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It’s a coping mechanism. One I have had since I started competing at age eight. But I doubt the waters miles away will help ease the panic going through me right now.
The police cars show up, and I pull my hand away, removing myself from the area. Giving space to the first responders.
“Were you the one that called dispatch about the accident, son?” An older officer takes me across the street, and I watch as they lift the passenger out of the car first.
“Yes, sir.” I nod, but I am watching the whole thing because I need to remember.I have to.
“Can you tell me what happened?” He is taking notes on his phone while another cop writes down my information on a pad of paper.
“Lad? Lad Lorenzo. I thought that was you. Chief, this is that kid who broke those state records all while rescuing those kids from that burning building.” The shorter officer claps me on the back and I nod, tight-jawed.
“Yes, sir.” I hand over my license and they shine a flashlight on it and share a proud grin.
“What are you doing clear out here, Lad?” The chief waits for my story as his lips massage his mustache.
“I was coming from a graduation party.” It is the truth.
“Have you been drinking, boy?” The flashlight is aimed right at my eyeballs, and I squint and shake my head.
“No, sir, I would never,” I promise, because I haven’t ever before.
“Good boy.” He nods and says something into his walkie-talkie.
I look over the road once more, and Alaska is out of the car; the hand I was touching has fallen off the stretcher and is swaying in the air.
“Is she going to be okay?” I point over to her, so young and fragile with the unknown.
“Hard to tell at this point. The other woman doesn’t look too good,” one officer tells me.
“Do you know her, Lad?” the other officer asks.
“Yes, we went to the same high school. Her name is Alyeska.” At least that is her real name, not the nickname everyone at school has called her since we were little.
“Is she from the reservation?” Officer Mustache asks, but I don’t really know.
“I don’t think so; our school is in the city.” I scratch my head and wonder.
“Do you know her last name or the other woman in the car with her?” They keep asking questions, but I keep staring at Alaska, willing her to sit up and walk away from this.
“I’m not sure about either of those things.” But I take a step toward the ambulance, then stop myself.
“Do you want to ride with her to the hospital?” One officer asks me; he must assume we are friends since we went to school together, but I don’t even know her last name.
“Oh no, I shouldn’t.” That would be weird. What if she woke up and freaked out because I was there? What if she told them I pummeled into her car?
As they lift Alyeska into the back of the ambulance, I see her eyes open a little bit, and she barely lifts a finger in my direction, but my heart stops.
“Seems like she wants you to join her, son.” Officer short-smacks me on the back, and I get moving next to her.
“What about my truck? I should call my dad.”
“We will call him and have him meet you at the hospital. Doesn’t look like their car did much damage to yours.” The officer examines the front of my truck a bit.
“What?” I squint my eyes, confused.
“When they hit your truck, they didn’t do much damage, barely a scuff.” When he says it, I don’t correct him. I don’t know if I should or even what to say.
Sorry, officer. No, you are wrong, I got high for the first time to celebrate my high school graduation, and I rammed my truck into their car.
