“David!”
Sylvia hovers over a distraught David Collins at the hospital nursing station. She calls out his name again, trying to get through the blank look on his face.
“David,” she shouts, “get up! You must finish doing your charts and start making rounds. We have to leave here in four hours in order to make the memorial service.”
David barely stirs. He sits, pen in hand, medical chart in lap, unkempt and a bit bleary-eyed.
“What’s the point? I miss him too much to say goodbye,” he moans.
“We all do,” says Sylvia. “But we’re all going. Come on, David. He’d want you to be there, don’t you think?”
“I guess you’re right,” agrees David, sitting up straight. “I’m just being selfish with my emotions. When is it, again?”
“Four o’clock. Four o’clock today, David. – Come on, get with the program.”