to be in a hospital emergency room. Maybe I should send you up to surgery, you ladies would keep them in stitches up there," the nurse teases as she starts getting things ready to get me plastered, I mean, to get my arm plastered.

This Valentines Day had turned into a real fiasco, races through my mind. The weatherman had been right when he called this storm the Valentines Day Fiasco. But sometimes a fiasco just has a way of working out for the better. Going home has never looked so wonderful to me.