I think I shocked both of us when I
reached out and tried to grab the device
from Doug's clutches. I would have
succeeded, too, if I hadn't first grabbed
the hand that was making adjustments in
its settings. As it was, his stylus skittered
across the screen, and then both of our
hands clamped around it.
Doug was strong . . . . really strong. It was
easy to forget in the face of his social
awkwardness just how fit and sculpted
his body is. He must have outweighed
me by 40 or 50 pounds . . . and my
element of surprise quickly vanished as it
turned into an all-out wrestling match for
possession of that wicked machine.
I don't know how it happened. All of our
struggles must have seriously fucked up
the settings.
All I knew was one second we were
fighting intensely, and the next there was
a tremendous flash . . . and the device
was flying . . . hitting the tile floor . . .
smashing . . . then I couldn't see anything
at all . . . and when I opened my eyes . . .