Urgency Personified

Larry and I sat waiting inside the PC Hut, a recent expansion of the video store Video Hut, where we were employed. This was when the internet began to explode and access to fast internet was still expensive. We sat at one of the several iMac clones that lined the room, listening to music and searching the web as we awaited the arrival of Sammy.

This would be the third or fourth meeting to discuss and plan an animated project we wanted to do.

We had known Sammy from high school, he was a year older and seemed to always be in a rush. Larry was better acquainted through their mutual interest in the arts and enrollment at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. Our project, and our friendship, began during this time, through a chance meeting at a comic book store.

We were to meet at 8pm, but as that time came and passed, Sammy failed to arrive. Nearing an hour later, with no communication, we were about to leave when Sammy, breathless and clutching his chest, ran through the door.

This was not the first time I had seen a disheveled, breathless Sammy burst through a door.

I had originally met Sammy in high school. He was a year older than I and more of an acquaintance than a friend. The last time I had seen Sammy prior to our collaboration, I was a senior in high school, he was a freshman at the University of California San Diego.

The day was a balmy southern California one, the kind that defines early summer. The sun was so bright out that the gymnasium was fully lit through the large rear doors, needing no lights to be turned on.

I was in a bullshit physical education class, working as assistant to the coach for the volleyball team. There were usually three of us, Sally, Mike, and myself, but they were absent for the day, leaving me alone on the bleachers, doing nothing.

That’s when Sammy burst in, sweaty and breathing heavy. His knuckles were bloody and he was frantic. “Where’s Sally?” he yelled, “Have you seen Sally?”

“She didn’t come today.” I told him.

I asked if he was okay. He was not. I asked if I could help. I could not. I asked what happened to his knuckles. Nothing to worry about, I was told.

“If you see Sally, tell her I was looking for her,” he said, then walked out. A moment later, he was back, “Don’t tell her nothing.”

And he was gone.

Back at the PC Hut, Sammy rested in one of the chairs and caught his breath. Once the adrenalin had run its course, a now calmer Sammy informed us that he had been on his way when things went awry.

The driving route from Sammy’s house in Atwater to PC Hut took him by our old high school, specifically an intersection at St. George Street and Griffith Park Boulevard where four stop signs are posted, one of which he performed a rolling stop through, as the police watched.

As soon as he crossed the intersection, the lights were on and the siren blared. Sammy had a decision to make. Get caught or give chase. Never one for an easy out, he ran the pedal to the ground and bolted, heading into the hills and forcing the police car to follow.

Using alleys and cross streets, he went around and around, eventually gaining enough space to park his car and run on foot. Running through backyards and jumping fences, Sammy made it to the Shakespeare Bridge unnoticed, ran down the Franklin hill, all the way to PC Hut.

By the time he was done telling the story, an hour had passed.

“Can you drive me back to my car?” Sammy asked.

We got in my white Toyota Tercel and made the short drive to Aloha Street in the Franklin Hills.

There was his car, dome light on, keys in the ignition, door unlocked, just as he had left it. I implored him to take his keys, but he refused, convinced that the police had noted the location and state of the vehicle.

Instead Sammy quickly grabbed some items from his car, leaving his keys and everything else as is, and we drove back to PC Hut. Sammy had formed a plan. Larry assisted, driving Sammy to Art Center in order to carry it out.

Before doing so, Larry drove Sammy by his car one more time, and content with the state of things, proceeded to the college. Once they arrived Sammy proceeded to develop an alibi. Calling the police from campus, he informed them that he had been working late on a project, someone must have taken his keys and car from the school’s parking lot.

As dawn arrived, Sammy found himself back to Aloha Street.

The Honda Accord he left behind was not.