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Authors: Randy Susan Meyers
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odors from the deflated air bag burned his eyes. Someone knocked on the window and peered through the glass. An old guy stood there, grizzled, his white short-sleeved shirt soaked with rain.
Sweat and salty blood trickled. He’d bitten his lower lip. Any movement brought a stab in his chest, sharp enough to make him gasp. When he turned to look at Maddy, the searing pain worsened. Shards of jagged glass marked where the passenger window had been.
She was gone. The windshield was smashed out.
“ Maddy! ” he screamed. “ Maddy! ”
All he saw as he peered out was the rain.
He lowered his jammed window as far as he could, holding his breath each time he pressed the button.
“My wife. Help me out. I gotta find her,” Ben said.
The man shook his head. “Sorry, son. Best to stay put and wait for the medics.” In his peripheral vision Ben saw hazard lightsflashing. “I called 911 as soon as I saw you duking it out with that other car.”
“Reach in and unlock the door, okay?” Ben tried to turn his head, but a stab of pain held him still. Rain blew in from the open window.
“I don’t know.” The man slowly stood from his crouch. A woman leaned in.
“Don’t move. You might have internal injuries.” She pushed back wet hair on her forehead. As though offering a condolence prize, she held up a phone. “Do you want me to call someone for you? Do you want to make a call?”
Ben’s thoughts blurred. He studied the phone and the wet woman.
Nauseated and dizzy, he hung his pounding head. Raw skin on his cheeks stung where the air bag had scraped him.
He closed his eyes. Confused.
Maddy.
Sirens sounded.
The woman was still there when he opened his eyes. Earnest. Concerned. He could see her telling the story at dinner as she served the salad: And then I asked if I could call someone for him.
Everything spun.
It seemed he’d just tried closing his eyes again when a husky young voice urged him to open them. A smoker’s voice. Was it fashionable for young women to smoke? He’d better keep an eye on Emma.
“Sir. My name is Evanne. I’m an emergency medical worker. Can you hear me?” The light-skinned woman’s beaded braids were pulled back into a thick blue elastic band.
“My wife,” he said. “I need to get out of here.”
“Soon. I promise. Are you allergic to latex?” When he shook his head no, she reached in and took his wrist with rubber-gloved fingers. “Can you feel that?”
Everything got hazy again.
“Yes,” he whispered. “My wife?”
“Don’t worry.” As she questioned him, a fireman wedged a bar into the door and popped it open. By the time she’d asked what Benweighed and what day it was, he felt faint. His legs shook so violently he worried they’d hit the steering wheel.
“Don’t worry.” Evanne took his arm. “The shaking is shock. Normal after a trauma.
“My wife?” he repeated.
“She’s being cared for.”
Was she lying? Jesus, Maddy, where are you? Was she dead?
Evanne and a male EMS worker brought him onto a portable cot, where he lay, arms spread on either side of the narrow slab of foam, his exhaustion profound. Still, he struggled to his elbows, working against the searing pain, then falling back.
“You should remain flat, sir,” Evanne suggested. Ben found her throaty voice soothing.
“No. No. I’m all right.”
“Please, sir, it would be better to lie back for now.”
Lying back didn’t seem like a good idea. Already it felt as though fate had simply picked him up and thrown him on the ground.
Evanne took his pulse. She held his chin and looked into his eyes. Her breath was mild peppermint, her hands lemon-scented. Maybe she wasn’t a smoker. Ben pictured her life, showering with yellow soap, buying Life Savers, not knowing what each day would bring. Broken bodies. Guns. Him.
Ben slowly turned to look in every direction. Bright orange cones held cars back. A barely moving line of traffic crept around the accident scene. He turned his
Sweat and salty blood trickled. He’d bitten his lower lip. Any movement brought a stab in his chest, sharp enough to make him gasp. When he turned to look at Maddy, the searing pain worsened. Shards of jagged glass marked where the passenger window had been.
She was gone. The windshield was smashed out.
“ Maddy! ” he screamed. “ Maddy! ”
All he saw as he peered out was the rain.
He lowered his jammed window as far as he could, holding his breath each time he pressed the button.
“My wife. Help me out. I gotta find her,” Ben said.
The man shook his head. “Sorry, son. Best to stay put and wait for the medics.” In his peripheral vision Ben saw hazard lightsflashing. “I called 911 as soon as I saw you duking it out with that other car.”
“Reach in and unlock the door, okay?” Ben tried to turn his head, but a stab of pain held him still. Rain blew in from the open window.
“I don’t know.” The man slowly stood from his crouch. A woman leaned in.
“Don’t move. You might have internal injuries.” She pushed back wet hair on her forehead. As though offering a condolence prize, she held up a phone. “Do you want me to call someone for you? Do you want to make a call?”
Ben’s thoughts blurred. He studied the phone and the wet woman.
Nauseated and dizzy, he hung his pounding head. Raw skin on his cheeks stung where the air bag had scraped him.
He closed his eyes. Confused.
Maddy.
Sirens sounded.
The woman was still there when he opened his eyes. Earnest. Concerned. He could see her telling the story at dinner as she served the salad: And then I asked if I could call someone for him.
Everything spun.
It seemed he’d just tried closing his eyes again when a husky young voice urged him to open them. A smoker’s voice. Was it fashionable for young women to smoke? He’d better keep an eye on Emma.
“Sir. My name is Evanne. I’m an emergency medical worker. Can you hear me?” The light-skinned woman’s beaded braids were pulled back into a thick blue elastic band.
“My wife,” he said. “I need to get out of here.”
“Soon. I promise. Are you allergic to latex?” When he shook his head no, she reached in and took his wrist with rubber-gloved fingers. “Can you feel that?”
Everything got hazy again.
“Yes,” he whispered. “My wife?”
“Don’t worry.” As she questioned him, a fireman wedged a bar into the door and popped it open. By the time she’d asked what Benweighed and what day it was, he felt faint. His legs shook so violently he worried they’d hit the steering wheel.
“Don’t worry.” Evanne took his arm. “The shaking is shock. Normal after a trauma.
“My wife?” he repeated.
“She’s being cared for.”
Was she lying? Jesus, Maddy, where are you? Was she dead?
Evanne and a male EMS worker brought him onto a portable cot, where he lay, arms spread on either side of the narrow slab of foam, his exhaustion profound. Still, he struggled to his elbows, working against the searing pain, then falling back.
“You should remain flat, sir,” Evanne suggested. Ben found her throaty voice soothing.
“No. No. I’m all right.”
“Please, sir, it would be better to lie back for now.”
Lying back didn’t seem like a good idea. Already it felt as though fate had simply picked him up and thrown him on the ground.
Evanne took his pulse. She held his chin and looked into his eyes. Her breath was mild peppermint, her hands lemon-scented. Maybe she wasn’t a smoker. Ben pictured her life, showering with yellow soap, buying Life Savers, not knowing what each day would bring. Broken bodies. Guns. Him.
Ben slowly turned to look in every direction. Bright orange cones held cars back. A barely moving line of traffic crept around the accident scene. He turned his
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