His face held more pain than I could look at comfortably and
just as I thought he might be getting over it, his face relaxed and
his knees gave in.  I gave a shout and caught him, of course, and
I was amazed at his lightness.  He was warm, that was the thing I
most remember, he was warm in his weight against my arms, and solid
and alive and -tortured.  My left hand supported his head, and and
his hair was soft and greying and matted with sweat from the
concert, from exertion and pain and the heat.  The sad expression
returned to him, even in sleep.
     The crowd seemed to have gone on standby, simply looking on in
a kind of appalled silence.  Amanda (who was IRL this girl from my
school who loved PG too) hopped down the bleachers and made her way 
up to me through the crowd, who seemed nearly paralysed a la Carpet
Crawlers.  'Is he okay?' she asked.  
     'Yeah,' I answered, and offered him up like a puppy. 'Here, d'you want
to hold him?  He's really light.'
     She grins, declining.  'Shall we go?' she says.
     'Umm.. okay!'  I reply.
     And so we make off with Pete.
     In the grounds parking lot we return to Amanda's car, pop the 
Volkswagen's bonnet and stuff Pete inside.  I pause to admire him
for a mo, then we shut him in.
     We drive.  Drive Amanda drive.  Drive drive drive drive.
     We drive to Miami.
     We drive to the beach.
     We open the trunk and pull Peter out.  He looks better now,
more like sleeping soundly than being passed out.  I lay him out on
the sand, which is still losing heat in the cool beach night. 
Amanda watches us for a mo and then walks out along the beach in
search of something.  While she does this I smooth out Peter's hair
and clothes.  I wish I'd given him a smooch ..sweet way to wake
up.. but I decided against it.  I just sort of brush the side of
his face gently with my hand until he starts to come round.  He
opens his eyes and I can tell he knows what's happening.  He
doesn't resist.  Not at all.  I help him up and he looks at me with
those eyes he's got.  Dang.  Oooh. 
     He stands now on his own again, looking weak but with a
strength in his eyes the color of cement.  I try not to lose my
     Amanda returns.  'I found her,' she says.  I look back at
Pete.  'Come on,' I urge him.  We follow Amanda, catch up to her
and Peter walks between us, looking vaguely cute and sad.  After
walking along the beach for some time, we find her, and stop. 
Before us, the mother of all sea turtles (BTW, I mean she's big, not 
literally TMOAST) has paused on her way back into the sea.  She 
looks up at us with black eyes, salt tears caked in sand.  Peter 
kneels down in front of her and wipes the salt tears away.  He looks 
back up at us as the turtle resumes her voyage.  'Yeah,' I say.  He 
sort of sighs as Amanda pulls a cloth cord from her pocket.  I help 
him back up and we follow the turtle into the water.  There is 
barely any surf as we walk out into the sea.  The turtle pauses 
again where the water begins to support her weight.  Pete looks at 
us again.  Amanda ties the cord round his left wrist.  He watches 
with a disconnected look.  Amanda and I help him forward and quietly, 
he lays down, chest to the warm shell.  Amanda threads the cord 
under the plastron at the turtle's neck and I tie the end round 
Peter's other wrist.  He looks resolutely out to sea.  

	The turtle looks at us and starts to move once more.  Amanda 
and I stand until they are out of sight, then walk back to the car 
and drive home.  Badum-tsch!

Get a life where the dreamers dream...