I recognize that this should be shameful, but whenever I read about a stabbing in the paper I always think about Lucy first. Not the victims, their families, the pain they’re going through, the hunt to find who did it (if they ever do), the lifetime of tears that will be shed for the missing person – no, I think about Lucy lying on that ER floor, looking under the hospital bed at Carter, in a pool of her own blood. I think about her blond hair, how sweet and young she looked in her lab coat, what promise she had been showing in recent episodes. She was going to be a really good, really compassionate doctor. I just know it. But then the psychopath went and stole her from Carter, the whole ER, and viewers like she was a nobody who didn’t mean anything to anyone. And even though she was never real, her face flashes before my eyes as I read the details of the latest stabbing, the victim barely given any print beyond the gory details of what happened to them. I knew so much about Lucy before she died. It makes me sad that I can’t say the same for any of them.
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- The Huntington Ladies’ Book Club – February Meeting
- Pickle the Cheetah
- Karen the Personal Trainer
- Morton the Worm at the Usury Office
- My 5 Favorite Musicals and Why, By Carla Cioca:
- Mumu the Irrelevant Mime
- Tiny Tim – Post Revisted
- Ten Prior Moments that led Jenna to this Point:
- The O. Henry Affair
- Ben’s Night Out