Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I create stories in my head and visualize them scene by scene. Apparently the title has already been taken by a movie, so if anyone has any good suggestions send them my way.

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Saturday afternoon, she flops onto the couch with her milk and cereal, the sugary kind her health conscious mother never let her have. She digs around the couch. That slob, how hard is it to leave the remote on the coffee table? Yet even as she pulls the remote from under the cushion, she smiles. At least I have a slob to grumble about.

What channel is college basketball again? She usually doesn’t watch basketball alone. In fact, she usually didn’t watch basketball at all, until she met him. Mechanically flipping past commercials and maudlin weekend soaps, Oh wait, Scrubs is on! she finally finds ESPN, but I promised him this morning I would watch the game. Two minutes to tip-off, is that what it’s called?. The TV pans on an enthusiastic sea of red-blazoned fans, and our cheerleaders, what a nostalgic embarrassment.

It’s nice to have the whole apartment to myself. As if on cue, their four year-old thirty-pound rough collie jumps on the couch and plants himself next to her. In response to his whines, she laughs and hugs him. How could I forget about you, boy? She had dreamed of owning a collie ever since she could only play with the neighbor’s dog. Growing up, her eight-member family couldn’t even fit in their modest suburban home, not to mention that all the family pets had died within months. Her sweatpants and blue-lace tank-top are covered in long brown and white hairs, but that doesn’t matter. Now I match the couch and the fuzzy puppy slippers he got me for Christmas.

Too bad I am on call tonight. Usually the staff can handle everything, but New Yorkers have a knack for emergencies, especially in the Bronx District General Hospital. Kids getting shot on the way home, bullets meant for someone else, some things haven’t changed, and not for the better. She lives with him in the twelfth story of a Manhattan high-rise on their dual-elite-alma-mater-professional incomes, and she makes the hour long commute every day. The whole thing was his idea, she blames. He only felt comfortable with her working in the Bronx as long as they lived in a safe neighborhood, and as long as she works during the day. I think it’s voyeurism. He’s not too happy about the train either. Well if we lived there then I wouldn’t have to make such a dangerous commute!

Half-time, the score is 33-27. We’re in the lead, guess our team got a lot better since I was in school. The camera shifts from the band to the most decorated fans. ‘I’ll be back tonight, look for me in the audience’. How am I supposed to pick him out of the hundreds of red dots? Nevertheless, she examines the painted faces carefully. She doesn’t recognize any of them. ::Sigh:: All from a different generation.

It’s a commercial break. Her stomach grumbles. Oh jeez. She developed lactose intolerance when she entered college, but never quite became accustomed to it. Usually he stopped her before she added milk to anything. Leaving the TV on, she plod her way to the bathroom. Might as well attach sponges to the bottoms of my shoes, maybe this place would actually be clean. She walked past their dual-sink, for some ungodly reason he is so meticulous about the cleanliness of his sink! This could take a while. Oh good, I left sudoku in the magazine rack!

The TV buzzes in the background, but she is concentrating on the nine-by-nine grid in her hand. Sounds like the game is back on. Her puppy won’t stop barking. What is he so excited about? A tri-tone beep from the bedroom. Someone sent me a text message. She smiles, its probably him. Another tri-tone beep. Looks like I’m popular. Good thing I plugged in my phone this morning, it was almost out of batteries. Then a series of rapid high-pitched monotone beeps from around her feet. Oh no, she groaned. She always kept her pager around the waist of her pants. Even around her Saturday college basketball sweatpants. But she felt guilty. Am I groaning about the ‘code 1427: sudden high yield influx’, which probably means some poor kids were shot in a gang fight, or having to go into work on a Saturday? I haven’t done that since I was a resident.

Taxi! She liked to take the train to work. It’s relaxing and environmental. But today required haste. Running into the ER, a white coat over her pajamas and sneakers, she suddenly remembers the text message and reaches into her purse. Great, I forgot my cellphone.

“Doctor, so glad you’re here! We need you with bed seven! Patient is a pregnant nineteen year old female with a gunshot wound in the lower left quadrant and heavy hemorrhaging. After you’ve stabilized her there are three other…”

Jesus Christ, when will these kids ever stop? She examines the limp, but full, young girl lying in front of her. The bullet missed her organs by a hair. I can save her, but she’s going to lose the baby. With the speed and precision of – well, an ER surgeon – she gets down to business.

She hears a soft voice. The girl’s? Can’t be, she was out cold. “Doctor?” The girl repeats, louder. “Will my baby be ok?”

“I’m afraid not. Please don’t say anymore, you need to save your energy.”

“Please, I don’t have to live, but save my baby. His father and I are getting married.”

She nods.

“He’s going to grow up to be a basketball star, even better than his daddy.”

“I’ll do my best.” She tries to give the girl a reassuring smile. How could I explain to her that the fiancee was in the next ward, most likely dying from a fatal bullet in the kidney? And that her little basketball star would never even make it past the second trimester? The girl fell back asleep with a pair of pale pink lips, the ends ever so faintly curled upwards. Looks like she bought it, or am I just imagining what I hope?

It is past one a.m. when she leaves the ER. She walks towards the train station, despite her promise to him that she will take a cab at night. It will give me a good opportunity to unwind, she justifies. From disjoint pieces of information from the patients, she deduced that a gang attacked a rival gang leader at home and erupted into a larger brawl.  She had tried to save all their lives, but three boys were in too critical condition to rescue. She really only cared about that girl though. Alright, it was mostly due to luck that a kidney transplant suddenly became available for her boyfriend, but it wouldn’t have happened without my persistence. At least they can now be happily married. And those kids will just go back on the streets, and continue to shoot or be shot, until one day no one can save them anymore. Perhaps it was best for the baby.

The street lamp shines on the hoop and illuminates her silhouette as she opens the gate. As she cuts across the school basketball court, she jumps up in a mock slam dunk. She giggles. You didn’t have to fly all the way across the country to see an all-star, you’ve got one at home already.

She extends her arm for a three-pointer.

A soft rumble. A quick explosion. The night fades together until all she can see is the yellow-lit basketball hoop. Oh yeah, I was supposed to find him at the game. The basketball she shot  is still spinning, faster and faster until it becomes a golden band. And then even the hoop disappears.

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He runs up all eleven flights of stairs to their shared apartment on the twelfth floor. She had ignored his calls and texts all day, even after he landed at JFK, but she must be wanting to surprise me. As he opens the door, the collie puppy jumps up and down with its paws grabbing at his fan jersey. An enthusiastic welcome home, but not from whom I expected.

“Honey! Are you home?” Maybe she’s asleep, it is past three after all. He runs into the bedroom and jumps onto the comforters, to find no one under them. Strange, her phone is still here. On top of the dresser where I hid the ring. 21 new texts and 45 missed calls.

“OMG are you going to say yes?”

“Hey honey, did you see me? what do you say?”

“I just saw it on the game! SOO sweet!”

“It’s about time, you two have been together for years!”

His cellphone rings, it’s the hospital number. Oh thank god, she’s at work.

“Is this Mr..”

Who is this, that’s not her voice…

“You are listed as an emergency contact, we’d like you to come in to verify a body”