Emergency! Response

by E!lf

Lily Renfrew drove her bright red 2002 Ford Taurus along the twisting, winding midwestern highway.  It was a beautiful day.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing and she hadn't a care in the world . . . until she approached a curve and the driver of the oncoming truck lost control and swung out into her lane. 

He tried to correct, but he was far too drunk and as she swerved off the road his big vehicle caught her little one in the front corner panel and gave it a push.  The Taurus flipped and rolled down the hill.  The world became a terrifying kaleidoscope of earth and sky, trees spun past, and the last thing she saw before darkness overtook her was the white of her airbag exploding in her face.

Lily awoke to the sound of sirens.  She was vaguely conscious of pain hovering around her, but her head felt wrapped in cotton wool and for the moment nothing seemed too terribly important, or too terribly serious.  She watched with a sort of detached wonder as a fire department search and rescue squad pulled off the road, rolled slowly down the hill and parked close to the remains of her car.  Two men got out and ran over to her.  The bruised and battered woman grinned up at them and though her speech was slightly slurred, her voice was cheerful.

"Roy!  Johnny!  Hi!  Howya doin'?"

"Uh, it's Clyde, actually, ma'am.  And my partner there's Rollie.  The question is, how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm wunnerful!  Now that you're here I am!  Hey, Roy!  Are you gonna give me mouth-to-mouth rescusitasitasition?"

"It's Clyde, ma'am.  And no, probably not, since you seem to be breathing already in fact."

"How 'bout if I hold my breath?"

"No."

"Rats!"  He had moved in close to fasten a blood pressure cuff around her arm and she sighed happily.  "You know what, Roy?"

"Clyde, ma'am.  I'd like for you to concentrate really hard and see if you can remember that my name is Clyde.  Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, Roy.  Hey, you know what?"

Clyde sighed.  "What?"

"I always did like you best.  It's 'cause you have such pretty blue eyes."  Rollie had climbed in the passenger door and she turned abruptly to grin at him too.  "Whoa!  World going all spinny again there!  Hey, though, Johnny.  I like you too, you know.  I just always liked him best."  She leaned over as much as she could in the confines of the crushed car, putting her mouth close to his ear and attempting, without any great success, to lower her voice to a whisper.  "It's 'cause he has such pretty blue eyes.  Don't you think he has pretty blue eyes?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rollie said, straight-faced.  "I always thought that.  Look, sweetheart, my name's Rollie.  Can you say that for me?  Rollie?  Come on.  Say Rollie!"

"Rrrrr--"

"Rooollie," he coaxed.

"Rrrrrooo--"

"Rooollie!"

"Rrrrrrrrrrroooooderick!  Hiya, Johnny!"

Rollie sighed.  "Okay, how about you tell us your name?  What's your name?"

"Heck, I don't know!"  She looked around the car vaguely.  "It's probably written down somewhere if it's important."

"Well," Clyde said, "she definitely hit her head."

"Yeah," Rollie agreed, "but how many times?"

"Hey, Roy!"

"It's Clyde.  What?"

"Hey, Roy!  What's Chet gonna do with the K12?"  A dark-haired fireman with a bristling mustache was coming over carrying a huge saw.

"That's Eddie.  He's a firefighter with our station.  He's going to use the saw to cut the top off your car.  Then we're going to pull the steering wheel up off you and get you out of here."

"Oh.  Are you going to take me to Rampart?"

"We're going to take you to Bothwell Regional Hospital."

"Is that at Rampart?"

"It's in Sedalia.  Now you just sit tight and I'm going to cover you with this blanket to keep the sparks from the saw blade away from you.  Okay?"

"Okay Roy.  You sure do have pretty blue eyes!"

Clyde rolled his pretty blue eyes and covered her gently with the blanket.  She promptly tossed a corner back and peered out at him.  "Hey, fellas!  Better call up Rampart!  I think I need some Ringer's and a shot of DW40."

Clyde bit his lip and tossed the blanket back into place.

Twenty minutes later they wheeled her into the emergency entrance at Bothwell.  Lily was silent, her lips pressed together.  Clyde, walking beside the gurney, tapped her lightly on the shoulder.  "Stop holding your breath.  I already told you -- no mouth-to-mouth!"

"Ah, rats!  Hiya, Dix!"

"Her name's Irene," Clyde said.

Rollie had followed them in.  "Head injury," he explained to the nurse.

"I never would have guessed.  Put her in one."

The two paramedics handed her off to a couple of orderlies, who wheeled her into the treatment room.  A white-haired doctor followed.  Clyde and Rollie went over to the nurses' station and helped themselves to Styrofoam cups of coffee.

"So what happened?" Irene asked.

"Car accident," Clyde explained.  "She got sideswiped by a drunk driver and rolled her car four or five times down an embankment.  I don't think she's got a skull fracture, but there's definitely a concussion."

The doctor came out of the treatment room looking puzzled.

"She keeps calling me 'Dr. Early'," he said.  "Why does she keep calling me 'Dr. Early'?"  He checked his reflection in the glass door of a medicine cabinet.  "People used to think I was Dr. Brackett."

"You probably just need longer sideburns," Clyde told him.

"And bushier eyebrows," Irene offered.

"And hair dye," Rollie added, very softly.  The doctor glared at him and returned to the treatment room.

Clyde and Rollie finished their coffee, then Rollie nodded towards the door.  "Ready to get back, Pally?  We've got to go tell Eddie she thought he was Chet."

"Yeah," Clyde snickered.  "He thinks the mustache makes him look like Marco.  Thanks for the coffee, Dix!"

Irene smiled and shook her head.  "Anytime hose jockeys."

As they left the emergency room Rollie turned to Clyde.  "Hey, Roy!  Can I drive?"

"Sorry, Junior.  Not in this lifetime."

"Aw, man!"

The end.

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