"Marla and I had been sitting on the couch about six feet away, quietly discussing a Pat Conroy book that we had both just read. Marla was wearing one of her typical outfits that night: a pair of tight shorts and a halter-top that showed off a good portion of her generous cleavage. Though I had been holding up my end of the conversation it had been a struggle because every time she leaned forward to make some point or to hear my words a little better, I would be given a tantalizing view down the front of the halter. I wasn't able to make out her nipples, not quite, but I remained hopeful. When she heard the word "Disneyland" mentioned, she stopped in mid-sentence and turned her attention to the two men."Dave," she said sweetly. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could take one of these here yung'uns down to Disneyland with us? I bet they'd love to see it." I reckon we could do sumpin like that there," Dave, always the generous one when he was drunk, agreed. "But...Before he could say another. Peter was barely thirty when he passed away, a shell of his former self.The seizures had begun two years ago. They were random and infrequent but they were nonetheless frightening. Their regular visits to Doctor Monsoor in Indianapolis had highlighted a change in Pete's recovery from the accident. He had never fully regained his balance and coordination, although he was quite capable of walking and performing most functions, including driving his car. But Brenda and Pete had resigned themselves to the fact that he would never return to being the man he once was.It was easier for Brenda to accept this than it was for Pete. He had been an athlete since grade school and had never known a day when he couldn't physically perform at a high level. Those days were gone and she knew it wasn't easy for him to accept. Then, when the seizures began, everything changed again.Pete was hospitalized for several days as they ran a battery of tests to determine the cause of the events. They had begun.
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