Eight hours later, he tripped over his own ankles and realized what had happened. It was like a cartoon; he was Tom: seeing stars, mumbling, and walking in circles, in hope that Jerry would come and save him, hoping that the one he despised the most would come grab his hand. When the stars started to rotate at a steady pace, he realized that he was lost. The last thing he could remember was that he had been walking on Third Street, and now he was kneeling on I-10. He covered his ears, as those thirty-wheelers whispered by. He didn’t know what to do, so he just continued to kneel on the side of the interstate, surrounded by cigarette butts and dead possums. He was hoping Rachel would find him. Maybe she could knock the stars out of his head and tell him what’s real, tell him where he was and how he got there.

“Damn it, Rachel.”

Rachel found him. She came up from behind and tapped him on his shoulder as he continued to kneel and stare at the automobiles skating by. He knew she would come; without a doubt, he knew she would.

Still on his knees, he turned around and felt his skin grind against the choppy tar. The sun was directly behind her head, giving her some kind of shine, some kind of glow, that made her look not like an angel, but the most elegant grim reaper one could ever fathom. She smiled; the sun’s rays refracted in jealousy, allowing him to see the totality of her face. Her pupils were still black. Her lips were still red. Her nose teased him, making him want to kiss her forehead.

“I hate you,” he said.

“Come on,” Rachel replied.

“I love you,” he said.

He stood up and she took his hand as they walked to her grey Toyota.

“Why don’t I have a shirt on?” he asked.

He felt the tiny rocks bite the bottom of his feet.

“And where are my shoes and socks?”

“Shut up, dear,” Rachel said. “We’re going back to Cypress Hospital.”

He wanted to shout and scream. He wanted to lose it, cry, and run away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t because Rachel was holding his hand.

In the car he didn’t look at her. He stared at the photo of he and her placed on the dashboard of the car. It was a picture of them at Blue Bayou Water Park. She didn’t say anything. She drove.

“You’re such a good driver,” he said. “Drive me away.”

“We’re going back to the hospital,” Rachel said. “You need help.”

“They don’t know the cure.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Because of you.”

Rachel honked at the car cutting in front of her.

“Will you go out with me?” he asked.

“No.”

“I love your willingness to say no.”

He rolled down the window and shouted, “No,” repeatedly.

“Stop it,” Rachel said.

“Go out with me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“If a tree falls in the middle of the woods, and there is no one else around to hear it or see it fall, will you go out with me?”

“Shut up.”

They pulled into the hospital parking lot. He started to pull his hair. He started to kick the door and spit on the front windshield. Rachel got out of the car and opened the door for him. He wouldn’t move. She held his hand. He got out of the car.

“Why are you around every time I need you,” he asked.

She took out a brush from her purse.

“Comb your hair.”

They checked in at the office. The nurse tried to take him away. He wouldn’t let go of Rachel’s hand. Rachel didn’t let go either. The nurse pried their hands apart and took him away.

“Rachel! Rachel! Never forget! Never forget! Goggles!”

Those were the last words he said before walking through the doors. Rachel stood there, smiling.

She went home and found the goggles and kept them in her purse to take to him the next day. They were placed right next to her brush. She went to sleep. On her bedside table was a framed photo of the two of them at the water park. It was a copy of the picture she kept on the dashboard of her car. It was the only photo she had of him and herself together. It was the only photo she loved.