Village Kid

“You were a total bitch,” Becca told the woman, who didn’t flinch. The SUV was about to turn left away from her. Perfect grades were easy for her, and her first year at Vassar was spent mostly in her apartment, laptops’ screens glowing with charts and market reports, bags of chips and fast food wrappers adjacent. Hang in there, can you do that for me?”
“Okay.”
The speaker on the deputy’s lapel radio then broadcast her partner’s call to the dispatcher, which only sounded like electronic gibberish to the injured woman. Becca woke up, seemingly in another world. The two women continued east among the beautiful Rocky Mountain forests as the hospital staff found the empty wheelchair. Seeing no alternative, she slid onto the cracked vinyl seat and pulled the heavy door shut. Satisfied everything was locked and secure, she took four ibuprofen capsules from her purse with two glasses of kitchen tap water and went back to bed.