Page 48 of This Time Around

“She said that?” I prod, disbelieving April actually feels that way about Blake. She adores her.

“No, but she insinuated it.”

“Maybe you misunderstood what she was saying. She loves you. She thinks the world of you. I think she is afraid that if things don’t work out, she will lose you,” I try to reassure her, but she pulls away.

“You think we won’t work? What, are you just waiting for the smallest thing to happen so you can leave?”

I’m stunned by her sudden change in demeanor. This shattered, unsure version of the strong woman I have loved all these years. “B, look at me. I’ve been waiting to be with you for five years. When I asked you to move in with me, I meant it, and I never want you to leave. I’m fucking more than sure about us,” I affirm, putting both hands around her face and pulling her into me until my forehead is on hers. “I just think it is something she worries about because she loves you, sh-”

My work phone buzzes on the counter. I close my eyes, raking my hands over my face, ignoring it for a second. When it buzzes two more times, I have to check it. I place a kiss on her forehead and walk over to my phone.

“Fuck. There was a big accident. They need extra people. I have to go. Get some rest, please. I ordered pizza and rented a movie. I’ll be back as soon as I can, OK?” I can’t believe I have to leave her right now.

“I’m actually exhausted. I’m sorry I unloaded on you, and got all dramatic.” A shy smile crosses her lips.

“You can always fall apart with me, B. I’m not going anywhere.” I kiss her forehead and walk out the door.

I’ve been at the hospital for about two hours now and it’s been nothing but chaos since the first ambulance got here. A fucking drunk driver crashed into the side of a car with two college boys coming home from a soccer tournament. Their car spun around and hit the one behind it, filled with one of the boy’s family. There were 7 people in total between the two cars. 5 teens and two adults. The 3 kids in the car with the adults were in high school. Their oldest son is home from college driving behind the family with his buddy in the car. I got the entire run down from the dad while I was treating him. I think talking was keeping him calm. Most of them had minor injuries, but the oldest son, the driver of the car struck by the drunk driver, still hasn’t come in. Apparently, he’s pinned between the steering wheel and seat, and they were working to cut him out when they made the rest of the family and his passenger leave to get treated. The poor mom is freaking out. We had to give her medication to calm her down.

The drunk driver was banged up pretty badly, but after running a code, we were able to stabilize him enough for surgery, and now I’m stitching up the dad’s hand while we wait for word on his son. He’s a talker, just like I am in stressful situations. It’s interesting, talking to a reflection of yourself.

“Our son, Adam, is the one driving the other car. He plays on his college soccer team,” his voice is shaky. “He is such a hard worker. I should have listened to my wife and driven his car. It would be me pinned in there, not my boy.”

“He sounds like a great kid,” I reassure him. “You know what? I have to go check on another patient, but I’ll send Cash Easton in. He’s volunteering here, and loves talking sports. Talking to him might be a good distraction while you wait,” I offer as I leave the room.

I’m not a fan of Cash right now, given the recent information I learned about him and Blake, but he is great with people, and I know he will keep the dad calm.

I turn and make my way to the doors, closing the curtain behind me. The ambulance with Adam just pulled up. The EMTs bring the gurney in and when they park it, all the air leaves my lungs. Adam looks just like my friend DJ from high school. Spitting fucking image of my best friend. They are carbon copies of each other. Blond curly hair, light freckles across the nose, tall, muscular, one of those people who had natural muscle tone. Lightly tanned skin, and a pointed nose.

A drunk driver killed DJ the summer between our junior and senior year. I was with him. The memories of him in the driver’s seat next to me, limp and unresponsive, still haunt my dreams many nights. I had years of therapy to overcome the pain and guilt I felt over his death.

He had picked me up for a party, but we never made it there. So the sight in front of me is haunting. I feel the air in my lungs become sparse, and sweat breaks out on my forehead and neck.

Suddenly, I’m right back to being 17, sitting across from my parents in the hospital waiting room as they try to tell me DJ didn’t make it.

I remember the accident in vivid detail, burned in my memory like a scar branded from a hot poker, a dagger penetrating my soul.

They said he died on impact. He didn’t suffer, but I had a hard time believing them. I was there, in the car, next to him, and the sight before me didn’t match their words.

When I looked at him, he didn’t look gone at all. He was sitting in the awkward position you find yourself in when you fall asleep in the car, head leaning against the seatbelt. He looked like he was just sleeping. His hands were still gripping the wheel, like he was still holding on, stunned by the impact. There was no blood, he didn’t have any visible bruising from what I could see. In my memories, I looked worse off than him. There were no physical signs of injury. The other car hit my side. I took the brunt of the impact, but somehow he is gone and I’m still here.

I still have a hard time digesting their words and what I saw, even after all the medical training I’ve had. My 17-year-old brain immediately takes over, and nothing makes sense.

The doctors had said he broke his neck, the impact of the collision shook him around just enough for a fatal injury. They said the direction of the impact jolted him in such a way that his head hit the side of the door before banging it back in the other direction at such a fast pace and it severed his spinal cord, but I don’t remember any of it. We were driving, then we were spinning, and then we stopped, and before I knew it there were sirens and we were both being rushed to the hospital.

Snapping back to the present, I take a breath and then I move in fast steady motions, acting quickly to tend to all of Adam’s wounds, hook him up to fluid and oxygen. While my body is moving quickly in precisely calculated motions I have trained for, my heart is in shreds, and my brain is moving in slow motion, memorizing every feature of what I picture as my childhood best friend laying on the table in front of me, memories of that night flooding my brain.

We are working frantically to prepare him for surgery, as he has a collapsed lung and a few minor broken bones. His condition is critical, but stable, and the prognosis has mixed emotions rising in me. Hope and loss swirl around inside me, colliding like the bumper cars I used to ride as a kid. I’m having a hard time reconciling the two emotions, as I fight to turn them off and do what I have been trained to do. I cling to the clinical guidelines, fighting the rising tide of helplessness, striving for objectivity against the overwhelming emotional current. There is no room for emotions when treating life-threatening injuries, but today, right now, that is something I am finding it hard to do.

We Were So Close

“Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

-The Cranberries

Blake

Luke was gone all night. I had a hard time sleeping, so I watched old reruns of Reba until I fell asleep. Last time I looked at the clock, it was 3:18am. Now, it’s 7:37am. I’m in the kitchen brewing coffee and making a bowl of cereal. The embarrassment I felt over my reaction was too much to handle. Between the emotions, the alcohol, and the fear of being deserted by the only authentic version of family I have ever known, I lost it.