She accepted this and dialed the Draytonís phone number, the rotary clicking each time the dial returned to home. Christine nervously bit at her lower lip. Finally someone picked up the phone at the other end.

"Mr. Drayton?," started Christine. "Iím going to be staying the night at Septemberís grandparentís house."

"Youíre what?" The reply came loud enough that I could hear it, standing several feet away.

Christine repeated herself, and Mr. Draytonís response came only slightly muted. "Now listen young lady, weíre responsible for you while youíre hereÖand we have rules if you want to live under our roofÖ"

She broke into the tirade before he became unstoppable. "Thatís just it," she said. "Iím not sure that I want to live under your roof."

"Fine," came the answer, much of the wind taken out of him. His power card had been trumped. "Are you going to be at church tomorrow?"

Christine looked at me, and I nodded. My grandparents never missed a Sunday, and I had been attending with them on a regular basis.

"Yes," said Christine.

"Weíll talk about it then." Mr. Drayton hung up, and Christine breathed a sigh of relief as she sank into the lacquered hardwood chair. We stayed up late into the evening talking.

The next morning I awoke with my lungs full of phlegm. This was an every morning occurrence, and it took a painful process of coughing and hacking to clear up my airways. It generally took hours before my airways were clear enough to function normally. It wasnít a pretty sight, and Christine could hear me hacking to clear my lungs.

Eyes still slightly glazed from sleep, she wandered from my bedroom and into the living room where I was doubled over. "Are you alright?," she asked.

I shook my head. "No," I answered. "I didnít tell you this before, because I didnít want to scare you off, but Iíve got cystic fibrosis. Most people with it donít make it past thirty-five."

It was a bombshell, and probably not fair to drop on her at all, considering she was grappling with problems of her own, let alone so early in the morning. I watched her face as she absorbed the information that I had just given her. She didnít withdraw in horror; she just looked me in the eye. "I guess you better make good use of the time you are here," she said. "You donít have any time to waste."

No, I didnít have any time to waste- yet, I had frivoled away so much of it. Her words challenged me, and I resolved not to let time slip so easily away from me. And I resolved not to let Christine slip so easily away from me.

My Grandmother wandered out of her bedroom, wearing an old bathrobe and slippers. She walked directly past the step into the sunken living room and into the kitchen where she began to brew a pot of coffee to start the day, and begin preparing omelettes for breakfast. She hadnít even noticed Christine and I sitting in the living room.

I stood up and moved toward the kitchen. "Grandma, we need to talk."

She jumped, a little startled to see me up so early- and then she noticed Christine sitting on the couch behind me.

"My goodness, gracious, September. What is going on?"

"I need to talk to you grandma." I explained Christineís situation as best as I could. When I told of the strange doings in the dead of night at the Draytonís house, she could only shake her head. Although she could come across as out of touch with realities of society, the fact was that she was well aware of the reality. She just chose to separate herself from that life. For the most part, she and grandfather had succeeded in building a life apart from the outside influences that they didnít want to have any part of. Occasionally, reality intruded- and they were generally capable of dealing with and disposing of the problem.

"Thatís just horrible, just horrible," said grandma. "Sheíll stay here as long as she needs to." She stated this with certainty that brooked no argument. I knew that the decision would stand. Though my grandfather Herbert would appear grumpy and irate, he was in his heart a generous man. I knew this for a fact; of all the people I knew, my grandparents had put up with more from me, and hung in there and supported me through my troubles more than anyone else- my own mother included. Not only had I been a difficult person, I had reveled and glorified in it; all to my grandparents ill-concealed horror.

Christine recycled the dress that she had worn on the previous evening. At church that day the Draytonís sat in the aisle of pews opposite us. During the service I could see Mr. Draytonís hard glances in our direction. Pastor Steve expounded on the virtues of loving your neighbor, while I considered climbing across the