her current dilemma

Slipped in, glossed over, presumed by both parties. One of those off-hand remarks that comes back to haunt, working its way to the surface, to consciousness, as I retrace and go over the words I've already heard.

"Of course, they don't have any insurance."

Of course.

I must admit I was hoping. Against hope, constant long-suffering companion. They're small businesses owners, so it was a toss-up, maybe at best, and Mom quite pre-existing. Maybe she's the only one without. What a poster family for the politicians; every wedge issue under the same roof. I make a mental note to ask my student aide--a citizen, for those scoring at home--if she's registered, make rude gestures towards Washington and passing campaign buses in my head. Go back to grasping at straws.

Because this child needs to be both home health care for her mother in the early afternoons and finish the final few weeks of high school. She doesn't know the rule about asking for forgiveness instead of permission, so she came to us for help out of her untenable situation instead of just skipping. And the only official word the counselor and I have squeezed out of The Office (the locus of authority, too maddening to be a sitcom), so far is, "we'll look into it." For 28 more days, I'll bet, until the calendar resolves their end of the dilemma.

Dear girl. You'll graduate. Have mom write--oh, lord: which arm did they take?--a note. Do what you need to do.