--If I were someone else would this all fall apart?--
--Matchbox 20, "Real World"--
"I give you that shot a hundred times you'll never make it again. Looked like something you'd do on ice skates. This ain't hockey, Fraser, okay? This is basketball. A good American game. "
"Well perhaps it has become Americanized, Ray, but like many things Americans lay claim to, it originated elsewhere. "
"Get out of here."
"No, it's a fact. Basketball was invented by a Canadian."
"Look, just because some fisherman once slam-dunked a halibut into a net--"
"Actually it was a minister who used a soccer ball and he nailed a peach basket to either end of the gym."
"Oh, this is very sad, Fraser."
"Course Reverend Neismith eventually immigrated to the United States. As a matter of fact he was working at a YMCA in Springfield, Massachusetts of all places when he--Stop the car."
Automatically Ray slowed, but he didn't stop. "What?"
"That car is parked in the fire zone."
"So?"
"Well, for one thing, it's dangerous, and for another, it's disrespectful to the law."
"Fraser, parking illegally in this town is a sport."
"All right, I'll catch up." He started to get out of the car while it was still moving.
Ray hit the brakes. "Hey! Hey, you're gonna drive my insurance rates through the roof."
He parked on the side of the road and went to see what Fraser was up to.
"Leave me alone, Jocko."
Nobody made fun of the Mountie while Ray was around. "Hey, hey. License and registration, pal."
"Register this." He pulled out a gun. "Tough guys."
Ray pulled out his gun and fired a shot. "I think I hit a tire." In a flash Fraser was off and running after the car. Ray turned to join him and -
The next thing he knew he was looking into the face of an angel. "Who are you?"
"Long story."
"Stay."
"I'd like to."
"God, you're beautiful." And things were quiet again.
"Bathroom?"
Ray was startled out of his flashback by the words. "Huh?"
"I said, 'Where's your bathroom?' Please?"
She fidgeted slightly and he gave her directions.
"Thanks."
Before he could say you're welcome, she was gone and he was back looking at the blank sheet of paper waiting for his report. The only thing worse would have been watching the cursor blink on a computer.
How to explain love at first sight? How to put into words what it had felt like, when the only word he could think of was 'exquisite'? And better yet, how to explain letting her go?
He was given a partial reprieve when Agent Chapin submitted her report without chastising him. For a moment, he allowed himself to hope that it meant something. Wishful thinking forced him to go after her; to force her to admit that what they had was real. And yet, in the end, it hadn't been right for them. He was beginning to think it would never be right for him.