More from the "Green Eyes":
Alex and John, they are almost about to make out, but now John has to pee, urgently:
So we sit on my bed, next to each other. I really need to pee. I didn't go to the bathroom since when? Perhaps I hit the urinal at the Blue Moon, I don't remember. In the hospital, I didn't dare to ask for the men's room, I felt that the emergency receptionist felt that I had to be instantaneously available for the bad news, like you can't miss the moment that they fish John-John out of the water, remember, when the hottest scion of the Kennedy dynasty, who had just saluted the coffin of his presidential father at the tender age of three, had gone missing with his wife and his airplane. We were watching CNN, and were shown nothing but a beach (plus the sea), for hours, and the anchor tried to keep us entertained (ratings), but not too much (propriety), for hours, and it was Search & Rescue (John-John, by now, had disappeared for 18 hours or so, supposedly here, in the sea off this beach, because pieces of his luggage had already been retrieved, here). So we are watching S&R ("search and rescue"), the beach, the sea, bright sunshine, the anchor bubbling haltingly. And then, without prior warning (they could have warned us that the coast guard is now changing from S&R to a more somber recovery mode), suddenly the anchor's face reddens, and he announces that the rescue mode has switched from S&R to this more somber mode—you were glued to the screen, you couldn't miss that moment, your bladder be damned. “I need to pee,” I say.