Sudden Impact

 part 2

Roy was there when I woke up again. He was sitting in the chair next to my bed with a magazine in his lap. He wasn’t reading it, because his chin was on his chest and his eyes were closed. I wondered how long he’d been here. I wondered how long I’d been here. I felt really groggy. It took me over a minute to remember why I was even at Rampart.

I looked at the wall clock. It was almost noon. I glanced back over at Roy, being really careful to move only my eye, and wondered why he was so tired. Maybe he’d just come off a long shift. My mind wasn’t working quite clearly enough to figure out whether he’d worked yesterday or not. I thought maybe I should tell him I was okay and that he should go home and get some sleep.

I appreciated him being here, in fact, it was really nice to realize that he cared enough about me to sit here by my side. That made me feel good, but at the same time it was a little bit surprising, because the last time I was in the hospital, he didn’t even show up the first day I was here. I never did quite understand that, although it might have been because he’d likely been up all night after my accident. But I have to admit, down deep I was glad, because back then I was in a bad way, and I hated for people to see me like that; I’d rather just be alone when I’m hurting that bad, although the other guys did come to visit. Which was worse, in a way; I mean, I appreciated them being there, but I was so miserable after that surgery, and then I ended up losing my cookies in front of them, which was really embarrassing, although at the time I was too sick to care. I’m not sure, but I think I scared them. It was after that car ran me over – 

An image flashed in my mind…a splash of red coming straight at me, right at my face.

I jerked backward, startled and scared at the same time. That was when my head, shoulder, neck and arm all decided to teach me a lesson I wouldn’t forget, all simultaneously. That forced another one of those Indian chants out of me, and Roy’s eyes popped open. He was up and out of that chair in an instant, hovering over me like Brackett had while I tried to get my breath.

“You okay?” he asked more than once.

I tried to smile at him, wanting to reassure him I was fine. I mean, this was just par for the course. It hurt like hell. I’d been through it before, although I don’t think it was quite this bad last time, although I’ve probably forgotten how bad it really was, kind of like what women say about going through childbirth. But I’ve never cracked my skull before, which just intensifies everything. I really don’t know which is worse. Going through the surgery was a total drag though; I never want to do that again.

I knew it would get better, at least Brackett had assured me it would, and it really embarrassed me to be lying there groaning like a wimp, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I was like that girl, Linda Blair, in that movie, The Exorcist, like I was possessed or something, and something beyond my control had pulled those sounds out of me, and I couldn’t stop it.

“Man,” I whispered when it started to recede. I kept my eyes closed while I tried to deal with it. Finally it eased up a little.

I glanced at Roy, embarrassed.

“Better?” he asked.

I didn’t nod. I knew better. “Yeah,” I exhaled. “It’s just…sshheew…” I tried to slow my breathing, “It’s…intense…you know?” I forced a smile at him but he just stared at me like I’d just had a heart attack or something. He was really serious and worried looking.

I reached over with my right hand and tapped his arm with the back of my fingers, being really careful not to jar any other part of my body. He needed to lighten up a little. “I’m okay.”

He didn’t look very reassured.

Roy stood around and sort of mother-henned me for a little while, helped me drink some water and tried to arrange my pillows to make me more comfortable. He even checked with the nurse to see if I could get any more pain medication, but it was too soon. I know it sounds ungrateful, but I kinda wished Roy would leave. I hate looking weak to anyone, even Roy.

Especially Roy.

Instead, he started asking me questions – how I was feeling now for instance – I didn’t have the heart to point out to him what a stupid question that was.

“Fabulous,” I joked tightly, hoping that would put him at ease. That barely made him crack a smile.

Then I noticed that his face was drawn and he looked worn out, and I couldn’t understand why he was so tired. I wondered if maybe he’d been up all night on a run, but for some reason that didn’t make sense to me. I still couldn’t sort it out; things were really fuzzy, and thinking about anything just made my head hurt worse. I hoped there wasn’t anything wrong on the home front, but I knew he’d never tell me right now even if there was. I’d make sure to ask later when I was able to concentrate on anything but how bad I was hurting.

He asked me if I remembered anything yet about the accident, and I told him no, just like I’d told Brackett. I wondered if he knew any details, and he just said no, except that apparently I’d been on my way to Monica’s for dinner. Roy’s a good mind reader, and knew my next question before I asked it. He looked at me and said he’d gotten a hold of Monica and told her what had happened, and that she’d be stopping by to see me.

I decided that then was a good time to ask him about my car, and if he would mind checking it out for me, wherever they had towed it. I needed him to get anything out of it that I may have left in there, and I wanted him to find out how much damage there was. I don’t know why, but he got this uncomfortable look on his face, sort of a mix between…I don’t know…fear and uncertainty. Maybe he felt bad about my car because he knew how much I liked the thing. But he said he would do it. No problem.

Then he asked me if there was anything he could get me, and I joked, “Yeah, some mind-altering drugs.” But even that didn’t drag a smile out of him. Man, he sure looked somber. I was beginning to get paranoid that maybe there was something he wasn’t telling me, but I was pretty sure Brackett had been straight with me. Roy does tend to over-worry. As many times as shit like this has happened to me you’d think he’d be used to it. I don’t know what it was. Maybe he really just needed to go home and get some sleep. I was just about to tell him that when Monica walked in.

I was glad to see her. She came in smiling, but that faded when she got up closer to me. I must have looked bad, because her face paled a little upon seeing me. In fact, she looked shocked, and then I started worrying about what I must look like.

“I hope you didn’t think I was trying to avoid your cooking,” I joked, needing to say something to get that frightened look off her face. That seemed to jolt her out of it and she smiled a little. Then she picked up my hand and leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. Ah, finally the day was getting better.

Monica left after a little while and lunch came. Even though it was all mushy stuff, I had a hard time eating anything. My head was pounding and the whole left side of my body was throbbing. Little places that I hadn’t noticed before were hurting, my left toe, the side of my knee, my wrist, my jaw. Lifting my head off the pillow was agony, and it was then that I realized how bad my neck hurt. Pain meds were still an hour away. I wasn’t sure I could wait.

I finally got my pain meds. After that I spent most of the afternoon drifting. I think Roy was there, but everything was kind of a blur.

The next day was about the same; I didn’t really feel any better, which was disappointing. Usually after the first twenty-four hours things ease up a little. But they didn’t. I was so uncomfortable. I wanted to lie down so badly but Brackett said it was better for my arm to be positioned as vertically as possible, something about the pull acting like traction to keep the bone in alignment. So my bed was kept more upright. It made it really hard to sleep.

The worst part of the day was after lunch when the nurse came and made me get out of bed. She wanted me to sit in a chair for twenty minutes, which sounded daunting. And it was. Roy was there and he helped her get me up. Just swinging my legs over the side of the bed was unbelievably hard. But the worst part was lifting my back away from the mattress. The movement required by my head and neck to do that was excruciating and I wondered then if I’d damaged my spine. Vicki promised me she’d let Dr. Brackett know about it.

 By the time they got me in the chair I felt sick. I sat there for a long time just trying not to vomit. I really didn’t want to do that, especially in front of Roy.

After the nurse left, Roy tried propping a pillow behind my head for support because my neck was killing me. It didn’t work. Everything was spinning and I got more and more nauseous until finally I lost my lunch. I think I was more miserable now than I’d been since I’d arrived. When I threw up, my whole upper body forced itself forward which unleashed this ungodly pain in my head. My Indian chants came out between heaves until I thought I would black out. Cold sweat was pouring down my back making my bare skin slide against the vinyl chair since my hospital gown was open behind me.

Not that I noticed.

Poor Roy was next to me the whole time trying to help me and I had a death grip on his hand and forearm while I shook. I didn’t even care how that must have looked or what he might think about me clutching on to him like that. I was hurtin’ so bad it didn’t matter, and I was just glad he was there. Thank God I didn’t cry in front of him; I felt like it. It takes a true friend to sit through that kind of shit. Roy’s one of a kind.

They finally got me back into bed, which was almost as bad as getting out of it. I know it just demonstrated how pathetically gutless I was, but I finally had to ask for more pain meds. The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Somewhere in there they came and got me and took me back to x-ray. Brackett wanted another look at my neck, and they also did another CT scan just to make sure everything was okay. I slept through most of it. I don’t know if Roy hung around or not.

Things were a little better by evening. When I woke up, Roy was right there. I was a little uncomfortable that he felt it necessary to spend another whole day with me; I mean, my injuries weren’t life threatening or anything, and I’m sure he had things to do. It was like he was being protective of me, but almost in a fatherly type way, which seemed kind of strange. It’s been a long time since anyone’s looked after me when I was sick or hurt; guess it felt kind of foreign. I’ve always had to take care of myself.

It baffled me a little that he was being so overly attentive, maybe because Roy keeps a pretty tight reign on his feelings, and over the years there’ve been times when I wasn’t really sure how he felt about me. I know sometimes I annoy the hell out of him; I can see it in his face when I do, but I pretend not to notice, even though I do. I admit (only to myself) that I might be a tad insecure, but that’s only because there’ve been too many times in my life that I’ve been dumped by people, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Friends are something I’ve learned never to take for granted. Yet now here he is, sticking by me like glue. Talk about loyalty. I should smack myself for ever doubting Roy’s friendship, even for a second. He’s more than demonstrated that to me in the years I’ve known him. I know he’d lay down his life for me, and I’d do the same. Hell, we both have.

Monica stopped back again to see me tonight. Roy stepped out for a while, said he’d be back, although I thought for sure he’d gone home because Monica left when visiting hours were over and Roy hadn’t returned. I was just glad that he was going to get some rest. We both needed it. Then, to my surprise, he popped back in. He told me he’d gone to get some dinner. Must’ve gone to the cafeteria. Anyway, I was surprised he hadn’t gone home. Touched that he’d spent not only the whole evening, but another whole day here with me, I felt bad for my earlier thoughts of wishing he’d go home.

He still looked rough. “Are you okay?” I finally asked, concerned that he now looked even more fatigued.

“Huh?” he asked.

That was my line.

I thought about readjusting, then decided better of it. I’d learned my lesson earlier. “It’s just…you, uh, look like you could use some sleep,” I said. “Is there something wrong?”

He stared at me in sort of a surprised way, then looked down at his feet a minute. His hand went through his hair and he seemed to forcibly relax before the same hand slipped into his pocket. “No, nothing’s wrong, Johnny.” He finally smiled. “Guess it’s just been a long day.”

I didn’t quite believe him, but again, I was feeling drugged down so I let it slide. “Yeah, it has. I…appreciate you bein’ here with me the last two days, especially since some of the moments were kind of…unpleasant.”

“It’s okay.” He cracked a small smile. “Just tryin’ to save the nurse from havin’ to clean up the floor.”

“I knew we were friends for some reason.” I started to yawn, then quickly stifled it when my face let me know that move was unacceptable. My eyes moved back to Roy. He looked exhausted. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest,” I suggested.

Roy glanced at the clock; he knew the nurse would likely kick him out any minute. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Is there anything I can get you before I go?”

My mind flicked back to the way Monica reacted to me when she first saw me. I decided I wanted to see the damaged goods, so I asked Roy if he would get me a mirror. I’ve stayed here enough times to know that there’s usually one in the small dresser across the room.

He threw me a hesitant look. “Johnny, it’s getting late. Why don’t I get it for you tomorrow?”

I stared at him. “Do I look that bad?”

He probably heard the slight alarm in my voice, so he walked over to get the mirror. “No. It’s not that bad. You’re just…a little colorful, that’s all.” He handed me the mirror.

Very slowly, I brought it up to my face and did a double take. Holy shit. I was shocked. The entire left side of my face was swollen and colored in fourteen different shades of purple and black. A spider web of tiny cuts dotted the whole area, and the side of my head that I’d hit looked like a big tumor was stuck to it. I likened myself to some creature from one of Chet’s horror flicks.

I looked worse than I had when I was thirteen when Kenny Redfeather beat the crap out of me after school one day. The mirror slipped out of my hand, through the bed rail and to the floor with a sharp clatter. Roy tried to catch it, but wasn’t fast enough. He picked it up and when he turned it over I saw that I’d cracked it. Great, just what I need: thirteen years of bad luck on top of this, I thought.

I glanced up at Roy, almost hoping he’d make some quip like, ‘Gee, I thought it was an improvement’, or ‘You gotta quit breakin’ mirrors that way.’ Anything, maybe something to make me laugh. Instead, all he said was, “It’ll heal.”

My hand went to a small bandage above my left cheekbone, feeling around the swelling.

“You’ve got four stitches under that. Dixie did ‘em. She said you’ll never even see it after it heals.”

That made me feel a little better. I looked over at Roy. “I must have scared the crap out of Monica.” By the look on his face I had a feeling I might have scared the crap out of him too.

“She was a little…startled,” he answered.

“A little,” I said incredulously.

Finally. A bigger smile from my partner.

My head was feeling worse; the pounding was coming from three different spots now. I needed to close my eyes, or my eye, rather, and sleep. “Go home,” I ordered my tired friend.

Roy acted like he was afraid to leave, but then finally did.

Dr. Brackett called me at home this morning. He said the police were pressuring him to talk to Johnny about the accident. “He’s got to be told, Roy. Today,” he said solemnly.

Remembering the state Johnny was in yesterday, I felt hesitant. It seemed too early. “Doc, he was pretty bad yesterday. I don’t think he’s ready.”

I heard Brackett sigh. “Roy, I don’t think he’ll ever be ready to hear this news. But he’s going to have to find out sooner or later. It’s not going to make all that much difference whether he finds out today, or tomorrow, or even the next day. It’ll be rough on him no matter what.”

“Doc,” I asked, “maybe we should wait and give it a little more time to see if he remembers himself.”
            “We can’t count on that, Roy. Between the head injury and the severe trauma he went through, he might never remember.”

Dr. Brackett probably heard me sigh into the phone. “How’s he doing so far today?” I asked.

“I saw him a little while ago,” he answered. “He’s doing about as well as expected. I’m encouraged by the fact that the tests we did yesterday were all negative. We’ll probably be able to discharge him in another day or so if he continues on the way he is.”

I’m sure my silence spoke volumes to my doctor friend. He knew what this was going to do to Johnny, and he knew how much I dreaded Johnny finding out. There was nothing I could say to stop the inevitable.

“I’ll be honest, Roy. I don’t like it either. It could have negative consequences on his recovery. But there’s not a damn thing I can do about it, and it’s not right to hide it from him. He’s going to have to face it.”

I swallowed, closing my eyes, dreading it. “Let me tell him,” I said.

There was a long silence, but Dr. Brackett’s voice almost sounded a little relieved when he spoke. “All right. I was going to suggest that you be there with him at least. Are you sure you don’t want me to tell him?”

“Yeah. I’m sure,” I said. “When do you want to…do it?”

“I’ve got an appointment at ten o’clock. Why don’t you stop by the ER around eleven? I should be free by then. We’ll go up together.”

“Okay.”

We said our good-byes and hung up. I felt like I’d just been given an invitation to the gallows to watch my best friend hang.

The doc came in early this morning and determined that the swelling in my arm had gone down enough to put the cast on. I wasn’t looking forward to that; casts are itchy and constricting. But I told myself that maybe having my arm more restrained would help the pain a little.

When I got back to my room, the guys from the station were waiting to see me, everyone but Cap. They told me he was gonna stop by this evening, and that Roy would be by later.

Boy, were they a somber bunch, acted like they were on their way to a funeral. I didn’t know if it was me or if maybe they’d had a rough shift or something.

Mike stood there with his hands in his pockets staring at the floor. Marco seemed awfully interested in the wall. Chet just kept looking at me and biting at his mustache. At first I thought he was just trying to come up with a good line to feed me, but he had nothing. It was making me nervous.

Maybe it was my face and all the bruising that had them bothered. I know it was a shock for me at first. “Hey, guys,” I said, “It’s not really as bad as it looks.”

None of them said anything. Nothing.

Finally Mike, of all people, started to tell me about a run they’d had at a crayon factory. It was kind of a funny story; the fire had melted all the boxes of crayons and their boots got covered with shades of ‘purple mountain majesty’, ‘burnt sienna’, and ‘dandelion’. It was funny hearing it come from Mike.

After a little more small talk, they left. It was a strange visit.

A little while later Roy and Brackett came in to visit me. Together.

I could tell the moment they walked in that they had bad news. I thought, okay, Johnny boy, here it comes. Something’s wrong. Things are much more serious than you thought.

My mind raced to figure out what it was. I needed brain surgery, maybe? Subdural hematoma? I’d damaged my spine irreparably? Or worse, maybe I had an inoperable brain tumor or something. My mind started spinning about a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out what it could be.

Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t going to like it. That was very evident on their faces. I figured Roy must have been there to offer moral support. He looked at me with this look like, I don’t know; I guess it was pity. But he looked scared too. That’s when my stomach started to tighten.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I guess this isn’t a social call.”

Brackett shook his head; Roy swallowed.

I looked from one to the other. Neither one spoke. It was like they were afraid to say it. Then I thought, oh boy; this must really be bad, and my heart started pounding.

 It didn’t make sense. When Brackett was in earlier, he’d told me all the tests taken yesterday were negative. I didn’t understand what the problem could be. “What is it?” I finally asked. Not really wanting to hear the answer, I asked, “Am I gonna die or something?”

They both looked at each other, then at me. It was maddening. But then Roy started talking.

“Johnny…” he said, so hesitantly.

Was he gonna tell me? Why was Roy going to be the one to tell me I had a brain tumor? I thought that was the doctor’s job.

Then Roy told me.

That this had to do with the accident.

That there was a fatality.

That I’d killed someone. Well, he didn’t use those words exactly; he did his best to candy coat it. 

I wished he’d told me I had the brain tumor.

My insides twisted into a pretzel.

I killed someone. Someone was dead because of me.

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Gallons of cortisol went rushing through my body, or whatever it is that’s released during a fight or flight reaction. For a second I felt like passing out. Felt like I was falling. The lights in the room dimmed as the sound of blood gushed in my ears and I gripped onto the bedrail to steady myself. Brackett was all over me then, checking my pulse, my vitals, lowering the bed a bit, and raising my feet. Just moving the bed that little bit felt like someone had crushed me in a vice. I had a hard time catching my breath.

When it passed, I laid there in shock for a moment. Then all these questions came rushing into my head. Who was it? What happened? How? How could this have happened? Roy didn’t want to give me any details. When he finally tried to explain, I had a hard time concentrating on what he was saying.

I was dazed, stunned, like someone had just shot me.

Of all the unpleasant things I’ve been forced to do in my life, telling Johnny about the accident was probably the worst. At least, it was right up there at the top of the list.

Being a paramedic, there’s been more than one occasion where I’ve had to deliver bad news, usually that a loved-one had died in an accident or a fire or something. And being the one to tell a parent that we couldn’t save his or her child has always been gut wrenching for me; it is for any fireman. But having to tell someone, your best friend at that, that he’s responsible for the death of another person, well, let’s just say that my stomach wasn’t giving me an easy time over that.

I’ve never seen Johnny look so devastated. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. What could I say? There were no words to assure him that things were going to be okay, because they weren’t. I wasn’t about to offer him platitudes; he wouldn’t have bought them, and neither would I, had I been in his place.

I had a vague idea how he was feeling because I’d been through something similar early in my paramedic career. I’d been with a man in an ambulance on the way to the hospital after a car engine fell on him. He started to aspirate, but we’d lost radio contact with the hospital because the antenna had fallen off the truck and I’d had to make a life-saving decision. I inserted an esophageal airway on my own without permission, and later he died. Another doctor accused me of killing him. I’ll never forget how that felt. Thank God Dr. Brackett finally brought me to my senses and assured me that I’d employed the right protocol. He told me that he died of other causes, and that what I did had nothing to do with it. It took me a while, but I finally realized he was right; that I’d done the right thing, and that he would have died anyway. I was ready to give up my career over that incident.

What Johnny had done was far worse. Even after having a couple of days to let it sink in; I still couldn’t believe it. I wished to God that he’d remembered it on his own, but now I’m kinda glad he can’t. I hope he never does, because I imagine the memory would be horrendous. Just having to live the rest of your life knowing…well, I don’t know how he, or anyone else, could do it.

He looked shell-shocked; his hand was shaking as he clutched on to his bedrail; it upset him so bad.

And then he wanted details, wanted to know who she was, how old she was, and how the accident happened. Most of the things I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know all the facts yet. Neither of us did. I told him that the police wanted to talk to him, that they would be able to give him the details, and he just kept swallowing, trying to hold the tears back. 

And then things got quiet. Johnny just sat there staring blankly into space with this awful broken look on his face. Neither one of us knew what to do.

Brackett apologized to Johnny; he felt really bad about having to deliver this news. He was also worried about John’s recovery, and how this would affect it. He’d discussed that with me before we went in and I could see the concern on his face. As he was leaving, he suggested that Johnny get some rest.

That was when Gage exploded.

“Rest?!” he cried in sort of a choked yell. “How the hell am I supposed to rest when I just found out I’ve fucking killed someone?” And he pounded his fist on the mattress. Less than a second after that he was hunched over in pain, the jarring movement having caused it. He was really hurting because he couldn’t talk when the doctor tried to get him to, and it sounded like he was having a hard time getting his breath, almost like somebody’d sucker punched him.

I tried to help him, but there wasn’t much I could do. Brackett was finally able to readjust him enough by arranging the pillows under Johnny’s arm and around his neck and head to relieve some of it, and shortly after that he ordered some medication, and not just for the physical pain.

It wasn’t long after that that Johnny slipped into sleep, the aftereffects of the news we’d given him showing clearly on his face even in unconsciousness. I stayed all that afternoon; I wasn’t about to leave him alone.

Dr. Brackett told the police detective that came by that Johnny wasn’t able to answer any questions today. I was thankful for that. He made arrangements for them to come back the next day.

Johnny slept, but it was fitful. He startled awake several times; each time he never stayed awake more than about thirty seconds, and each time he looked blank and desolate, like the life was being sucked right out of him. It scared me.

A clattering noise jarred me awake. I opened my eyes to see my dinner being brought in. The smell of it made me sick. Roy was there again, sitting next to the bed. He got up when he saw I was awake and offered me a sort of reassuring smile.

I sure as shit didn’t feel like smiling back. What was there to smile about? What would there ever be to smile about again?

My first waking thoughts were of the girl I’d killed. Sleep had been no reprieve; visions of bloody corpses and wrecked cars had infiltrated my dreams all afternoon in a murky, mutated sort of way that being under the influence of the drugs always causes.

“You should eat something.”

His voice startled me out of my thoughts. I looked down at the pressed chicken covered in gooey yellow gravy and grew nauseated.

“C’mon, Johnny,” Roy urged, in a tone that sounded guilty. “I know you don’t feel like eating, but you need to.”

What right did I have to eat? The girl I killed will never eat again, never savor a juicy steak or enjoy an ice-cold beer again. I took that away from her. “I can’t.” And I truly couldn’t, even if I’d have wanted to. I wouldn’t have been able to get the food past my constricted throat.

Roy looked sympathetic. I hated that.

“How about drinking something then?”

My throat was dry. I reached for the water. My hand was shaking so badly I could hardly hold onto the cup. The water soothed my throat, but the pain began again as soon as I lifted my head off the pillow.

How could this have happened? I wasn’t even sure if I said that aloud but I think I must have because Roy answered. He still had no details for me. He said he didn’t know much yet, that the detective wanted to talk to me.

What was I gonna be able to tell the detective? Nothing, because I couldn’t remember a damn thing. I wanted to hang on to the hope that he’d be able to tell me something that would trigger my memory about what happened, something that would explain this or make sense of it all – something that would show that this was all just a terrible mistake, that there was nothing I could have done, that it wasn’t my fault. Only I knew in my heart that wasn’t going to happen.

How could I have not seen her? Did I take my eyes off the road? Did my car jump the curb? I desperately need to know more.

Roy was talking to me. “…Johnny?”

“Huh?” I answered dazedly.

He had this pained look in his eyes. I couldn’t stand to look at him, not after what I’d done. How could I ever look anyone in the eyes again…

Now I know why the guys acted the way they did this morning.

They knew.

“The guys,” I heard myself saying. “Everyone knows, don’t they?”

Roy leaned toward me in his chair, his elbows resting on his bent knees. He nodded slowly. “We were hoping…by today you’d remember something yourself. Dr. Brackett said the memory loss is pretty common with the concussion.”

I closed my eyes, willing myself to remember. It just made my head hurt worse.

“Johnny, look…don’t – ”

There was a soft knock at the door. Captain Stanley stood in the entryway. At least he didn’t look as somber as the guys had this morning. “Can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure, Cap.” Roy stood up.

Cap grimaced at me when he saw my face. “John,” he nodded at me, coming over next to the bed. “It’s good to see you,” he said softly.

I just nodded at him. He didn’t add the word ‘alive’ to the end of his sentence, but I know that’s what he was thinking.

 “How’re you feelin’?” he asked.

I answered honestly. “Like a murderer.”

Cap sighed and shook his head. Then he walked over to the other side of the bed and looked down at me. “John. Don’t do this to yourself. It was an accident. A human mistake.”

“A deadly human mistake, Cap,” I said.

I saw him glance up at Roy, then back to me.

“Before you go crucifying yourself, remember that it was a rainy night. It was dark. The roads were slick and shiny and it’s difficult to see under those conditions. On top of that there weren’t any streetlights on that road. Now Roy tells me you don’t remember, but I think I know you pretty well after all the years we’ve worked together and I know you’re a cautious driver. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve never been involved in any other auto accidents.”

Roy nodded confirmation of that.

“There must have been something that caused this other than just plain carelessness. There could have been an animal that ran in front of you. God forbid, the girl could have fallen off the curb or something.”

“Cap’s right, Johnny,” Roy said.

Cap made a fist and brought it down on the bedrail. “What the hell was a lone girl doing out walking in the rain in the dark on that road in the first place?”

“Who knows?” Roy answered, shaking his head.

I looked up at my captain. “You may be right Cap. But none of those reasons are good enough excuses for taking someone’s life.”

“You didn’t take her life, Johnny,” Roy said defensively.

I didn’t feel like arguing. I appreciated that they were trying to make me feel better. It helped to know that at least they were on my side. And they had some very good points. It could have been a million different things that happened. But there were two things I couldn’t lie to myself about: I hit her with my car, and now she’s dead.

I closed my eyes for a moment. The pain was starting to get to me again. I heard the Cap and Roy talking back and forth above my bed about the detective coming to see me tomorrow, and that they were sure things would be clearer then, that some logical explanation would come out of it. What that could be, I had no clue.

There wasn’t much else to be said. It wasn’t like we could sit around and talk about the weather. I just listened in while Roy explained about my condition to the Cap. It wasn’t long after that that he said he’d best be going.

He set a book down on my tray table that he’d had tucked under his arm. “I know you probably won’t be up to reading anything for a few days, but I just finished this and it’s really good. I thought you might enjoy it.” He smiled a little and added, “Might take your mind off things.”

I appreciated the gesture and I thanked him. I didn’t tell him that trying to focus my eyes on small print would only send my headache into outer space.

He finally left. Roy stayed the rest of the evening. Even though I told him he should go home to his family, inwardly I was glad he stayed. We watched TV together, or at least he did. I think I ended up falling asleep. When I woke up, he was gone.

Today was another banner day in my life.

God, I sound cynical, don’t I?

I’m not sure which day was worse, yesterday or today. At any rate, both days would definitely be runners up in the ‘Top Ten List of Most Horrible Days of John Gage’s Life’.

The morning got off to a bad start when Vicki came in and announced that I was to get out of bed today and take some short walks. Is she crazy, I thought? Just sitting in the chair yesterday was enough to almost do me in. The thought of walking was daunting.

She didn’t let my hesitance dissuade her. Nope. Vicki was sweet, but tough. She had orders to follow. She was gonna get me out of that bed come hell or high water.

The hardest part was actually getting on my feet. Lifting my head off the pillow and scooting to the edge of the bed was agonizing, but once I was standing I was okay – as long as I didn’t move any more after that. Well, that wasn’t happening. She made me walk around the room. It was only five minutes, but it felt like five years. Some invisible force was pounding a metal spike deeper and deeper into my brain the whole time.

Vicki kept saying how great I was doing. I didn’t think so, but I didn’t want to kill her enthusiasm. She was trying so hard. What a relief it was to get back into bed and stop moving.

I’m a little dismayed that I’m feeling a little better by now. I mean, it’s been four days since the accident and I can’t believe I’m still in this much pain. I think every part of my body was wrenched out of alignment. And I’ve had concussions before, but man, this one’s gotta be the worst. Brackett said it was severe; he was right.

I just got relaxed and started to doze off when the detective showed up.

Man, was he a stuffed shirt. And a big one at that. The guy wore a rumpled suit that didn’t fit, and he had this face that looked like it might crack if he tried to smile. His tie was so tight at his neck that I thought he was gonna choke. His demeanor kind of reminded me of that guy, Jack Webb, on Dragnet, except he was heavier, and his face was red; he probably had high blood pressure from his job and too many cigarettes. He reeked of them.

I was surprised when Roy followed him in, and I looked at him questioningly. Wasn’t he supposed to be working today?

“I thought you might want some company,” he said a little uncertainly.

Again, I was touched at how supportive Roy was being. If he’d have asked me earlier I probably would have said he didn’t need to be here, but after getting a look at Godzilla, I decided I was glad to have someone there on my side.

“You want me to stay?” Roy asked.

“Yeah,” I breathed in relief. “Thanks.”

He introduced himself as Detective Forrest Spade, and I thought, how could the poor guy’s mother have named him that? I could only imagine the teasing kids at school must’ve inundated him with growing up. 

He didn’t waste any time, and immediately launched into a million questions about the accident. Where was I going? How fast was I driving? Did I recall seeing anyone? What else did I do that day? There were at least ten other questions until he finally got it through his head that I didn’t remember anything about that whole day.

Then he started asking me about my drinking habits. ‘Do I drink? How often? What do I drink? Do I take any drugs? Smoke pot?’ No, I told him to each, except an occasional beer or glass of wine once in a while. I started to get pissed off and Roy did too. The guy was interrogating me, almost like he was just waiting for me to slip up and say something to incriminate myself.

Roy stepped in then. “Johnny, don’t answer any more questions,” he said. “I think you ought to have a lawyer present.” And he glared at the guy.

Stone-faced, Forrest stared at me a minute, snapped his metal notebook shut, and stood up. “Do you have an attorney, or would you like a court-appointed one?”

“I don’t…I don’t have one,” I kind of stammered.

“Yes he does,” Roy interceded. “We’ll contact him and let you know when he’s available.”

I stared at Roy, amazed at how cool he was being. I didn’t know what lawyer he was referring to, but I assumed it was Barney Oleson, a retired fireman turned attorney. He helped us out a few years ago when we were accused of stealing money from a patient.

“Very well,” Forrest through the trees said coldly. He started to leave.

I couldn’t let him go. I hadn’t even found anything out yet. “Now wait a minute, hold on a minute,” I finally said. “Look, Detective, you haven’t even told me anything yet. I’d like to know what the hell happened. I don’t need an attorney for you to give me the details of the accident, now do I?”

He sighed as if it was a big inconvenience, then turned around, plopping his metal notebook on my bedside tray table. Opening it up, he pulled out some paperwork, tore off a yellow copy of what he had along its perforated edges, then handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s a copy of the accident report. Everything should be in there.”

I glanced down at the paper, then back up at him. My eyes went back to the report, and I had to squint to read it. The writing was faded on the carbon copy and the letters were barely legible, it was so sloppy. On top of that it was blurry. I strained to read it for a minute, feeling my headache increasing a notch as I did so. I stopped to rub my eyes. That was when Roy asked me if I wanted him to read it to me.

Reluctantly, I gave him the report. I didn’t know which would be worse, me reading it or having to hear it from Roy. I didn’t have much choice, since I wasn’t able to focus on it at the moment.

Roy began slowly. “At 18:10 hours on March twentieth, 1977, rescue vehicles were called to the scene of a collision involving a fatality and two injured parties. An investigation of the scene concluded that a 1969 Land Rover driven by a John Roderick Gage struck…” Roy stopped for a second, swallowing, “…a twenty-four year old female, Penny Hooper, who had been on foot. An investigation by Los Angeles County Police Forensics Officers concluded that the driver of the Land Rover, John Gage, after striking the female, lost control of said vehicle, resulting in a collision with a telephone pole on the east side of the street, leaving the front half of the vehicle exposed in the road, thereby blocking passage.”

Roy paused again, and glanced over at me; I could tell he was trying hard not to show anything he was thinking on his face, but I could see it none-the-less. He was scared, and maybe even a little bit appalled; I don’t know. At any rate, I wasn’t able to maintain eye contact with him for very long; I couldn’t stand to watch as he processed the information he was reading.

He continued, his voice slowing down more. He took a deep breath. “After an estimated time of between one and five minutes later, the driver of a 1974 Oldsmobile Cutlas, unable to distinguish the Land Rover in its path, collided with the stated vehicle, causing injury to both parties. Skid marks found at the scene were identified as those of the Oldsmobile. No skid marks were found belonging to the Land Rover, indicating that there was no attempt to stop. The female victim was found face down…” Roy stopped again, and his voice cracked. It took him about ten seconds to continue. “fifteen yards from the Land Rover, and was pronounced dead at the scene.”

He finally stopped. I couldn’t bear to hear any more. Listening to the description out loud made me feel ill, and I swallowed to keep my stomach in place.

I thought he was done, but he wasn’t. I heard the paper crinkle as Roy shakily turned the page. “Evidence noted at the scene that the Land Rover, driven by John R. Gage, made contact with the body of the victim, Penny Hooper, includes…hair and body fluids embedded into the front bumper, grill, and hood of said Land Rover. There were no witnesses. Other evidence includes a bottle of wine, found on the passenger side floor of the Land Rover.”

Hearing about the bottle of wine shocked me and I felt my heart skip a beat. I couldn’t believe that I would have been drinking and driving. I looked up at the detective in astonishment. I could barely hear my own voice when I asked, “Wine bottle? What wine bottle?”

He looked at me rather loathingly then, as if that last sentence sealed my guilt. Forrest looked down at his copy of the paperwork, reading off the name of the wine that had been found. “One liter bottle of Inglenook Cabernet Sauvignon, 1973.”

I’d bought that before. The implications were staggering and I sat there, my whole body now wound tight with fear and disbelief. How could I have…

Roy slapped the report down on the tray table and glared at the detective. “Johnny was on his way to his girlfriend’s house for dinner. He was probably bringing the wine there.”

Forrest scribbled something down on his pad and mumbled, “Uh huh.”

“Was the bottle open?” Roy asked skeptically.

The detective stared me down as he answered. “There’s no way to tell. It was found shattered.”

“Look,” Roy’s voice had a hard edge to it. “Johnny doesn’t drink and drive.”

The detective was silent.

“The doctor’s report shows that there was no alcohol in his bloodstream the night of the accident.”

“I’m aware of it,” the detective said in a monotone voice.

“Is that in the report?” Roy demanded, now looking closer at his own copy.

His eyebrows lifted as his eyes fell to his copy of the paperwork and he scanned it, acting as if he were having trouble finding that information. “I believe that’s here,” he muttered, “yes, the sobriety test results are in the report.”

“Good,” Roy said. “So that should eliminate any assumptions that the accident was caused by alcohol.”

“According to hospital records obtained from Dr. Kelly Brackett, blood was not drawn for the sobriety test until just after seven p.m. It’s possible that, if he had consumed alcohol one hour or more before the accident, the level of alcohol in his bloodstream would have been undetectable when Dr. Brackett did his blood analysis.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Roy growled at the guy, who didn’t respond.

Thank God Roy was there because at that point I was such a basket case that I couldn’t even defend myself. I wanted to scream, No! There’s no way I was drinking and driving! There’s no way I could have killed someone! But I didn’t know for sure. I couldn’t remember a damn thing! My head was pounding and my stomach was doing flip-flops. I felt sweat dripping down my back and dread welling up inside me as I was once again reminded of what I’d done. All I could do was watch like a mannequin as Roy bantered with the detective in my defense.

Finally he looked at me. “Do you have any other questions?”

Yeah, I did. I needed to know more about the girl whose life I’d taken. My throat was so dry I could hardly talk. “The…the girl…what was her name again?”

“Penny Hooper.”

Penny. Hearing her name made it all the more real, all the more devastating. “Twenty…twenty-four?” I asked. Why couldn’t she have been ninety-four?

“Johnny…” Roy said protectively.

“Yes.” Detective Forrest-through-the-trees said.

My emotions were really shaky now. I wanted to know more about her; for some demented reason I felt I had to, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I didn’t want to lose it in front of Roy, and especially in front of the detective.

“Is that all?” he asked.

I looked away, pretty sure I couldn’t bear to hear more.

“Johnny…” Roy said again. Obviously, he knew I was on the edge. “We’ll let you know if we have any other questions,” Roy answered for me.

“Good enough.” The detective pulled another document from his notebook and handed it to me. “One last thing; I need to inform you of the charges against you.”

Charges? My heart skipped another beat. I glanced up at Roy and he had this barely constrained look of dread on his face.  I hadn’t even thought about charges. How stupid could I be? Of course there were going to be charges. 

I stared at his stubby fingers as he read from the copy in his hand. “You have been charged with one count of vehicular homicide, a first-degree misdemeanor punishable by up to six months in jail and a $1000 fine. You are also charged with one count of failure to yield to a pedestrian, failure to maintain an assured clear distance, and failure to control a motor vehicle.”

He put the paper back into his notebook. His eyes were cold as ice as he looked down at me. “I’d suggest you get in touch with that attorney you mentioned. You’re going to need one.”

He slapped his book closed, whisked it off the tray table and made for the door. “We’ll be in touch with a court date, Mr. Gage.” Then he nodded and turned to leave. When he got to the door, he turned around and added, “Oh, and if you happen to…remember anything more about the accident, be sure to call that number on the back of the paperwork.”

Both of us just stared at him, then he left.

Johnny sat there glassy-eyed, like he was in shock, his head barely shaking from side to side, as if in disbelief. I said his name three times before I could get a response, and then he just said, “I couldn’t have been drinking, Roy.”

“I know, Johnny.”

It was like he didn’t hear me.

“I mean, I…I never do that, not when I’m drivin’.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I’ve seen too many accidents when people’re drunk…that…”

“Johnny,” I said it more forcefully to try to get him to pay attention to me. “You weren’t drinking. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

He finally made eye contact with me and his voice was shaky. “I’m gonna have to go to jail.” His voice broke on that last word.

I yanked the tray table away from his bed and sat right down on the mattress. I had to nip this in the bud before he made a total wreck out of himself. “You’re NOT going to go to jail, Johnny. You weren’t drinking; we’ve got evidence to prove that. There were no witnesses to testify that you did anything wrong, other than not being able to see someone who probably darted out in front of your car on a dark, rainy night. Those charges he read were the maximum charges, Johnny; it’s not going to be that severe.”

I don’t know if I got through to him or not. He looked as distraught now as he did yesterday when we first told him.

“Oh God, Roy. This is a fucking nightmare.” His voice was really shaky.

“I know.” I tried my best to comfort him. I reached out and squeezed his good arm a little. “But it’s gonna be all right. You’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be with ya, okay? I’m gonna help you.”

He took a deep breath then and tried to raise his hands to his head. His right hand traveled upward in an attempt to run his fingers through his hair, but he’d barely moved his left arm when a choked cry came from his throat from the pain it caused. And then he was bent over again; his right hand flew down to grab his left arm and he was groaning in pain.

I tried the best I could to help him back into a comfortable position, but moving him seemed to just make it worse.

Minutes went by and he wasn’t recovering. The detective’s visit had been too much, and now I was wishing we hadn’t let him stop by so soon. But Brackett said he was getting ready to release Johnny, and he’d thought Johnny was well enough today to handle it.

The damn detective wasn’t able to help out at all. I’d been hoping he’d say something to trigger Johnny’s memory, but his callous attitude only served to make things worse. As if they could get any worse.

I finally called the nurse in, and she gave Johnny more pain meds. That seemed to relax him finally, and within ten minutes he was resting more comfortably. We didn’t talk about the accident any more. I thought it was best not to.

Johnny ended up falling asleep. I stayed another hour or so, but then I decided to go; I hadn’t been home much, and needed to see my family. I felt guilty, but part of me wanted to be away from all this for a while. As horrible as I felt for Johnny, I knew this was only the beginning. Things weren’t going to get any better for a while. I wondered how I was going to be able to help him cope with this. And I prayed that my promise to Johnny that he wouldn’t have to go to jail would come true.

Roy was gone when I woke up. He’d left me a note to call him if I needed anything. I was pretty groggy, but it didn’t take long for reality to sink in again. The detective’s visit slammed into me within seconds of waking, and my stomach got all twisted up again.

What a nightmare his visit had been. He didn’t tell me anything, well, he didn’t tell me anything that helped me understand how this accident could have possibly happened. I know I wasn’t drinking. No way. No matter that they found that broken bottle of wine in the car. Roy was right; I must have been taking that to Monica’s for dinner. I usually did when she invited me over. But I was no closer now than I was before to finding out how I could have done this.

I looked around the room, incredulous. It was still surreal, even after four days. I guessed I was going to have to get used to the fact that I was a murderer. Somehow, I was going to have to learn to live with this. How, I had no clue.

I thought back to what little he’d told me about the girl. Her name was Penny.

What a sweet, innocent sounding name for a girl. She was twenty-four, just a few years younger than me. I think about what it would be like to have died only a few years ago. I can’t imagine it; can’t imagine my life being over at that young an age.

I wish it’d been me.

They brought my dinner. I couldn’t eat.

Penny. I can’t get her out of my mind. Little Penny. A shiny new penny. Penny for your thoughts. Penny doesn’t have thoughts any more. She’s dead.

I wonder why her parents named her Penny. How’d they pick that name?

Her parents.

Oh God. My stomach’s clenching again. I’ve taken someone’s baby away from them. Someone’s beloved child. Gone forever. How can they deal with that? How do you handle losing your child – your own flesh and blood? That’s got to be…well…that’s got to be unimaginable.

I remember when my brother David died; it killed my parents. Literally.

I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child, but I know what it’s like to lose parents. I lost mine in a car accident when I was a kid. It was my dad’s fault. He was driving drunk. He got drunk a lot after my brother died. He killed two people: my mother, and my best friend’s mom. Not to mention himself. But I wasn’t drunk. No way.

I never had that much in common with my father. Guess we have something in common now. We’ve both killed people with our cars. We can rot in hell together.

Who else did I take her away from? Brothers? Sisters?  Aunts…Uncles…grandparents…cousins…friends…boyfriend…husband maybe? Oh Christ, was she married? Maybe she even had children. Oh. What have I done? My head hurts. I think I’m gonna throw up.

The evening’s dragging on, slower than any evening in my life. The other implications of this situation begin to dawn on me. I’ll have a criminal record now. A criminal record means I’ll probably be discharged from the department. There could be fines, even a prison sentence…lawsuits…yet none of that’s as bad as living with my own guilt for the rest of my life.

How could I have not seen her?

It’s my fifth day in the hospital. Roy stopped by a couple of times, but he was working, so he couldn’t stay long.

Vicki dragged me out of bed again. Today I could barely stand up, and the pain almost seemed worse. Vicki wasn’t quite as cheerful as she’d been. She had this worried look on her face, though she tried to hide it.

Dr. Brackett told me he’s ready to release me. Then he threatened me. He said if I don’t start eating, he was going to place an NG tube and keep me here until I started eating on my own.

I can’t help it; I just can’t seem to get food down my throat. Eating is the last thing I feel like doing. The thought of it makes me nauseous.

I don’t really want to go home yet. I’d never admit it to anyone, but I’m kind of scared to be alone. With my own thoughts. But I don’t want the NG tube either. That’s a misery I don’t need. So I ate my lunch today, or at least some of it.

Monica came to see me tonight. This was the first time I wasn’t glad to see her. Maybe my face showed it; I don’t know. Her smile turned into a frown when she saw me, and she acted all concerned as she approached my bed. I hated that. It made me cringe. I feel unworthy of her concern. She asked me if I was feeling worse. Yeah, I was, but not in the way she meant it.

I wondered if she knew what I’d done. I suppose Roy had told her in the beginning. I didn’t want to talk to her about it, but I knew she had to find out, if she didn’t already know.

I was so ashamed of what I’d done; I was finding it hard to even look her in the eyes. Which is a shame, because her eyes are so beautiful.  I wonder how I can possibly continue a relationship with her. I wouldn’t be somebody she would be proud to be with any more. I don’t think I could hold my head up in public and be with her. Her family and friends would find out what I’d done, and they’d be scared for her. They’d wonder what kind of person she’d picked to date. I wasn’t safe to be with.

I was glad then that I didn’t have any family to have to explain this to.

Brackett sent me home today. But I didn’t end up going home exactly, not to my home. Roy talked me into coming to stay with him for a few days. Monica had wanted me to stay with her at her place too, but I just didn’t feel comfortable doing that. Besides, she still had to work all day, so I might as well have gone home by myself, because she wouldn’t have been able to help me if I needed it.

On the one hand, I was relieved to be able to stay with Roy. I knew it was going to be hard to manage at home by myself. I was having a hard time just walking around my hospital room let alone trying to take care of myself all alone at home. And I didn’t really relish the thought of being alone yet. But on the other hand, I felt really uncomfortable about staying with Roy. If it had just been him, it would have been different. But I had to face Joanne. And the kids.

I love Joanne. She’s like a sister to me. So I don’t know why I was so uncomfortable about staying with her. I think it was that the shame was just so overwhelming. I’d made a gargantuan mistake. One that had cost someone’s life. She and Roy have trusted me in the past with their kids. I’ve driven them lots of places. And Joanne has always trusted me to look after Roy at work, to make sure nothing ever happened to him. How could she trust me to do that now? How could either of them trust me? How could they not look down on me after what I’d done?

I didn’t want her waiting on me, or feeling sorry for me. I didn’t feel I even deserved for her to be on my side.

At the same time, I was afraid to go home by myself. I wanted to be around someone.

Joanne went out of her way to make me feel comfortable. She was sympathetic, understanding, and supportive.

Apparently Roy and Joanne decided to keep the details of the accident from the DeSoto children because they didn’t know anything about the fatality. All they knew was that their Uncle Johnny was in a bad accident, and so I was spared the indignity of having them know their Uncle Johnny was also responsible for killing someone. At least it took some of the pressure off me; I don’t think I could have looked those two kids in the eyes, much less explain it, had they known.

I decided after I was there that I was glad I’d taken Roy up on his offer. Hanging out with Joanne and the kids helped take my mind off what I’d done. That was no easy feat. Because whenever I was left alone with my thoughts, her death was always there, lingering in the shadows of my mind. My thoughts were locked up, unable to ponder anything else except the accident, Penny’s death, and what consequences I was gonna have to pay for it all. Like a thug in a dark alley, this sense of doom lurked in the background, waiting to remind me of the awful deed I’d done anytime I let my guard down. It seemed impossible to just clear my mind, to not think of anything.

I just wish Joanne would quit tryin’ to get me to talk about it. She tries to be subtle, but I know she’s trying to get me to ‘express my feelings’. She thinks if I just talk about it, that’ll make it better. There’s where she’s dead wrong. It’s much better for me if I don’t talk about it. That’s the last thing I want to do. It’s hard enough just thinkin’ about it.

Thinking about what I did to that girl makes me sick. Sometimes when I’m not expecting it, the thoughts just slam into me, like when I’m sitting on the sofa with Joanne eating lunch. Just taking a bite of my sandwich reminds me that she can’t do the same – ever again.

It makes me short of breath when I think of how she died. How violent it was. See, I know what it’s like to get hit by a car. It happened to me. And it’s not fun. It hurts. Bad. Having your body impact with a heavy piece of solid moving metal is an experience I could never fully describe to anyone. Your heart’s in your throat for about a half second when you realize it’s going to happen. You don’t hardly have time to be scared. Then there’s the impact. That’s the shocker. It’s so…blunt.  I suppose it’s akin to falling and hitting concrete. Soft body tissue crashing into an unyielding source is brutal.

I often relive my hit and run experience when I think about this accident. Only what was different was that when I got hit, Roy, and all the guys ran to me to try to help me. Penny ended up bleeding in the street by herself for a good ten minutes until the paramedics got there.

Oh man. The paramedics. I hadn’t even thought about that. I wonder who brought me in. I wonder if they knew who I was. I’m sure they found out soon enough. I hope it wasn’t anyone I know. Huh. Fat chance of that. I’m sure everyone knows by now. I feel I’ve disgraced the entire department. Rampart too. I bet the brass is getting reamed by the higher-ups trying to explain how they could have hired someone as dangerous as me.

I wonder why I got hit and I lived, but Penny got hit and she died. Maybe because I got hit by a small 240Z, and little Penny got mowed down by my big heavy truck. Plus I was going close to fifty; the guy that hit me was probably only going about twenty-five or thirty. Makes a difference.

Why’d I get a second chance? So I could go and kill someone else? Jeez. Maybe God or whatever higher being might be out there should have rethought that one.

I’ve started having nightmares.

I keep dreaming the same thing: I’m driving alone. Everything’s pitch black, and I’m scared to death because I can’t see where I’m going. All of a sudden a body flies at my windshield and smashes into it and red blood explodes everywhere. It jolts me awake as soon as it hits and it scares the crap out of me.

The first time it happened was my first night at Roy’s and I woke up soaked in sweat. I jerked sideways and fell out of bed. Thank God Joanne didn’t hear me. It’s amazing she didn’t because when I fell on the floor it almost killed me. I couldn’t hold back the Indian chants that came out of my mouth. I landed on my broken arm and I thought I was gonna pass out from the pain. It took me twenty minutes just to get off the floor.

I couldn’t sleep after that. Everything was hurting. Even after I took the stuff Brackett gave me I was still aching too much to get to sleep. So I just laid there the rest of the night. Thinking. And that was not a good thing.

The second time it happened I at least didn’t fall out of bed.

I’ve had the dream four times total now, and it hasn’t gotten any easier to get back to sleep afterward. It’s making me exhausted.

Johnny’s been staying at our house now for four days. I don’t think he’s doing too good. Joanne says she hears him at night, that he’s not sleeping well. She says he sleeps a lot during the day and she thinks he’s still in a lot of pain even though he tells her he’s okay. She’s secretly been counting his pain pills to see how many he’s been taking and it’s a lot.

I honestly don’t know what to do for Johnny, except just be there. I’m hoping that time will not only mend his physical injuries, but also his mental ones.

He doesn’t talk much about it, but I can tell this girl’s death is killing him. Johnny never was too good at hiding his feelings. I wish there were some words I could say to ease things for him.

I know he’s worried about the court date. I’m a little nervous about that myself. I’m not much of a praying man, but I hope someone up above is looking out for him and won’t let them put him in jail. I think that would send him over the edge. I mean, it’s bad enough he’s got to live with the girl’s death, but to be incarcerated for an accident that I’m certain he’s not completely responsible for is over the top, in my opinion.

He’s pretty much clammed up about the whole thing, which worries me even more, because that’s not like Johnny. He tends to over-react even to small things sometimes, but now he just seems so withdrawn. I guess that shouldn’t seem so unusual. I’m sure he’s just still in shock over it all.

I promised him a couple of days ago in the hospital that I would check on his car, so I did that this morning after I got off work. I drove to the police impoundment lot and the manager took me back to see it.

I’ve seen my share of wrecked cars, but I wasn’t prepared to see Johnny’s Rover in that condition. I guess it was because of seeing it every shift in the parking lot and knowing how much Johnny loves that car, and now to see it so totally mangled…well, it was kind of like how I felt when I got to the hospital and saw Johnny all covered with blood – a shock.

Seeing Johnny’s beloved Rover twisted up into a pretzel about took my breath away. I almost didn’t recognize it. I couldn’t believe that not only had he not been injured worse, but that he’d even survived. The entire frame was bent. It was squashed from side to side like an accordion. There was no way it could be fixed.

I wished I hadn’t walked around and seen the front of the car. A chill went through me when I saw the indentation in the front end, and the blood that had dried there. I walked away from it quickly. I’m glad Johnny never got a chance to see it.

Johnny had some things in the car he’d wanted me to retrieve – some camping equipment, paperwork, and cassette tapes, so I got that stuff out and put it in a my car. I tried hard not to look at the smashed windshield because there was dried blood all over that too, but it was impossible to miss. Johnny’s paramedic/firefighter sticker in the corner of the windshield was now torn and blood-spattered.

As I backed out of the rear seat of the Rover, my eyes roamed past the seats, and for a moment, a barrage of memories flooded into me of all the times I’d had in this car – the fishing trips, the camping trips, most with Johnny, but some with Chet too.

One time in particular came to mind now, when we were invited to that Hollywood actor’s home, Vic Webster I think his name was, for a party. A smile came unbidden to my face when I remembered the two of us pulling into that long driveway in Johnny’s Rover. It looked like a fish out of water amongst all the Cadillacs, Mercedes, Jaguars, and other expensive vehicles. So did we, walking up to that mansion in our black tuxes, totally overdressed. I was mortified, but Johnny tried to tell me no one would notice. The party was boring, so we left, but not after saving a guy’s life who’d been electrocuted. Johnny felt we shouldn’t waste our tuxes, so we went out on the town that night – bar hopping to some of the most prestigious nightclubs in LA. Of course, we couldn’t afford more than a beer or a soda in each place, but we ended up having a great time.

It’s strange; at work I was always the one that drove, but when we got together socially, Johnny always drove. I suppose it balanced out that way.

We had a lot of good times in Johnny’s car. Now they’re over. 

I really began to feel down on the drive home, and then I realized that I probably couldn’t even begin to comprehend how bad Johnny must feel.

I hated having to give Johnny more bad news, but I had promised him I’d check out his car. Now I had to tell him it was totaled. It wasn’t a pleasant task.

“I got all your stuff out of your car for you,” I told him, hoping he wouldn’t ask about the condition of the car.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice flat.

I waited a few seconds to see if he was going to ask me how bad it was. When he didn’t, I thought I better tell him. “Johnny…there’s no way to fix the car. It’s totaled.”

There was a long silence, all through which he just kept staring out into space.

“Good,” he finally said so softly I could barely hear him.

I didn’t know what to say after that.

I asked Roy to take me home today. I’ve been at the DeSotos’ for four and a half days now and I think that’s enough. I don’t want to impose on them any longer. They insist they don’t mind, that they want me here, but I’m still a disruption to their lives. And being around me is a downer that they don’t need – especially the kids.

I hurt all the time, and as much as they try to lift my spirits, I just feel like this dark thundercloud is following me around, hanging over my head. I don’t have the energy to pretend to be happy when I’m not, yet I hate being such a drag. So I try to smile and act like I’m getting better, but it’s wearing me down. As much as I hate the thought of being alone, I think maybe just being in my own home will help my frame of mind. Maybe just the comfort of familiarity will help. I honestly think I’ll get more rest there.

Joanne argued that she didn’t think I’d be able to get along all right with my injuries. But I’ve managed by myself every other time I’ve gotten out of the hospital, casts and all. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I don’t think I convinced her of that though. She insisted I stay for one last dinner, then packed up a bunch of leftovers for me to take. Then Roy drove me home.

Boy, my house seemed so empty after he left.

Living alone is much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. Anything I try to do is a supreme effort. Just leaning over the sink to spit toothpaste out of my mouth is tough. I try to avoid the shower so that I won’t get my cast wet, but I still have to cover it even when I get into the bathtub. Having no mobility in my arm throws my balance off, and once I almost fell getting in. Washing my hair is virtually impossible. I have to do it in the shower. I just try to keep the water off my arm, which isn’t really possible. And it’s painful to try to lift even my good arm to wash or scrub my head because it puts pressure on my bad side.

Getting dressed is a little overwhelming, so I usually just wear my sweatpants. Sometimes it seems like anything even just touching my upper body makes it hurt. When I look at myself in the mirror I know why.

I was surprised when Roy showed back up this morning. His arms were full of groceries. My first reaction was one of surprise, but then I realized that I really shouldn’t be. I mean, Roy’s always been helpful the other times I’ve gotten out of the hospital, but I’ve just never seen him go out of his way to quite this extent. I guess he figures this time the circumstances of my misfortune are considerably more serious than usual. I suspect that Joanne may have had a little to do with it too. At any rate I was really grateful.

He must have checked out my pantry before he left last night and went and bought a bunch of stuff for me to eat, since he figured I wouldn’t be able to go out and get anything myself. Even after everything that has happened, I’m trying hard to remind myself that I have a lot to be grateful for. Roy said he was going to stick by me through this mess, and damned if he isn’t going to.

When I left the hospital, Brackett put me on Tylenol 3 with codeine and that's what I've been using. The pain is worse than the two broken legs and other injuries I've had in the past. Brackett says it's because it's a high impact injury.

I celebrate when I'm able to sleep for more than two or two and a half hours at a time. Two Tylenol 3’s are not usually enough to kill the pain and I often have to use an ice pack on my arm to numb it, which allows me to fall asleep. Because of the arm injury I can only sleep in one position – sitting up – and this makes it much harder to stay asleep. My whole body gets sore and I usually wake up in two to three hours, at which time I get another ice pack and try to go back to sleep. In the daytime the pain is chronic and it makes it hard for me to concentrate if I'm not on painkillers. I use an ice pack to reduce the swelling and manage the pain during the day too. Sometimes I try to tough it out without the medication because it makes me dizzy and nauseous.

It came in the mail today. I cringed when I read ‘Clerk of Courts’ on the envelope. It was the subpoena for the court date. It’s two weeks from today. I broke out in a cold sweat as soon as I read it. Two weeks. I’ve got two more weeks of freedom, then I’ll be in the can.

I’m scared shitless of going to jail.

I mean, I’ve heard the horror stories of what happens to guys when they’re locked up. Especially new guys who have no experience.

Like me.

I start thinking about all the scenarios of things that can happen to me while I’m there, and how I’m going to handle them. I’m going to have to get on the right side of the other prisoners right away, or I’ll be in big trouble.

Get on their right side, I think incredulously. How the hell am I going to do that?

You get beat up if you just look at someone the wrong way in prison. Guys get killed all the time. But the thing that really terrifies me is what if…I mean…what if one or more of ‘em tries to…oh God…why did I have to think about that? I can’t handle that. I can handle getting beat up, but not that.

I can’t go to prison.

I’ve got to get a lawyer. I should have called Barney a long time ago, after detective what’s-his-name, Forrest-through-the-trees, visited me in the hospital. But just trying to cope with the day-to-day stuff made it slip my mind.

I’m so frazzled I can’t find Barney’s name in the phone book. My head hurts and I’m having a hard time reading the fine print. And I forget the name of the firm he works for. So I called Roy. He got me the number and I made an appointment. He apologized for dropping the ball but I told him not to. This is my mess, not his.

I’m gonna see Barney on Friday. Roy wants to take me to the appointment, but he’s got to work Friday. He told me Joanne would take me, but I told him not to worry about it, that I’ll get a ride from someone. I don’t want to put Joanne out any more.

There really wasn’t anyone else I wanted to ask to give me a ride. Roy was the only one I felt comfortable enough with to go through this with. I decided I’d take the bus and walk the rest of the way. Maybe a little exercise and fresh air would do me good.

Big mistake.

First, the air wasn’t fresh. Not in downtown LA. And the exercise about killed me. By the time I made it to Barney’s office, my neck, shoulder, and back ached so bad I didn’t know if I could sit through the appointment. My arm throbbed the whole time. Luckily, I had to wait a while to see Barney, so I relaxed on the reception area sofa and shut my eyes, trying to relax. I was so glad I remembered to bring some pain meds with me. That’s what saved me.

Barney was friendly, but he didn’t offer me any special discounts. I tried not to think about it when he said his rate was $150 an hour, and asked him if he accepted credit cards. It’s a good thing he did, because I didn’t have the kind of cash on hand that was going to be needed.

He spent an hour and a half with me, going over the accident, going over what the detective said, and advising me on what to say and what not to say in the courtroom. He says he feels confident I won’t have to go to jail. I’m glad someone does.

Getting home was just as much fun as getting here. I missed the first bus, then had to wait an hour for the second one. The park bench I waited on didn’t help my back at all and by the time I made it home I was feeling terrible again. I had to take more pain meds and rest in bed for the remainder of the afternoon until it eased up. God I wish I could just lie down.

I spent $225 today, and there’s going to be more where that came from. Barney will be with me in court, and who knows what else I’ll need him for. By the time this is over, if it ever is, I’m gonna be up to my eyeballs in debt. I might have to sell my house and go back to apartment living. Or I suppose I could get a home equity loan to pay for things, but I’ll never be able to make the payments.

Damn! I slammed my right fist down on my kitchen counter as I thought about having to sell my house. My body let me know right away that that move was still just as unacceptable now as it was in the hospital. Waves of hot lightning streaked up my arm, through my shoulder, past my neck, and into my head, and I felt like pounding my fist again in frustration as I doubled over.

I’ve only been in this house about six months. I bought a different house about a year ago that Roy had wanted to buy himself. Boy was he mad at me for that, but it was just so appealing at the time that I went ahead and made an offer, figuring that no way would Roy be interested in it anyway. Well, he was. He finally convinced me to sell it to him, and as luck had it, I found another home that was much better suited for me anyway. It had ten acres of land away from the suburbs with a one-story ranch style home sitting on it that was in need of repair. The price was right, and I ended up saving money. I’ve done a lot to fix it up since then. Now, to think about losing it…

I still can’t believe this is happening. Things were going so great for me, and now my life is in shambles.

What have I got to complain about? At least I have a life.

That’s more than Penny has.

I picked Johnny up this morning for his court date. I’m just glad the waiting is finally over. Johnny’s been a nervous wreck for the last two weeks. He’s convinced himself he’s going to have to go to jail. He actually has me wondering if he might be right, but I can’t allow myself to believe that. Johnny is not going to prison.

I was a little shocked to see him when I got to his place. His face was colorless and he looked ill.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

Closing his eyes briefly he said, “I think I got a touch of the flu.”

Oh, great, I thought dismally. He does not need to be sick right now. I scrutinized him a bit. He was pale, but not flushed with fever. “Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I didn’t check.”

He turned away from me before I had the chance to feel his forehead. Reaching for his tie, he draped it around his neck with one hand, then began trying to tie it, one-handed. He was shaking so badly his weak attempts were ineffectual. Frustrated, he sighed, giving up.

“You want some help?” I offered, and he turned toward me in resignation.

I tied his tie for him. “So, why do you think you have the flu?”

“It’s…it’s just my stomach is all,” he answered.

“You got any Alka Seltzer you can take?” That ought to settle down an upset stomach that I don’t think was caused by the flu.

“I don’t know,” he said wearily. Then he closed his eyes again and took a breath through his mouth. His eyes opened rapidly and he looked at me a little panicked. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, then rushed from the room.

I knew what that was about, and it was confirmed a few seconds later when I heard him getting sick in the bathroom. I gave him a minute, then made my way back there to make sure he was all right. He was brushing his teeth.

I searched his medicine cabinet, found the Alka Seltzer, popped two into a glass of water and led him back out into his living room. I made him sit down and slowly he sipped the drink until he’d emptied the glass. “Breathe slow and deep,” I instructed him.

After a few minutes he seemed better and we decided we’d better leave.

It made me sick to see him in this state. In a little over one month’s time, he’d gone from a strong, vibrant human being to a weak and fragile shell of himself.

That’s what all this has done to him.

We met Barney at the courthouse and he escorted us in. Being one of many cases on the docket today, we had to wait our turn. For Johnny’s sake, I was hoping his case would come up soon.

He and Barney sat down; I sat in a seat behind them.

Johnny looked stiff; I suppose part of that was due to the restricting brace he had to wear to keep his shoulders in place, but I think it was more due to the fact that he was practically frozen in panic. I found myself once again asking any higher power that might be out there to let the judge go easy on him.

Johnny had taken care to make a good appearance. Apparently he’d gotten his hair cut a little and it was a bit shorter and neater than usual. He wore a nice gray suit, although with the cast and sling on his arm he had to drape one side of it over his shoulder and it hung a little funny. He looked a little thin; I’m sure he’s lost weight over this ordeal. The terrible gashes on the left side of his face were almost healed; though he still had some bruising and a few of the deeper cuts were still visible. All in all, I thought he would make a good impression on the judge. I hoped his slightly haggard appearance would end up giving him an advantage.

We waited about forty-five minutes until they called Johnny’s name. He and Barney stood up while they read the charges against him.

A police officer described the conditions of the accident and then the judge asked Johnny some questions about it, although he testified that he still had no memory of it. Barney presented a written statement prepared by Dr. Brackett explaining how Johnny’s injuries had led to the amnesia, and then he pled Johnny’s case, asking for leniency. Luckily, Johnny’s driving record was virtually unmarred, except for the one traffic ticket he received from a few years ago when he was pulled over for following a fire squad toward an accident scene in his personal vehicle. Barney also played up his exemplary performance in his job, including the recent commendation he’d received from the Department.

Then the moment came that would determine Johnny’s fate. I held my breath as the judge peered down at the paperwork he was examining through his half spectacles, and waited. Johnny was still standing, although I wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stay on his feet. I saw him sway once, and he was steadying himself by clutching onto the table in front of him with his right hand.

Judge Thomas Michels rubbed at his chin and regarded Johnny a moment, then shifted in his seat and began to speak. “Regarding the case of John R. Gage verses the City of Los Angeles, the Court finds you guilty of one count of vehicular manslaughter, guilty of one count of failure to yield to a pedestrian, guilty of one count of failure to maintain a safe clear distance, and guilty of one count of failure to control a motor vehicle. Charges to be administered at this time are as follows: a fine in the amount of five hundred dollars, and a six-month suspension of your driver’s license.” Then he slammed down his gavel and said “Next case!” rather loudly.

Relief flooded through me and I saw Barney turn to Johnny with a big smile on his face.

“See, nothing to worry about,” he said, and patted Johnny on the back of his shoulder, causing him to stumble forward into the table.

I climbed from my seat and hurried to Johnny’s side to get him out of there as soon as possible. He was as white as a sheet and looked like he could use some air. He was blinking rapidly and had sort of a dazed expression on his face as he continued to stand there.

Gently prodding his arm, I said, “Let’s go, Junior.”

He finally looked at me, swallowed, and slowly began to move.

Barney and I flanked him as we made our way out of the courtroom. As we were walking down the aisle, Barney leaned in toward both of us and said, “We were lucky; you see, Michels’ wife’s life was saved by paramedics last year in a house fire. I don’t think that hurt us one bit.”
            Johnny kept moving now, mechanically, not saying anything as we made our way out of the courtroom, down the massive marble-floored hallway and toward the nine-foot carved oak doors.

Things turned bad when a fiftyish-looking man confronted Johnny just as we reached the door.

“John Gage,” he said demandingly, and his eyes were anything but friendly.

Johnny faltered, hesitantly answering “Yes…”

It happened so quick that neither one of us could stop it. The man drew his fist back and punched Johnny in the face, then tried to follow him down as he fell.

I reached for Johnny, trying to prevent him from hitting the floor, while Barney grabbed for the other guy, but I had to let John go in order to help Barney restrain the man from continuing his assault on my partner.

We managed to hold him off Johnny amidst a lot of loud yelling. The guy kept screaming, ‘You murdered my daughter! You murderer!’ while he kept clawing to get away from us.  Fortunately, two police officers were near by and pulled him off. Even as they were dragging him away, we heard him shouting obscenities at Johnny, and continued to scream that Johnny had murdered his daughter.

Johnny was floundering on the floor, trying to get up. He was softly gasping in pain, and I wondered how much damage he’d sustained not only from the guy’s fist, but just from the act of falling in his already injured state.

I helped him roll over and sit up, leaning him against the wall. He sat hunched over, reaching for his broken arm with his right hand, which was dangling limply downward, his eyes scrunched closed and his teeth clamped together.

Blood was running out of his nose and dripping down onto his white shirt, but I was more concerned about his wrist and arm. It looked like he’d landed on his hand as he went down and I was hoping we wouldn’t have another broken bone to have to deal with.

He cringed as I examined his wrist and hand. It looked like he’d broken his middle finger, but the wrist might just be sprained. I wasn’t sure. It was already starting to swell.

“Johnny, where are you hurt besides your wrist and finger? Did you hit your left arm again?”

He finally looked up at me painfully. His voice was strained. “No…don’t think so…just wrenched it good is all.” He pulled his arm back toward his body protectively. “I’m okay.”

I looked at Barney. “You’d better call for a squad, just to be safe.”

“No, no!” Johnny said adamantly. “Jus…help me up.” And he struggled to get his feet under him.

I helped him up and he managed to stand rather unsteadily. I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket then and placed it under his nose and he reached up with his right hand and managed to hold it there with his good fingers. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered from behind the handkerchief.

So together Barney and I escorted him out to my car. Johnny walked like he was about a hundred years old. Thinking I’d get resistance, I informed him in no uncertain terms that I was taking him to the hospital. I knew it was worse than he was letting on when he didn’t argue with me.

Man. I am in serious discomfort. 

Unbeknownst to us, Penny’s father was in the courtroom and laid into me after he heard the judge’s ruling. I probably wouldn’t have fallen down, but with my broken left arm strapped against my body I felt like a bowling pin, completely off balance. Sticking my arm out to catch myself was the only thing I could do to cushion my fall. My finger was forced sideways when it made contact with the floor, which hurt like hell. Then my wrist bent awkwardly as I caught myself; hopefully it’s just sprained.

I couldn’t wait to get to the hospital, just to get some relief. That fall managed to throw my whole body out of whack, as if it wasn’t already. He hit me on the same side of my face that was hit in the car wreck, which forced my head and entire body backward and sideways again. My neck, shoulder, and left arm ache so badly now that I can barely move. I hate to imagine what this is gonna feel like tomorrow.

Now I’ve got a splint on my busted finger and my wrist is wrapped, which ended up being sprained, and so now both arms and hands are virtually useless. I probably never should have told Brackett how bad my neck was hurting because now he’s got me strapped into a cervical collar that he wants me to wear for three weeks. He thinks I need to keep that area immobile in order to give the tendons and ligaments time to heal. That’s all well and good, but between that and the other brace and the cast I feel like I’m wearing a straight jacket.

He gave me a shot of something for pain, which helped pretty quickly. I didn’t really want the Diazepam but I knew it would probably help the muscle pain, so I accepted it without complaining. I also got a prescription for Ibuprofen. Brackett didn’t want to renew my Tylenol 3 script again, which was okay, because it wasn’t working that well any more anyway. Besides, I don’t want to get addicted to that stuff.

I feel like a zombie. I just want to go home and sleep.

Roy’s not gonna let me go home. He says I’m not going to be able to manage on my own now that I’ve got one arm in a sling and the other hand virtually useless. I tried to argue with him, but I didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight, because I know he’s right. And I’m just so tired that I just want to lie down in bed. Any bed.

Oh. I forgot.

I can’t lie down.

So he took me back to his house. I crashed in Christopher’s room, (where I was before) and stayed there for the rest of the day and through the night. I’d been right; I hadn’t wanted to imagine how I was gonna feel the next morning, and with good reason. It was as bad as I thought it would be.

The only good thing about the pain was that it helped keep my mind off of what had happened yesterday. But I still thought about it some anyway. I was shocked when the judge read the verdict – all those ‘guilty, guilty, guilty’ charges, and then all I got was the fine and the revoked license. The fine was bad enough though. Five hundred dollars, plus the two hundred and twenty-five, plus about another two hundred and fifty for the time with Barney in court. That added up to almost a thousand dollars. That was going to set me back for a long time. Still, I considered myself lucky. I could be sitting in the can right now getting screwed up the ass by some grimy inmate. I closed my eyes and shuddered when I thought of that. Thank God that didn’t happen.

So the pain Penny’s father inflicted on me is nothing. My nose and cheek are sore, and my teeth hurt, and I’m getting a new bruise on my face, and my entire upper body feels like I got run over by a train, but at least I’m a free man. And I’m alive.

I don’t blame Penny’s father for what he did. I totally understand. I took his little girl away from him and he wanted to kill me.

I’m not a father, but I’m pretty close to Roy’s little girl, Jenny, and I know that if some guy in a car ran her over I’d want to kill him too.

He had the most awful expression on his face. It was so full of despair and anguish and hatred. I’ll never forget it. I wish there was some way I could take his pain away but I know there’s nothing I can do. I wish I could apologize to him, to let him know how utterly sorry I am, to let him know that if there was a way that I could trade places with his daughter right now, I would. But even him hearing those sentiments wouldn’t make things any better for him. Or me.

Roy finally agreed to let me go home after four more days at his house. I’m aching to be alone again. I know that probably sounds unappreciative. Actually, I’m truly grateful to Roy and his family for all they’ve done. But I need to be by myself now. I’m a very independent person; I don’t like relying on anyone for anything. I feel uncomfortable taking when I’ve already taken so much away from someone else.

It’s hard watching Roy and his family going about their daily lives in their usual way, as if nothing happened. Well, nothing did happen – to them. For them, everything is normal. And I know that they’re trying hard to act normal for my sake, so I won’t think about all my problems. Like that time when I had insomnia – well, it wasn’t exactly insomnia – but anyway no one at the station would acknowledge it because they knew if I thought about it, it would just make it harder to sleep. But that just made it even worse, in my opinion. And they’re doin’ it now makes it hard.

Not that I want to talk about it anyway.

Roy continues to work, Joanne goes about her daily chores, and the kids go to school. Me, all I do is sleep and lay around all day. And think. About things I don’t want to think about. Like the fact that in just a few seconds things could change so irrevocably. Nothing about life will ever be normal for me again.

Or for Penny.

Man. Maybe I shouldn’t have come home again so soon. Doing things for myself is unbelievably hard. Just picking up the box of laundry detergent and trying to pour some into the washing machine is a monumental feat. I finally got the wash done. Now I can’t carry the laundry basket of clean clothes upstairs.

Getting dressed is even more frustrating than before; I can’t button buttons with the splint on my finger, and when I use my left hand for anything, it makes my arm hurt. The other option – pulling a shirt over my head instead, is out of the question with my broken collarbone and arm.

Writing is a real challenge, but one I had to take on. I went through a stack of bills this morning that had been piling up for the last month and had to write all the checks with my left hand since I couldn’t hold the pen in my right with the splint on. I think I might have done better if I’d have put the pen between my teeth.

Making meals is almost impossible. Joanne was kind enough to send me home with some frozen things to eat. I can’t lift the casserole dishes out of the freezer because I need two hands.

I got low on food again, so I decided to venture out to the store. I took the bus and got as close as I could get, then walked the rest of the way. I have to limit myself to one bag, because that’s all I can carry. Same as before, but more difficult with my other hand messed up.

On the way home, a little old lady actually got up and offered me her bus seat today, because the bus was full. Well, she was probably around sixty-five or so and not that little. I took her up on her offer only because by that time the pain was back in full force, (I’d taken some meds before I left the house and they were wearing off), and I didn’t think I could hack standing much longer. Actually, I wished I could just lie down on the floor of the bus. Then the lady offered to hold my sack of groceries for me. I thanked her but said ‘no’ and held them on my lap instead. Talk about pathetic.

I’m going to have to figure out a better way to get things at the store. By the time I walk to the bus stop, ride to the store, do the shopping, (ever try to push a shopping cart with no hands? I have to nudge it along with my hip and my right elbow), then walk back to the bus stop, take the ride home, then walk the rest of the way, I’m totally exhausted and in pain again. I never thought grocery shopping could be so difficult.

I hate walking around in public with this, this harness around my neck, and the cast, the figure 8 back brace, and the splint, and the bandage on my wrist. And the big bruise on my face. Everyone stares. Strangers smile sympathetically at me and ask me what happened.

At this point, when standing, I can only lift my arm forward three inches from straight at my side and about four inches out to the side. If I'm lying on my side I can’t lift my elbow away from my rib cage. I'm always lifting my broken arm with my other arm. I still do daily range of movement and strength exercises, for what that’s worth.

My biggest problem now is that I have insomnia. I am only able to sleep about one and a half to four hours each night total. This has been going on almost since right after the court hearing and it's making me kinda crazy.

I had insomnia once. Well, like I said before, I didn’t think it was insomnia; that’s what Chet called it, but really it was just that I had a little trouble sleeping for a few nights. Back then all it took was one middle-of the night call at the station to cure it. Maybe it’s psychological; I don’t know.

I’ve decided I can’t take sleeping sitting up any more and so I try to lay on my side some at night. That way I can support my arm up on my hip and keep it reasonably level. Or when that’s too uncomfortable, I lie on my back and put the pillow under my arm.

My arm still aches and I'm able to 'suck it up' without meds during most of the day but the pain interferes with my ability to fall asleep. I use the Ibuprofen or the Diazepam but they don’t help that much.

Every time I think of what a hard time I’m having, I think of Penny. Then I get angry with myself for complaining, or even thinking of complaining.

I don’t have any right.

Monica calls me almost every day. She stopped over at Roy’s a couple of times while I was staying there, and she offered to come over tonight to make dinner for me. I couldn’t ask for a nicer girlfriend; she’s been concerned and caring, and helpful and patient with me when I get frustrated at not being able to do something or when the pain is bad. She’s been terrific to me. I haven’t been so terrific to her though.

I’ve been distant and standoffish. She tries to make me smile and I just frown. Something inside of me is preventing me from getting too close to her. I’ve put this wall up in front of her and it makes me feel rotten when she tries to get around it and I won’t let her. I’m so wrapped up in my own world that I can’t seem to make room to let her in. I figure, what’s the point? There’s no future for us anyway. I can tell by the look in her eyes sometimes that she feels hurt or even rejected, yet she remains devoted to me for some reason.

I don’t want her devotion. It’s not right. I feel guilty accepting it. And I’ve got enough guilt for a lifetime. It’s hard to think about Monica and our relationship when all this other stuff is demanding my attention nearly every second of my day. I feel like I’m using her. She’s doing all the giving and I give her nothing back.

I’m feeling sort of suffocated. I think I just need some time alone to sort all this out. Yet when I’m alone I wish I was with someone. I don’t know what I want.

Yes I do.

I want to go back in time and erase what happened.

But that’s impossible.

I killed someone.

It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing on my mind at night before I fall asleep. And if I wake up in the middle of the night, I think of it. It turns my stomach upside down each time it hits me, and it’s hard to take a breath. It happens constantly.

I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it?

Part 3