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Eventually all the police cars left. We put Rusty in his paddock with hay and water and Dad took me to the walk-in clinic to have my war wounds evaluated. I was x-rayed and given a little white pill for the pain and possibly to shut me up. Nothing broken or even cracked, just bruised. I may have a slightly torn thing in my knee. Something unpronounceable that sounded like a foreign dish cleverly named to disguise its unpalatability.
Meniscus, Dad told Mom, who fluttered in, bringing all my insurance info with her. I thanked God that Wilde accounting provided me with medical, even though I had no idea how I’d pay the substantial deductible, copay, and whatnot. I giggled when I thought about my ridiculous amount of debt. My parents gave me a concerned look.
“Pain med,” the doctor s
