From Austin to Boston: Part Two - Butt I Wanna Go First!

⇈ That title up there will hopefully make sense by the end of this post. If it doesn't, I can't help it if you are not as profound thinking as I.

This will make more sense if you read Part One first. Oh, c'mon. What else are you going to do tonight?

*****

Terie and I arrive in Boston midafternoon on Wednesday. Eager to get to the hospital, we catch a cab to the apartment. Yes, that's right, we stay in an apartment 'cuz that's how we roll. Okay, fine, it's the apartment that Sally has rented for her month's stay in Boston. 

At the apartment, we find Sally's mom, Anthea, waiting for us. She and her husband Grog, Sally's dad, have been staying with Sally as a show of support. I adore Sally's parents. The fact they are British only solidifies my love for them because, as we all know, I love me some Brits. I really wish I'd been born in the U.K.. Though my mom denied it until she was blue in the face (that seems like a horrible idiom, considering I really did watch her turn blue in the face) I'm pretty sure I was conceived in England, but that would have meant my mom and dad played the "Lock-n-Key" game before they were married; hence, my mother's need to deny it vehemently.

After our initial salutations, Anthea gives us a quick tour of our swank accommodations, and then she takes us to the hospital. The hospital is in walking distance from the apartment, which is a good thing because a) we don't have a car, and b) the walk will give us a chance to burn off some of the calories we are likely to consume over the next five days. (Update: we consume a lot.) Anthea clearly takes Terie and me for two girls who are incapable of curbing their caloric intake, because she is intent on pointing out the Burger King that is conveniently located on our way to the hospital. Can't blame her, really. I have, after all, gained like three of me since we last saw each other.  

As we walk, I notice that Boston has a very scholarly feel to it. Perhaps it's all the college-aged people carrying their attache cases, scurrying to get coffee before their next lectures. Or maybe it's because I'm reminded of Good Will Hunting (yes, I know, MIT is located in Cambridge, but I'm hardly a stickler for details, people). Whatever it is, it makes me want to go back to school. I'm sure this feeling will pass once I get back to Austin. (Update: it does.)

When we arrive at Boston Children's Hospital, we meet up with Sally and Grog. Anders remains in the ICU, where only two people can visit at a time. I'm really eager to see him, so I get to go first, leaving Terie in the waiting room with Anthea and Grog. 

When I see Anders, my heart melts. It's difficult seeing anyone when he or she is sick, but seeing a child who is sick, especially one you love, is unbearably sad. Like, Million-Dollar-Baby sad.

What's even more touching is seeing Sally interact with Anders. I've always considered Sally an excellent mother, but seeing her in this light makes me regard her as the Mother Teresa of mothers... but without the hymen. She is one of the most caring and loving people I know. (Snap! She is going to love this paragraph.)

I spend some time with Anders, who isn't talking much at all—most likely a result from having been extubated earlier in the day. Meanwhile, out in the waiting room, Grog has convinced Terie to buy a MacBook Air. What is it with these Grogonos and their ability to persuade people into using Macs? I became a convert, myself, after living with Sally years ago. I swear the lot of them are vested in the company. 

Because it is getting late, and Anders is drifting in and out of sleep, we decide to bid farewell to Sally and Anders. Sally declines my offer to stay the night with Anders so that she can go back to the apartment for a good night's sleep. She refuses to leave him... understandably so. 

This is a more lucid Anders later that evening, after we left. 

Sally's parents take Terie and me out for a drink to a sports bar a block down from the apartment. And by drink, I mean one each, because we are not about to get crazy-drunk in front of Sally's parents. The last time I got drunk with a bunch of Brits, I ended up making a total ass of myself and regretting it deeply. 

After a pleasant evening of appetizers, beer, and a candid conversation about Sally's childhood, we head back to the apartment. Because Anthea and Grog are flying home in the morning, we retire for the night. But only after a quick picture... okay, more like six pictures; I couldn't figure out how to work the flash. 

Terie, Anthea, Steve Jobs, and Me.

With them in one room, Terie and I have to share a bed in the other, which means we stay up whispering, taking care not to disturb them, while muffling our giggles like a couple of school girls at a slumber party.

For some reason, we get to talking about The Human Centipede, a morbidly disturbing movie about a psycho killer who sews his three victims together, connecting them by their mouths and their butts. It's one of those disgusting conversations that is absolutely pointless—one that women our age shouldn't be having. But hell, we are on our holidays. (This same excuse is uttered repeatedly over the next couple of days, every time I shove something fattening down my gullet or imbibe something that will likely damage my liver.)

We eventually laugh ourselves to sleep while contemplating who in the centipede chain is worse off. Clearly, it is the middle person. Right, Ter? I mean, we all know that the person who is first in the chain got the better end of the deal. No ifs, ands, or butts about it. 

Little do we know, thanks to a four-year-old boy, this is the first of many conversations we will have over the next week that is focussed around butts. In fact, the "derrière" will fast become the theme of our trip to Boston. 

To be continued...