My name's George. What can you tell me about the man they just brought in?" "His name's Damien Parker. He's twenty-nine. He was shot-" I say and cover...my mouth with my hand. "Okay, you're doing great. Any allergies to any medicine or previous health conditions we should know about? How about his blood type?" I shake my head. "I don't think so, but I'm not really sure. And I don't know it, I'm sorry." He nods and takes me into the ER. I look through the windows of the trauma rooms as we walk by. Wine and glasses were brought over. The lovely white burgundy was cool and refreshing. Both sipped appreciatively. Neither spoke for a while. They were each seeking the right way to start the conversation, but neither could actually do it – both were responders, rather than instigators. Finally, Anne smiled and said, ‘This is silly. We’re like two tongue-tied school-kids. Let’s just relax. How d’you like the wine?’ Smiling himself, Stan responded, ‘It’s lovely. How’d you know about it? I have. More

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