This is a victim point-of-view story that features the characters of Emergency!
Charge Ahead
By Marty P.
Dora O’Shea drove home in her 1964 Silver Plymouth Valiant. In the backseat of the ten- year-old car was a sheaf of sophomore English essays on what life would be like in the 21st century. As she turned corners, they crept out of the worn cloth bag she used to transport them back and forth between Carson Senior High and home. Hours of grading loomed in her future but her mind focused on her sixteen-year-old son, Kip.
She made a left onto Olive and smiled to herself as she thought of how her son Robert obtained his nickname. When he was a toddler his three-year-old cousin Al couldn’t pronounce his name and called him Wouberut. Soon Al was hearing the family tell him to skip saying Robert, just call him Rob. The lad misunderstood and kept repeating, “Kip saying Wouberut.” When the family laughed at his attempts, Kip was dubbed. He’d gone by that nickname ever since.
Being a single parent was tough and she’d become one when Kip was six. She raked her fingers through her auburn streaked brown hair, and frowned when a gray hair came loose. She was thirty-six-years old; fit neatly into Size 8 clothing and still had the energy of a teenager. Over the years, she’d worked hard to guide and lead her son and now Kip was testing his wings while she struggled to maintain the delicate balance between clipping them and letting him fly.
Her offspring loved cars so much that his love bordered on obsession. As a small boy, he played with them constantly, drew pictures of them and took great delight in identifying every make and model whenever they were out. It didn’t lessen, as he grew older. When he was fourteen, he broached up a subject near and dear to his heart, “Mom, will you get me a car for my sixteenth birthday?”
“Honey,” she put her arms around the boy who was now taller than she was and resisted the temptation to ruffle his chestnut brown hair. “I wish I could, but we’re just barely making it.”
He squared his shoulders, “That’s okay, mom. I understand.” She saw the glitter of tears in his eyes as he accepted the news, even though it was painful.
“I’d love to buy you a car but you wanna keep eating for the next several years, don’t you?” She teased, to soften the blow. He responded with a weak grin and went to his room.
Kip accepted any job offered to him after that. While his friends were out shooting baskets and fraternizing, he was earning money. A year later he biked to the grocery store for bread and milk and spotted a handwritten advertisement on the bulletin board. ‘1965 Dodge Charger, red with black leather interior. Needs work. $350. Contact Bud Fields at 555-2291.’ Kip removed the card and stuffed it in his pocket.
The screen door slammed behind him as he dashed into the house, yelling, “Mom! Mom!” Much to his disappointment, she’d stepped over to the neighbor’s for a cup of coffee. When she returned he dangled the paper in front of her face, “Look!”
She read it over, “Kip, you have no idea how much it’ll cost to fix it up.” She glanced into his hopeful eyes and gave an inward sigh. He was growing up far too fast. “Why don’t we talk about it in a few days?”
“Mooom!” He moaned.
She stepped to the counter to put away the milk, “Besides, it’s probably been sold by now.”
“Can’t we check?”
“I suppose it won’t hurt.” She reneged. He plucked the paper out of her hand before she could change her mind and dialed the number.
“H-hello,” his voice cracked with nervousness, much to his frustration. “My name is Kip, uh, Robert O’Shea and I’m interested in the Dodge Charger you have for sale.”
Dora was eager to know what was going on but except for an occasional, “uh huh” or “okay,” the dialogue was one-sided but she noticed him rubbing his thumb back and forth over his left index finger.
Back when Kip was seven, he stumbled upon a tin can and decided it would make a great tunnel for his Matchbox cars. With all his strength Kip attempted to remove the lid, causing a deep cut on his finger. The injury healed but an indented scar remained. Ever since then, it was his habit to play with the scar when he was excited or tense.
Dora heard Kip break in, “Mr. Fields, could I come over and see it?” Trapping the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, he scoped the room for paper and a pencil. As soon as they were in hand, he jotted down the directions, interrupting several times to make sure he understood them. “Is it okay to come over now?”
He hung up, bursting with excitement. His mother couldn’t resist his pleading face and she picked up her keys. On the way to Mr. Fields’ address, she created a mental image of what he would look like: a short man in his mid-fifties with a balding pate, pudgy midriff and a face that was frozen into a permanent scowl. When she pulled up, Kip spied the Charger and flew out of the car. He was caressing the smooth paint, kicking the tires and had unlatched the driver’s door to check out the controls while Dora scanned the area, seeking a glimpse of Mr. Fields.
The front screen door creaked an off-key tune and a man in his mid-thirties appeared. He wore blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a logo that had faded after many washings. Dora tried to discern what it was and reddened when she saw the man had caught her scrutinizing him. Her gaze turned upward and she saw his amused look and the twinkle in his hazel eyes. Still embarrassed, her eyes lit on his damp, light brown hair, sparkling in the sunlight.
The sound of Kip popping the hood caught his attention until the woman next to him cleared her throat, “I’m Mrs. O’Shea. That’s my son, Robert, who called about the car. Could you get your father, Bud Fields, please?”
His face crinkled with laughter, turning his eyes into a rich shade of mahogany. “I’m sorry, ma’am, my father’s not here right now.” Kip, who had come closer, looked crestfallen at the news. “May I introduce myself? I’m Bud Fields.”
Nonplussed, Dora turned away as Kip started firing questions at the seller. “You said it needs work? How much will it cost? How long will it take?”
Bud raised his hands, as if he was stopping traffic, “Whoa there, lad. If ya slow down, I can answer. It needs a new carburetor, the engine needs a complete overhaul and the radiator hoses are shot. The battery doesn’t have much life in it and the tires are bald. Otherwise,” he said gently, “she’s in good shape.”
Kip blinked several times as he took in the news but he wasn’t deterred. “H-how much is that gonna cost?”
“Now wait a minute,” Dora read her son’s face; he was already sold but she didn’t want him to take on more than he could handle. “I’d like my mechanic’s opinion, if you don’t mind.”
Bud nodded and his lips curved upward, revealing lightly etched laugh lines around his eyes. “Ma’am, I was gonna suggest that if you didn’t. After all, you’d know where to find me if you were an unhappy customer.” Dora took her eyes off him and glanced at his house number, satisfied that he was on the up and up.
“Mr. Fields, how much is all this gonna cost?”
Bud didn’t beat around the bush, “That’s a tough call. It’ll be less if you do the work but it’s not gonna be cheap. Have you ever worked on a car before?”
“No, but I could learn.” He drew himself up to his full height of six feet and one inch, daring Bud to refute his declaration.
This gangly young man impressed Bud. The boy’s intelligent, deep blue eyes looked directly into his, displaying self-confidence and a willingness to be taught. Bud recalled a time he’d wanted someone to take a chance on him. “I like your attitude. Perhaps I could lend you a hand and we could work on the car here.” Kip was thrilled, until Bud added, “We better check with your mother though.”
Dora was torn. This man was offering to spend hours with her son but she didn’t know him. Her gut told her to trust him but she hesitated to convey her feelings without finding more about him first. “Kip, why don’t we take a week to decide?”
“Mom!” He lamented, “Someone else might buy the car! C’mon…”
“Tell ya what. If anyone asks in the next week, I’ll just say I have a prospective buyer.” Kip relaxed at the news. “Eager to use your license?”
“Well,” Kip found a blade of grass by his left foot very interesting, “I won’t drive for a year.”
“You should have plenty of time to get the car ready then.” Bud fished a small notepad out of his hip pocket. “May I have your phone number?” After Kip recited it for him, they departed.
The following day, Dora contacted her mechanic, who recognized Bud’s name immediately. “He’s the best in the business, ma’am. He’s taught me a thing or two and I’m old enough to be his father! He’s got a shop over on Irvine.”
A week later, Dora consented to the sale, as long as Kip earned the money to repair the car and kept his grades up. At first, Dora stayed while Mr. Fields and Kip worked on the car; grading her never-ending papers, but soon Kip was biking over to Bud’s house, spending hours with the man.
Kip spoke of his mother, not only with love but deep respect. With a maturity many teens lacked, Kip knew she cared about him not only as a son, but wanted him to become a man of character and integrity. The more Kip shared, the more Bud wanted to get to know this woman.
From time to time, Bud would take Kip out for pizza or a movie and often invited Dora to join them, but she always refused. She was pleased that Kip had an honorable man in his life but she wasn’t ready for a relationship with him. At least that’s what she kept telling herself whenever she declined. Deep down, she was drawn to him but fearful that he’d walk out on her as her husband had.
As the year progressed, Bud became a surrogate father to Kip. The boy showed a talent for fixing cars and was soon helping at Bud’s business. If Dora couldn’t find her son, it was a good possibility that he was at the garage.
A month before Kip’s birthday, the Dodge Charger was purring and ready for a test drive, when Bud proposed an idea, “Kip, what do you say we put some detailing on this beauty?” He’d seen the teenager eyeing some of the cars that passed through his shop.
During the next four weeks, they added blue, gold and silver pin striping to the doors. Near the fenders, they created a colorful starburst. The end result was spectacular.
With Dora’s permission, Bud took Kip to get his license on his birthday. Had it been dark, no headlights on the Charger would’ve been necessary to announce whether he’d passed, for his face glowed with joy. Dora thought Kip might spend less time with Bud now that he no longer needed to work on his automobile, but Bud continued to keep him busy at the garage.
It was one Saturday after work that Kip came into Bud’s office. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”
Bud caught the serious tone the youth used, “What’s up?”
“Well, my mom’s birthday is in a few weeks and I’d like to get her something to show her how special she is.”
“Why are you asking me? I’m not married.”
“Well, you have a mother, don’t you?” Kip pursued. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Flowers? Candy?” Bud suggested the standards that men always gave women. “Wait, you need to think of something really personal; something she’ll really love.”
“I can’t afford to buy her a car,” Kip cracked up, knowing that’s what both of them would consider the perfect gift.
“Hey!” An idea struck Bud. “Where’d you put those photos you showed me the other day?”
Kip opened the glove compartment where he’d stowed them. “Yeah, Mom was asking about them.” He flipped through them, “I really like this one.” The photo showed the two O’Sheas, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing near a mirrored lake. The expressions on their faces made it clear they enjoyed spending time together.
“That’s the one. Why don’t you get it blown up and then frame it for her?” Bud gazed at the striking auburn haired woman with intense blue eyes. Her looks attracted him but it was her inner spirit that fascinated him. He had a deep admiration for her that he didn’t know how to express. One of these days he was not going to take no for an answer and insist that she go out with him.
Kip dug out the negatives, “I’ll do it!”
“Hold on a minute.” Bud opened the top right drawer of his desk. After rifling through a stack of business cards, he handed one to Kip. “Here, he’ll do a good job with that photo for you.”
Kip skimmed the card, “But it says, R. O. Pierpont, Bank President. I’m confused.”
“Mr. Pierpont just retired. His son and I have been friends for years. He’s been dabbling with photography and framing for quite some time and he opened a little shop. I’ve got his address around here somewhere.” After a brief search, he copied it onto a blank invoice and handed it to the young man. “I think you’ll be pleased with his prices.”
“I better do it today before Mom asks me about this again. See ya.”
He found the shop and arrived shortly before closing time. “Mr. Pierpont? I understand you can help me.” He took the photo and negative out of his shirt pocket and showed them to the gentleman. “Bud Fields says you do really good work.”
“Thank him for the endorsement, son.” Mr. Pierpont discussed the order, recommended a dark cherry frame to accentuate the colors in the photo and then quoted a price. “I still have some commitments related to my old job but I can have it ready for you in two weeks.”
Kip tapped on the counter, “You won’t be late? My mom’s birthday is a few days after that. I’m gonna be in the doghouse if I don’t have a gift.”
“I’ll let you know if I have any problems as soon as possible.” He wrote up a ticket. “How can I contact you?”
Kip gave him the number for Bud’s service center. After a pause he added, “I guess if I’m not there you could get me at home but try not to let my mom know what’s up.”
“How about a coded message?” His pencil scratched on the yellow lined paper as he added a memo, ‘Bud asked you to come by the shop and pick up the parts.’ “Will that work?”
“Yeah!” He repeated the message several times so he would remember it. “Thanks!
Ten days later on a Saturday evening, Kip propped himself against the doorframe as he watched his mother working on lesson plans at the kitchen table. “Mom, you should be having fun on a Saturday night.”
“I don’t have time to do these at work, Son.”
“I know, but on a Saturday night?”
Turning the tables on him she asked, “What are your plans tonight?”
“I’m just gonna hang with the guys. We’ll probably take in a movie and go somewhere to eat afterwards.”
“All right. But be home by midnight.”
He came over to her, gave her a quick hug and snatched his jacket off the chair. Whistling as he pulled the keys out of his pocket, he climbed into his Charger and drove to his friend’s house. When he arrived, four other juniors were waiting for him. “Kip, we almost left without you.” Josh stated, coming down the steps.
“We haven’t decided what we’re doing, have we?” Kip felt a cool breeze as he spoke to the boys.
Josh shook his head, “You’re late. We made a decision while we were waiting for you.”
“Oh? And what was that?” Kip shrugged into his jacket and eyed his friends.
Bruce skipped down the stairs, “We’ve been invited to Holly’s house.”
Kip was uneasy, “Is that so? What’s so great about Holly’s?”
“C’mon, lighten up. We’re just gonna go over and eat and talk. You gotta mingle with girls some time.” Josh put his arm around Kip’s shoulder and escorted him to the Charger.
“Can we keep it short and then go catch a flick?” Kip held the front seat up so that several of his buddies could slip into the back.
Josh slid into the front, slamming the door, knowing it would aggravate Kip. “Sure, we’ll only stay a couple of minutes.”
When they got to Holly’s, the place was already packed. Kip overcame the temptation to drop off his cronies and leave because he knew they would make Monday at school miserable for him, calling him a chicken or worse. His companions bounded out of the car as he forced himself to go in. It was obvious Holly’s parents were away and everyone at Carson High School had gotten the word. Jocelyn, an acquaintance from Spanish class, nabbed him as he walked toward the den. After making small talk, he tried to catch Josh’s attention but the athlete was ensconced on the sofa, entertaining a crowd as he described shenanigans from a recent basketball game. With a captive audience, Kip knew he would be hard to drag away.
Wanting to escape from Jocelyn, he stepped away, “Jocelyn, I need to use the…”
“Oh, sure.” As he rose, Jocelyn detained Bruce, who happened to be walking by.
Kip wandered around the house, trying to locate his other friends. When he stuck his head into the kitchen, his stomach fell as he spotted the six-packs of beer stacked near the refrigerator and the empty cans decorating the counter by the sink. He’d wondered when he heard the raucous laughter and saw the odd behavior of some of the partygoers.
His mother had made her opinion on this topic clear more than once. She’d attended far too many funerals involving teenagers and alcohol, making him promise that he wouldn’t consume alcohol until he reached the legal age for drinking and it was a pledge he was determined to keep. He vacillated between deserting his friends and making sure they got home safely.
Three hours later, Kip steered his tipsy pals out to his car. Throughout the evening, he managed to refuse offers for beverages but his beige jacket hadn’t fared so well. He was on the verge of leaving when someone lost the contents of a beer can on it. He tossed the garment into the trunk, intending to air it out later.
After unloading his comrades at Josh’s house, Kip headed for home, relieved when he saw the dim light over the stove, indicating that his mother was in bed.
Monday dawned and Kip followed his mother’s Valiant to Bud’s shop. She would leave it there for them to replace her timing belt. “Kip, could you open your trunk and I’ll stuff my things in there?”
Without thinking, Kip popped the trunk and the odor of alcohol met their nostrils. Dora’s face darkened, “Kip! What’s this all about?”
“Mom! I didn’t drink! I swear!” He carried the coat to a row of hooks Bud had on hand for greasy coveralls.
Dora wavered. His face, when he smelled the alcohol, was as disgusted as hers and she saw only remorse on her son’s face, but at the same time he’d kept mum about the matter. “You better explain what did happen, young man!”
“The guys wanted to go a party on Saturday night. There was beer there but I swear on my mother’s grave; I mean, I swear I didn’t drink any!”
“Why didn’t you bring this up yesterday?”
“I, I didn’t know what to say!”
“We could’ve discussed it!” Dora slid into the car, “I’m disappointed in you.”
Kip stood outside the car, his shoulders slumped. At last he got in, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Dora fastened her seatbelt and turned to her son, “Kip, when we pick up the Valiant after school today I’m going to take your keys for two weeks.”
“Mom, please! Not my car!” She saw his left hand in his lap, his thumb moving up and down on his index finger.
“Kip, if you had come to me and told me about this, we could have worked it out. But, you didn’t. I’ll be taking you to work and to school.” There was a strained silence on the trip to school.
Kip avoided his friends during the day, though it meant he was tardy on several occasions. When it was time to go, he stood outside his mother’s classroom door and overheard her encourage a student to rewrite his essay.
“Joe, you’re a whiz on the basketball court. I bet you’d laugh at me if I tried to play.”
Joe snorted, “Mrs. O’Shea, I’ve had a lot of practice. That makes a big difference.”
“That’s all I’m asking you to do here. Practice.” Kip heard the rustle of papers. “Joe, bring this back in two days and let me look it over.”
“I guess I can do that. Bye, Mrs. O’Shea.”
Kip moved toward the doorway, “Mom?”
“Hi, honey. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” He took the load of paperwork from her arms and waited for her to lock the door. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
“Me, too.” She gave him a quick hug and shifted her shoulder bag, “but the punishment still stands.”
“I know.”
Two days later, Kip got a ride home with his next-door neighbor because his mother had a meeting after school. He’d just raided the refrigerator when the phone rang. “Hi, is Kip there?”
“This is Kip.”
“Kip, this is Mr. Pierpont. Your photo’s ready.”
“Thanks. Can I pick it up in a few days?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’ve been called away and will be gone for several weeks. I’ll be here until 5:00.”
Kip hung up and paced. “What am I gonna do? I know, get a hold of Bud! He can pick it up for me.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter as he made the call.
Bud’s assistant, Luke, answered. “Sorry, Bud’s gone. He had to pick up some
parts he’d special ordered in Oakland. Want him to ring you tomorrow?”
Kip sucked in his lips and ran his fingers roughly through his hair, “No.
That’s okay.”
He wanted this to be a special birthday for his mother. At last he made a decision and marched to her room. As he’d expected the keys were in the right corner of her top dresser drawer. I’ll just run over to get the photo and zip right home.
Kip was there in fifteen minutes flat. The bell over the door jangled and the scent of developing chemicals greeted him, but there was no sign of the proprietor. “Mr. Pierpont?”
“Good afternoon, son,” the owner appeared from the back, wiping his hands. “Let me show you your order before I wrap it up for you.” Mr. Pierpont worked his way through a stack of framed pictures until he got to Kip’s. “Here, see what you think.”
“I like it. Mom will be pleased.” Kip fished out his billfold, pocketed the change and then took the package.
Unlocking his car, Kip tossed his wallet on the seat, climbed in and put the gift next to him. As he set it aside, he caught sight of the bank clock across the street. If he hurried, he just might have time to pick up a card.
Several blocks later he passed a strip mall with a pharmacy, a grocer’s, a dress shop, beauty salon and liquor store. At the stop sign he made a U-turn and galloped into the drugstore.
Locating the greeting cards, he snapped up a floral one that said ‘Happy Birthday’ and watched the clerk count change into the customer’s hand for the second time. There was one person ahead of him. Setting the card down, he inspected the gum display, urging the cashier to hurry. At last, it was his turn. She rang up the sale and he slapped the coins on the counter and headed for the exit. “Wait a minute! I owe you $.02!” She yelled after him.
“Keep it!” Kip bellowed as he shot out the door.
At the liquor store, a teenager with copper colored hair and a lanky figure was shoplifting. The owner espied a bulge under his clothes and gave chase. Kip came out to the parking lot at the same time and had his keys in the lock when the robber shoved him out of the way. “Hey! That’s my car!” Kip fought to overcome the youth, and the two wrestled on the ground.
The shopkeeper tried to identify the boy who had darted out of his store but the similar appearance of the two juveniles confused him. He shouted to the stunned spectators, “Stop him! He stole from my store!” In a desperate attempt to escape, the pilferer swung a bottle at Kip, shellacking him. The thief then seized the keys and barged into the car. As soon as it roared to life, he backed out at top speed, causing the gawkers to scramble for safety.
“The police are on their way,” the pharmacist notified his neighbor as he came out of his establishment. He bent over Kip, who lay there unconscious. “Somebody call an ambulance.”
A squad car arrived. “He went west on Olive!” The liquor storeowner screamed.
The policeman waved, “I’ll send another black and white to this location!”
The carjacker, speeding down Olive Street, heard the piercing sound of the siren. He whipped his head around to spy the flashing lights, just as a truck turned into his path. Jerking the wheel to the right, he managed to avoid the pickup but bounced onto the curb and then plowed into a pole.
Dora’s school meeting concluded earlier than she’d expected, a rare event. She was deep in thought and operating on autopilot when a wailing siren penetrated her reverie. Checking for traffic, she moved aside just as a police cruiser barreled past her. Several blocks later she saw the police car, now stopped. Craning her neck, she slowed to find out what was going on.
A red car, with a starburst just above the fender, had crashed into a utility pole. Red car? With a starburst painted on it? Kip! Kip? It couldn’t be Kip; she’d taken away his keys!
Distracted, she failed to notice the delivery truck edging toward her. It crossed into her lane and before she could react there was the sound of metal crimping, buckling, and melding together. She experienced the dual sensations of time both slowing down and accelerating out of control. Inertia took over and she continued moving when the Valiant stopped, thrusting her into the windshield. Blinding pain enveloped her, receding when her world grew dark.
A light shone in Dora’s right eye, and she perceived a head blocking her vision. “Wha-?”
“Take it easy, ma’am. My name is Johnny Gage and I’m a paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department. You’ve been in an accident.” He let her lid close and moved to check the pupil on her left eye. “Just look up toward the 51 on my helmet.” He clicked off his penlight and made some marks on a small pad he had.
Dora tried to comprehend what happened but her head hurt too much.
Continuing his assessment, the young, dark haired paramedic checked her arms for injuries, “What’s your name?”
What was his name? No, he’d asked hers. She struggled to answer, “Do-ra.”
She hissed when he probed her left leg. “I’m sorry. I’ll be done with this in a minute.” He turned away to speak to someone outside the car. “Marco, can you get me a leg splint?”
“I’m just gonna take a blood pressure on you. We’ll have you out of here soon.” The paramedic wrapped the cuff around her arm, causing Dora to wonder how she was doing. She shook her head to clear it, causing a fresh wave of pain, and felt his hand on her shoulder. “Try not to move around. It won’t be long now.”
She could tell he was trying to be gentle as he fastened something around her leg. He must’ve read the question in her eyes because she heard him say, “Looks like you broke your tibia and fibula. They’ll fix you up at the hospital.”
“Johnny, the driver’s okay. What a mess! All these broken bottles will take a while to clean up, not to mention the sticky mess we’ll have on our shoes from the soda puddles.” A man with black hair came into view. Her subconscious caught a Spanish accent as he spoke.
Dora took in what had been said but was confused. Broken bottles? Soda puddles? Before she could puzzle it out, the paramedic spoke to her again.
“We’re gonna get you out of the car now. Let us do all the work. Okay?” Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he brought his assistant closer. “Dora, this is Marco. He’s gonna help me. Marco, climb in the back seat and keep her head still while I slide the backboard under her. Let’s take it slow and easy.”
With great care, they moved her onto a plank. Dora held her breath and when they placed her on the ground, she gulped in air.
“We’ll take you to the hospital real soon.” The paramedic assured her as another fireman ran up. He, too, wore a turnout coat and a helmet bearing the number 51.
“Johnny, Roy needs your help. His victim’s crashing.”
Her caregiver rose from his crouch. “Mike, keep an eye on her. Cap, can you have dispatch send another squad?” He ran out of sight.
“I’m from Station 51, too. Mike Stoker’s my name.”
It was then it hit her. The Dodge Charger! Her son’s car! Kip! Her beloved son! Did they say he was crashing? He already crashed. What’s going on?
She moved her hand, drawing Mike to her side. “Son!”
Mike peered up at the sky, “Ma’am? Is the sun in your eyes?” He doffed his helmet, shading her.
Was it possible Kip was dying? Dora felt so lost. So alone. If Kip was truly gone, who would she turn to? A tear trickled down her face.
Mike pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed her cheek.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain,” he consoled, misunderstanding the cause of her distress.
Dora didn’t hear him; her mind was awhirl with fear for her son.
At the same time, Johnny arrived at his partner’s side and saw him performing chest compressions on the adolescent. He was already bagged so Johnny began to fill his lungs with air at proper intervals. Johnny concentrated on the datascope as he worked.
“Stop CPR,” he ordered. The victim’s heart did not respond, showing a flat line. “Defib!” Grabbing the paddles, he squirted jelly onto them and placed them on the boy’s torso. Keeping his eyes on the wattage, he shouted, “CLEAR!” when it reached 400. He sent the strong charge through the paddles. After the jolt was delivered the scope showed a reaction. “Normal sinus rhythm.” Everyone around the youth looked relieved.
“Vince, I found his wallet!” Fireman Chet Kelly hand-carried it to the officer.
The lawman bent over the paramedics. “Says here his name is Robert O’Shea.”
“Does it list his next of kin, Vince?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, Dora O’Shea. I’ll have someone get word to her.” Vince Coleman, who often joined Station 51 on runs, pursed his lips as he looked at the critically injured youth. His face was covered with cuts, his right arm was splinted and he’d heard the paramedic speak of internal injuries. And that was before his heart stopped. Perhaps it was a blessing he was unconscious
Johnny raised his head, not taking his eyes off the datascope, “Vince, did you say Dora?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“That’s the name of the woman Mike Stoker’s watching.”
Chet appeared with a wooden frame, now battered. “I found this in the backseat.” Several pieces of glass clung to the edge and much of the photo was now indistinguishable, except for a face.
Johnny studied it. “It’s her! She’s the victim who was in the Valiant. She must be his mother!”
Vince continued searching through the billfold. “There’s only this business card for Bud’s Auto Repair, run by a Bud Fields. I’ll try that.” He contacted the dispatcher, who patched him through to the number.
Bud was setting supplies on his desk when the phone jingled. “Hello?”
“Hi, my name is Vince Coleman. I’m with the Los Angeles County’s Sheriff’s Department. Do you know a Robert O’Shea?”
“Yeah, I know Kip. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“No, but he’s been injured in an accident.”
“I’ll call his mother. I have the number where she works.” Bud was pulling out his records when Vince interrupted him.
“That won’t be necessary. She’s at the scene and will also be taken to Rampart General Hospital for treatment.”
“I’ll leave right now. What happened? How are the-?” He’d been disconnected. The receiver slipped from his hand, and, as his legs collapsed under him, he sank into the chair behind him. It sounded serious. Kip, hang in there! I’m coming, Dora!
Pulling himself together, he squelched his emotions and sped to his gleaming black Mustang. His pace slowed at the hospital where he spent several precious moments locating a parking place. At last, he stepped up to the large, imposing wooden desk in the main lobby. “Emergency Department?” He asked, stumbling over his words.
The volunteer pointed to the right. “Down there. Do you need a wheelchair?”
He shook his head as he followed the red stripe on the floor that led to Emergency. Up ahead was the area he sought. To his dismay, the waiting room was jammed. Every chair had at least one occupant and the walls were adorned with bystanders. He started toward the treatment area where a nurse stopped him, “I’m sorry, sir. You can’t come in here.”
It was then he saw the gurney. Two paramedics flew down the hall, as if their patient was having a crisis. The nurse who had just spoken to him shoved open a door. “In here.” Bud descried a bloody, unrecognizable face, but the hair color…Kip! Stunned, he sagged against the wall. The nurse saw his reaction as she followed the stretcher into the room. “Orderly! Show him to the private waiting room.”
A bespectacled twenty-four-year-old, with slicked black hair, led him to a much smaller room lined with nondescript, squirrel gray, vinyl chairs. Several people looked up with anticipation as he appeared. A woman wearing a red paisley shirtwaist dress with a white cardigan sweater draped over her shoulders got up and went to the water cooler, bringing back a white, waxed paper cup shaped like an ice cream cone. “Here, son.” He gave her a grateful look as he drained it. “Why don’t you sit next to me and tell me all about it?” She gestured toward the armchair next to her with a bony finger. With another glance toward the hallway, he dropped into the seat.
“There isn’t much to say. They called and said Kip,” he hesitated, “and Dora had been in an accident.”
“You poor thing. Your son and wife?” She put a warm hand on his arm.
Bud didn’t hear what she said at first, but she caught the dejection he felt. “No, I’m just a friend.”
“Young man, my husband spoke the very same way just before we started dating. We got married six months later. Trust me, she’ll come to her senses soon.” She tsked, “Where are my manners? My name is Ernestine Sykes.”
“Bud Fields, nice to meet you.” He reached out to shake her hand. “I haven’t been able to get her to see that I care for her. I hope it’s not too late!”
“Don’t give up, Bud.”
He absorbed what she said face grew tender. “I’m sorry, I was so wrapped up in my problems. What brings you down here? Is it one of your children?”
She sniggered, “Well, one of my grandchildren. Now, don’t you go trying to raise my spirits, sonny. My granddaughter, Evangeline is giving birth to my first great grandchild. Things are moving slowly so I came down here.” She tugged her collar and exclaimed, “Shoot! I spend so much time here as a volunteer I thought I had my nametag on. Well, they know me, so they let me be.”
She whispered, “Now, you go over to Dixie, Miss McCall. She’s the one who just walked by. You ask real nicely how your family…” she emphasized the word ‘family,’ “…is doing and I bet she’ll tell you. She’s got a heart of gold, that one.”
Bud gave Ernestine one final look and ventured out into the hall. Things seemed a little calmer. He hugged the wall as a stretcher moved past him. Dora! He tagged after it, “Could I have a minute with her?” He inquired of the orderly who’d escorted him earlier.
“I suppose that’d be all right. I’m taking her to x-ray.”
Bud gazed down at Dora. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw his face. She felt loved. Bud would understand. “Kip! The paramedics who brought me in told me he was badly injured. Is he going to…?
“Sh,” He covered her lips with his fingers. “You need to have faith things will work out. Kip’s a strong boy. He’ll pull through.”
She clung to his hand, “Bud, I’m so glad you’re here.”
The orderly came closer, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I do need to get you down to x-ray now.”
Bud watched her vanish from sight and then sought the nurse Ernestine pointed out to him, hoping she could provide information on Kip’s condition. He looked up and down the hall, twice, but to no avail. At last he returned to the waiting room and sat next to his new friend. Ernestine waited for him to speak. “I saw Dora. All her thoughts were focused on Kip. I forgot to ask how she’s doing!”
“Now, now. There will be time for that later.” Ernestine shifted in her chair and crossed her ankles, “And Kip?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t see the nurse you mentioned so I have no word.” Bud took his car keys out of his pocket and held them for a minute. When times were challenging, they provided solace. Perhaps it was because they were unchangeable, or represented who he was. He’d never analyzed it. He just knew it helped. “She was pretty worked up about her son.”
“Until you have news, don’t jump to conclusions, Bud.” Ernestine saw a worried mother come into the tiny waiting room and went to minister to her.
Bud waited, waited an interminable length of time. Ernestine circled back to him, “I think I saw Miss McCall. Why don’t you see if she’ll tell you anything?” Bud rose from his chair so quickly, that he bumped her. He set her straight and made his way into the hall.
The nurse Bud sought was walking with two paramedics. Bud noted that her countenance was somber, like she’d lost a battle. As he approached her, an orderly drew near, pushing Dora’s bed. The mechanic faltered, torn between getting news of Kip and speaking to the boy’s mother. The decision was taken out of his hands as a doctor called to Miss McCall, gesturing for her to join him. Dora’s stretcher turned into the doorway and she spotted him, “Bud!”
He grasped the hand she held out to him as she was taken into the treatment room. “Are you family?” The doctor verified.
“Yes, he is!” Dora answered, knowing in her soul what they were going to say. “This is Bud Fields.”
“My name is Dr. Brackett.” The doctor stated as the door closed. “These are the paramedics, Roy DeSoto and John Gage, who tended to your son, Robert.” Their compassionate faces confirmed the next words she heard.
“Mrs. O’Shea. We did all we could but your son was too badly injured. I’m sorry.”
Dora’s grip tightened on Bud’s calloused hand as the words sunk in. “No! He can’t be gone. There’s been a mistake!” She thought she’d been in pain but now she was in agony.
The faces in front of her blurred; ebbed and then grew sharp again. “Mrs. O’Shea, you have my deepest sympathies. We’ll help you in any way we can.” The doctor turned away for a second to compose himself. His eyes flicked over her, seeing her as a patient. “We need to take care of your injuries.”
Dora drew up all the dignity she could muster. “I want to see him.”
“I’ll go with you.” Bud promised, surrounding her hand with his free one.
The medical staff exchanged glances. “You need to know his face had multiple cuts. It won’t look like him.” The doctor informed her.
“I want to see him,” she said with more emphasis.
“I’ll see to it. It’ll be a few minutes.” Miss McCall ducked out to make the necessary preparations.
Dr. Brackett to Exam Room 7, STAT.
“Right after you do, I’ll set your leg.” Dr. Brackett said as he exited, “Johnny, Roy, stay with them.”
Roy murmured, “He wasn’t in pain. He never regained consciousness.”
Johnny fetched a box of tissues and he and Bud blotted her face. Dora hadn’t realized she’d wept. She sniffed, “Don’t either of you offer to blow my nose!”
Bud thought, what a gutsy lady. I’m glad I can be here with her.
Miss McCall came back into the room, “He’s ready.” She was as gentle as a soft breeze after a violent storm. Johnny and Roy guided Dora’s bed to the room where the deceased lay.
Dora’s voice quavered, “Bud, you’ll come in with me? Johnny, Roy, you too, please?”
The men moved into the room and positioned her stretcher close to the body, her son’s body. Bud saw that his face had bandaged cuts and bruising, distorting his appearance. She touched his left hand, stricken by its cool temperature.
“Oh, Kip. I’m going to miss you so much. You are, were a wonderful son. I loved you so much!” The men stood near as Dora stroked his hand. She didn’t see the paramedics struggle to maintain their professionalism or Bud bite his quivering bottom lip to keep from crying out.
Dora brushed his index finger. Something was missing. The scar!
“This isn’t Kip!” She declared, “Bud, it’s not him!”
“Ma’am, I’m sure this is very difficult for you. But it’s your son,” Roy said with empathy.
“Bud, Kip has a scar on his finger! There’s no scar here!” Bud came around to Dora’s other side and stared at the boy’s digit.
“I remember Kip telling me how he got it. Tin can, wasn’t it?” Dora bobbed her head. “She’s right. This boy doesn’t have a mark of any kind on his finger.”
Dr. Brackett reappeared and the two paramedics took him aside, filling him in on the discovery. “Mrs. O’Shea, let’s get you fixed up and we’ll look into this.” After Dora was wheeled into a nearby treatment room, Bud came out to the hall with the rescue workers.
“Evenin’ Vince.” Johnny addressed the officer as he ambled down the hall with an inebriated man.
“Johnny, Roy, how ya doing?”
“Well, Vince, that victim from the automobile accident we brought in earlier didn’t make it. We thought he was Robert O’Shea. But his mother and this gentleman insist that we’ve mistaken his identity.”
Vince scratched his chin, “We found his wallet in the car and he looked like the boy in the photo.”
“Yeah, he did, but we don’t know him like these people do,” Johnny admitted. “Mr. Fields, I have what’s left of that photo in the squad, if you’d like to have it.”
“I would, thanks.” Bud toyed with the keys in his pocket for a moment. “Officer, the young man I saw in that room looks a lot like Kip but Kip had a telltale scar on his left index finger. I couldn’t tell you who he is but he’s not Robert O’Shea.”
“Let me turn this fellow over to someone in security and I’ll see if we can’t clear this up.” Vince marched his charge up to the guard. “Sam, could you take over for me for a little while?”
Vince filled them in on what took place earlier in the afternoon. “I was headed to a report of shoplifting at a liquor store when someone took off in a red Dodge Charger with a starburst on the fender. I gave chase and before I apprehended him, he’d collided into a pole.
“That’s Kip’s car. It’s one of a kind.” Bud scowled, sure Kip’s pride and joy was damaged beyond repair.
Vince approached the nurse’s station and spoke to a petite brunette nurse, “Is there somewhere I could use a phone for a time?”
Dixie, who had come out of Mrs. O’Shea’s room to get more gauze, answered for her, “Dr. Brackett’s going to be tied up for in here. Why don’t you use his office?”
“Wanna come along?” The deputy asked Bud.
The paramedics led the way to the office where Vince claimed the doctor’s chair and dialed the number for the station. Bud, at Roy’s invitation, sat down in one of the faux leather chairs across from the desk while Johnny perched in the other. “Hi Pete, this is Vince; I need to know who was dispatched to Olive and Wellston this afternoon.” He jotted down the facts. “Were there any injuries? Do you know where the victim was taken?”
When the lawman finished, Bud could wait no longer, “Is it Kip? Robert O’Shea?”
Vince scanned his notes. “I don’t know. All I can report is that an unidentified male between the ages of 15 and 20 was taken to Harbor General Hospital with a head injury.”
“It must be Kip!” Bud was sure of it; it had to be Kip. “Is a head injury fatal?” Bud felt like he’d made it to the top of a mountain just in time to fall into a deep chasm.
Not wanting to provide false hope, Johnny replied, “Head injuries can be, but many people fully recover.”
“Would you like me to contact Harbor General and tell them you might be able to identify a John Doe?” Vince offered, glancing at a card listing nearby hospitals on Dr. Brackett’s desk. He conferred with someone at the hospital and hung up.
“Go to the admitting desk and they’ll direct you to someone from social services.”
Bud was at the door when Roy spoke, “Sir, it’s very possible that this young man might not be Robert O’Shea.”
Bud let go of the knob, “You’re right. Can we wait to tell Dora, Mrs. O’Shea, until we know for sure?”
“That’s no problem,” Officer Coleman assured him.
The two paramedics followed him out the door. “I’ll get that picture for you.” Johnny went down a corridor and disappeared from sight. He was back in a flash and located a plastic bag before handing the dilapidated frame to Bud. “Be careful. You can get a nasty cut on that.”
Bud stretched the thin plastic protecting the photo and saw Dora’s familiar countenance. With his thumb, he attempted to flatten the gashed and wrinkled paper that showed Kip’s face but it was too badly damaged. He looked up to see the two paramedics watching him.
“Don’t give up hope,” Roy said with an outstretched hand.
Johnny matched his partner’s actions. “Good luck, Mr. Fields.”
Bud tucked the gift under his arm and stepped out into the bright sunlight. His keys felt warm in his palm as he unlocked the Mustang.
As he made his way to Harbor General, a young man lay in their Emergency Department, squinching his eyes to avoid the bright light someone was shining in them. “Good, he’s coming around.” A kind, deep voice infiltrated his hearing. Someone picked up his wrist and he felt a constriction around his upper arm. His facial features tightened and he forced his eyes open.
“You got quite a crack on your head.” The same voice enlightened him. “My name is Dr. Cheevers. Can you tell me yours?”
The teen’s mind formulated an answer, “K-I-P.” He squeaked. Was that him speaking? It didn’t sound like him?
“Kip? Do you have a last name, son?” The youth saw the doctor in front of him. He had a neatly trimmed, dark moustache sprinkled with strands of gray. The hair on his head matched his moustache. The physician’s eyes showed confidence in the young man.
Kip moistened his lips, “Kip, Robert O’Shea.” This time his voice was louder and stronger.
“Good job...And your phone number?”
Kip reeled it off and the nurse, who had been standing with the doctor, went to call.
“Kip, this is gonna seem like twenty questions but bear with me.”
“Do you who’s President?”
Kip lifted his hand to his head, surprised to feel a dressing. “Nixon. No, wait. Ford.” The word ‘Ford’ triggered a synapse in his brain. Cars. His car. Before he could follow his train of thinking the doctor drew him back to the present.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I think so. I came out of the drugstore in a hurry and some goon jumped me. He wanted my car. We fought and then he clobbered me. Did he take my Charger?”
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t know.” The nurse returned and shook her head at the doctor’s unspoken question.
“Why don’t you just relax? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The nurse checked his IV and got a new set of vitals.
“Did you get my mom? Is she coming?”
She avoided making eye contact, “No one answered. We’ll try again soon.”
Bud entered the hospital and met the social worker, who accompanied him to the ER. They arrived just as Dr. Cheevers came into the hall. The woman introduced the two men, “Mr. Fields thinks he can identify our John Doe.”
“I believe the young man you have here is Kip, Robert O’Shea.” Bud said, skipping the amenities.
“I know. We just had a nice chat. We’ve tried to telephone his mother.”
“I’m afraid she’s been in an accident and is at Rampart,” The doctor looked taken aback at the news. “She’s very concerned about her son.”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t know. Would you like to come with me and explain it to Kip?”
Bud looked down at the boy he considered a son. Kip had a bandage above his temple and several abrasions on his face. Using a familiar cliché, he was a sight for sore eyes.
“Hi, Bud. I tried to call you before I took the car. Mom grounded me after I went to a party. It’s a long story but I needed to pick up her birthday photo. It was the only time I could go. She’s gonna be steamed. I wasn’t supposed to take my car.” Kip’s left thumb kept catching on his scar as he made his explanation.
“Kip, she’ll forgive you.”
“She wasn’t home when they tried to call her. Where is she?”
Bud put his hand on the boy’s arm, “Son, you’re almost an adult now. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
“What happened?” Kip had no desire to be mature as he cried, “It’s Mom, isn’t it?”
“Settle down. First, she’s not dead.” Bud felt the boy relax. “But, she was injured in an accident. She’s at Rampart Hospital, worried about you.”
“Why’s she worried about me?”
“Because she saw the Dodge Charger when she drove home. It was wrapped around a telephone pole.”
“Did they catch the guy who stole my car?”
Bud decided he didn’t need to know the complete story right now. “Yes, they have him.”
“I guess my car’s a lost cause?”
“Kip, I haven’t seen it yet. I don’t know. We can always find another car for you.”
There was a pause, “Yeah, but we worked on the Charger for hours.”
The doctor intervened. “You need to get some rest, young man.”
Bud walked out the door with Dr. Cheevers, “How is he?”
“He’s very lucky. If he’d been hit an inch higher…We’ll keep him here tonight and then someone needs to be with him for the next several days.” The doctor shook his head, “What happened to the person who took his automobile?”
Bud looked at the floor and then up into the doctor’s face. “He didn’t make it. They thought he was Kip at first. His poor mother.”
“And his stepfather?” Dr. Cheevers discerned.
Bud jostled the keys in his pocket, “No…maybe someday. I better get back to Rampart; I need to make sure Dora hears the good news as soon as possible.”
Whistling as he made a return trip to Rampart, Bud strolled to the Emergency Department with a lighter step than several hours before. He glanced into the waiting room to see several empty chairs and was on his way to the desk, when Miss McCall breezed by, recognizing him.
“Why don’t you come with me? You can see Dora now.” She noted the buoyancy of his body language. “You got good news?”
“Her son is alive and healing at Harbor General.” Bud replied with a smile. His face grew doleful, “Did anyone identify…?”
“No, not yet.”
She peeped into Dora’s observation room. Dora turned her head and saw the nurse and then Bud. “Like my new stocking?”
Bud’s eyes were drawn to the drying plaster. “How are you?”
“You have news, good news.” Dora read the message in his hazel eyes. They had a luster. He took her hand. It felt comfortable, natural, like he’d held it forever.
“Dora,” Bud swept a loose strand of hair off her face. “Kip’s at Harbor General Hospital.” She tensed. “He was hurt when someone stole his car but he’ll be okay. I just spoke to the doctor over there.”
“I don’t understand what he was doing in his car. I took away his keys for two weeks.” Dora, now emotional, sniffed back several tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
“Mrs. O’Shea, you need to get some rest now.” Miss McCall announced. Neither Bud nor Dora had realized she was in the room.
“I’ll be back,” Bud released her hand and tiptoed to the doorway, exiting with the head nurse.
“Thank you, her son needs to tell her why he took his car. If she knew the real reason…” His voice trailed off.
Dixie began to move away. “Miss McCall, could you please convey my appreciation to the paramedics and the rest of the medical staff?”
“Of course,” she heard a squad calling in at the base station and excused herself.
Seven days passed, a week of healing, rejoicing and thankfulness. Bud became the home health care nurse for the O’Sheas until they were able to manage on their own. Dora’s Valiant and Kip’s Charger sat at the back of his barn, reminders of what might have been. He hadn’t taken the time to see if they could be repaired. It didn’t matter; at the present time he was the O’Shea’s chauffeur.
Kip had yet to confess to Dora but Bud now knew the full story. The blemished and broken frame with its spoiled photo sat on his dresser. His heart accelerated every time he viewed it. Several days after the accident, he touched base with Mr. Pierpont. The retired banker’s trip had been delayed, and when he heard what transpired, he prepared a new frame with another copy of the photo at no charge. Bud passed the good news on to Kip and they planned a birthday celebration for Dora.
The O’Sheas traveled to Bud’s home, where he settled Dora into his recliner, elevating her foot. As she scrunched into it, she caught the faint scent of his shampoo on the headrest. With a soft sigh of contentment, she lay back and relaxed. Bud’s house felt like home to her.
The males were outside bonding and grilling steaks. Dora heard the song of the screen door closing, and then noises in the kitchen as they finished the meal preparation.
A short time later, Kip scooted his chair back from the table, and patted his very full stomach. “Bud, that was fantastic!”
“Did you save room for cake?” Bud opened a cupboard, pulling out a white frosted two-layer cake. He plunked it on a plate and let Dora serve it. The men shooed Dora back to the living room while they did dishes.
As soon as they were done, they presented several crudely wrapped gifts to her. She opened the one Kip proffered first, choking up as she gazed at the image of her handsome son. Her fingers touched the smooth cherry wood. “Mom? The only way I could get this for you in time for your birthday was to take my car. I never expected…”
“I forgive you.” She gave him a hard embrace, “But don’t think you can disobey me in the future!”
She opened the other package, its appearance, a twin to Kip’s. She revealed a matching but empty frame.
“Is this from you, Bud? What’s it for?”
“I’d like to use it for a future family photo,” His eyes were hopeful as he anticipated her response.
She chuckled, her blue eyes becoming a deep shade of indigo. “How about a date first?”
“Hmmm…that works for me, for starters.” Their lips met with the promise of a new life together.
I'd like to thank Whisper for encouraging writers to pursue a point of view story, Roxanne for her great insight that made this a better story and Kim for being my ever enthusiastic cheerleader.
*Click on the picture to send Marty feedback
Stories by Marty P. Guest Dispatchers
