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I didn’t remember his name, but I remembered his face. He brought his little brother in once with a broken wrist and no money, no insurance.
I paid out of my pocket for the kid’s cast.
And his big brother, a kid who eventually got caught up in the easy money to be found on the streets, never forgot it.
“Call the police,” I pleaded, all but collapsing down at his feet, too terrified, too worried about the bleeding that was still not stopping, to have any pride at all.
“Fuck. Yeah. Yeah. I’ll call. You’re gonna be fine, Doc,” he told me. “Yo, Manny, get the fuck over here!” he called even as he raised his phone to his ear. “Give her your shirt or something, fuck,” he said, sounding annoyed that his friend didn’t think of it first.
It was not sterile enough to be holding to a wound, but it was better than my hand. So I took it.
“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked when one of them tried to reach for me, tried to bring me to my feet.
“Okay. Shit. Yeah. Just leave her, man. She’s in shock or some shit. The cops are coming, Doc. They ain’t usually fast around here, but I made sure I told ‘em that it was you.”
I hated that I knew that would make a difference.
But it would.
And not ten minutes later, not only were the cops there, but so were the paramedics, looking me over, then loading me into the ambulance with my wallet the cops had fished out of my purse, so I would have my insurance cards.
“Do you have an emergency contact to call?” the nurse at the hospital asked as she took my vitals.
I didn’t.
Not really.
I mean, maybe Michael.
He would come if he heard I was hurt.
But that wasn’t who I wanted.
Who I wanted was the one person I’d worked so hard to make think I never wanted anything to do with him ever again.
I didn’t say it.
I couldn’t.
I just pointed toward my wallet that was on my lap.
I still had the card.
I don’t know why I kept it. I just did. The emergency contact card I’d had since I was seventeen. The one with his name and number on it.
It probably wasn’t even his number anymore, but that was what I gave her before I was bombarded by doctors who checked out and stitched up my neck, then wheeled me away for scans.
I never saw that first nurse again.
Because I was being wheeled up to surgery.
It all happened so fast. Way faster than it should have. But I knew some of these doctors and nurses. They knew the work I was doing. And they were clearly giving me priority.
I should have insisted on waiting my turn.
But I was too tired and scared and in pain to do it.
I just went along with it while I secretly cried out for Seeley in my heart.
