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We can only hope.’ The whistle blows, the ball is snapped and their QB tosses a perfect pass right into the receiver’s hands. Suddenly our side is on their feet and yelling. As I look, it dawns on me that the receiver was from our team and he was madly running it down the sideline. It was like a slow motion comedy, our one lone man was being chased by 6 or 7 of their team. They wouldn’t catch him, either. The clock expires just before he crosses the goal line and we win the game. The stands are in bedlam. The crowd has gone crazy. We win. We WIN. WE WIN. Trish and I are literally hugging each other over this victory. As the crowd calms down, we find our way to the exit and out to the parking lot. We overhear snatches of conversations about the amazing play which gave us the unexpected win. This would be a topic of conversation for a long time to come. I am still full of adrenalin and I lead us into a small park. The sun had gone down a short time ago and the field lights added to. All the while bucking and struggling to get out from beneath him, Christie turned her head and bit down hard on the hand that was holding her other arm. In response he gave a vicious yank to the arm he had pinned behind her back. Tears spring to her eyes, but she cursed silently, never showing anything. Steve dragged her free arm inexorably downward. Christie was the same height as Steve, five-feet-ten, healthy and strong, but the sad truth is that an average man is still stronger than an average woman. Steve was no average man, he either lifted weights or ran every day of the week. Despite all her efforts, he soon had her dragged, the skin of her torso and thighs scraping across the rough carpet, to slip the cuffs through a large u-shaped bolt on the floor, trapping her there on her hands and knees. She stared down at her hands caught to either side of the bolt and then closed her eyes. ‘I hate you, Steve,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’ ‘Some day I’ll find a way out.’.
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