“Hurry up. You’ve got forty minutes left.” She tapped the antique silver watch on her bony wrist.
I nodded and walked quickly to the door.
“Don’t forget the restroom paddle,” she said, gesturing to the ledge of the dry erase board behind her.
I grabbed the block of wood from the bottom of the board, darted out of the room, and raced towards the end of the hall as if I really needed to empty my bladder.
* * * *
Lining the toilet seat with strips of torn Charmin, I sat down on the john to think. I pulled out my iPhone from my back pocket and navigated the Internet landscape for answers about Rocco.
My friend had not posted anything on his Facebook page, Instagram, or Twitter account in seventy-two hours. His last Facebook entry was dated three days ago. “Love sucks,” he wrote with a broken heart and sad emoji face.
Who or what was he talking about? I wondered, scrolling through his feed and finding nothing to satisfying my curiosity.