It reminded me, somehow, of the time Regina stepped on a lizard and left it in great pain, pulling itself along by its tiny front paws, and I had said, "Regina, you can't leave that poor thing suffering," and she had said, "Well, I didn't step on it on purpose," and I had said, "Somebody's got to kill it now," and she had said, "I've got a class." I could still feel the crunch of it under my foot as its tiny life went out.
"Sorry, Verne," she said, "you got yourself into this," and hung up.
That night Regina called me. "Can you give blood?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "If I stuff myself, I can get the scales up to a hundred and ten pounds."
"What type?"
"B. Rh positive."
"Thought you told me that once. Gail is in the hospital. They have to replace every drop of blood in her body. She may die anyhow."
I thought of the little fluff and squeak that was Gail. I eat de crus' of de toas'.
"What's the matter with her?" I asked fearfully.