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Explaining McCoy’s position at the school naturally leads to us discussing what’s been going on during the week. We chit-chat about some of the pending school events including my ideas for the next month’s book club but cease the conversation when our buzzer summons us over to our lane.

From Archer’s very first turn, it’s clear I’m in trouble.

Nothing slows the man down.

Not the godawful shoes – that only I seem to be slipping in.

Not the easy to be distracted by music – kudos to them for finding so many songs that are “car” related.

And not even his limp that had been hurting him so bad last night he had to soak it in my master bath’s tub.

Loved that we got bubbles everywhere. Didn’t love mopping them up.

Another successful spare occurs prompting my boyfriend to throw his hands in the air and smugly state, “King of the balls!”

Pressing my lips tightly together is done to hold in my giggles.

“Fuck, yeah, I hear it.” His open mouth laughing encourages my own. “It sounds better in my head.”

“I go throughthatshit all the time.”

More snickers slip from him at the same time he flops into the space next to me. “I love hearing whatever you have to say.” His arm stretches back around my seat while the pins are being restacked. “No matter how weird or accidentally pornographic it may sound.”

Our additional laughs are suddenly overpowered by the evening DJ making an announcement. “Let’s do a disco minute! Everyone up on your feet for this next one!”

The main lights immediately lower to allow disco strobes to begin right before the unforgettable notes to “Car Wash” by Rose Royce flood the speakers. Excitement to get up and groove with the rest of the crowd that’s already clapping along, however, only lasts for a split second.

Seeing Archer’s head twitching to the left, over and over and over again as though trying to be taken away by something redirects all of my attention.

My focus.

Knowing this is an episode or about to be an episode pushes me to act yet being unfamiliar with what to do in the situation leaves me hesitant.

So much of the material I have read is contradicting. Some insists you let the moment just play out and be there for them when they snap back. Others swear that trying to pull them out before they get in too deep is better. And then there are the ones that say its harmful to make a generalization versus playing to an individual’s need. Yeah. See! I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to listen to and since he refuses to see a therapist or go to group therapy – both of which could possibly give us tips – I feel like my cluelessness will continue on.

Unusual coughing and gasping ensue pushing me to do the only thing that makes sense to me.

What worked the last time we were here?

I cautiously state, “Jaye is now.”

The simple statement seems to cut through the fog.

Momentarily stop the twitching.

The choking.

My hand gently lands on his leg next and his slams down on top of it in a way that indicates he’s not sure if I’m a friend or foe, in the past or present. “Sweetheart is now.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, grip transitioning to loving. “Sweetheart…”

“Sweetheart is now, Archer.”

“Archer…” Echoing his name is followed a long, deep breath. “Hiltz was then.”

“Sweetheart is now.”

“St. Clair was then.”