Sudden Impact

Part 3

I should have known this was coming. I’ve been home for about a week. I can’t believe I got both of these on the same day. Two separate letters from two different attorneys came in the mail informing me that I’m being sued. I opened the first one. It’s from Penny’s father’s attorney. He’s suing me for wrongful death. My throat immediately starts to close up as all this smacks me in the face suddenly.

I was just getting my mail.

My mind was actually not on the accident for a few seconds of my life.

And now this.

I read through it. His attorney is seeking compensation for…‘pain and suffering, burial and funeral expenses, medical expenses, and future financial losses in the amount of’…oh my God…‘one million dollars’?

The paper slipped from the two fingers I was holding it between. I feel numb all of a sudden.

A million dollars?

Obviously, I can’t afford that.

I’m gonna lose everything I own.

My head starts to pound and I feel overwhelmed. Then I remember the other letter. I didn’t really want to open it but I did anyway. I figure, how much worse can this get anyway? Whether it’s a million dollars or ten million, it really makes no difference. I’m about as far away from one as I am from the other.

The second one is from the guy’s attorney who hit me in the accident. His claim was that my negligence ‘caused personal injury resulting in pain and suffering, loss of income, and permanent debilitation.’ Permanent debilitation? I thought Brackett said the guy’s knee was going to be fine. I read on. Damages were being sought in the amount of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

I close my eyes, reeling. I start to sweat. I don’t know what to do. I imagine myself jobless and homeless after everything had been taken from me, trying to recover from these injuries out on the street. I feel light-headed and lay my head down on the table.

Get a hold of yourself, Gage, I tell myself. Think!

First of all, I’m not gonna end up on the street. Roy or Chet or someone would certainly let me stay with them for a while.

Second, despite the accident, I still have insurance. I think. Even if I don’t, I was certainly insured at the time of the accident. Wouldn’t they be responsible for paying these lawsuits? I have no idea. I don’t know what’s in my policy, or how much coverage I have.

Getting up, I search everywhere – through my desk, in my closet, in my dresser, in boxes, trying to find a copy of my policy. I can’t find it. Why the hell don’t I have a copy of it?

The nine by twelve manila envelope on my desk distracted my attention. Something possessed me to open it and slide out the thick paper inside, although I really didn’t want to. I stared at the words on the page and felt hollow.

‘Dedication.’

‘Bravery’.

‘Courage’.

‘Finest tradition of this Department’.

It all means nothing now. It’s just a joke. I feel none of those things.

I almost crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. If I hadn’t been so bent on finding my insurance policy, I would have. I tossed it aside instead.

I called State Farm, my insurance company. The woman I talked to, Karen, told me I was insured up to $500,000 for bodily injury liability per incident. My heart sank. That was not good. I asked her to mail me a copy of it. Then I called Barney.

He wasn’t available, so I left a message for him to call. Then I sat around and stewed for the rest of the afternoon, wondering how in the hell I was going to pay Barney, much less any of this.

I thought about calling Roy, but I didn’t want to talk to him until I knew all the details. I didn’t want him to think I was overreacting. Besides, I’ve burdened him with my problems too much lately.

Barney finally called me. I told him what was going on, and made an appointment to see him. He wanted to see the documents and said he’d have my insurance company send them over to him. He said to ‘hang tight’ and not worry, that he was confident that they’d be able to negotiate an amount that the insurance company would be able to pay.

He said he’d be contacting State Farm’s in-house attorney, and that he would work with them on this. He said that filing an official lawsuit might not even be necessary if both parties can agree to an appropriate amount. If not, then the case would likely end up in civil court proceedings and that hopefully the two parties could reach a settlement.

‘Don’t worry’. Yeah, that’s easy for him to say. At least he’s given me some reassurance, but even Barney has no way of knowing exactly how this is gonna turn out.

I sink down onto my sofa and rest my head in my hand. It’s been a long afternoon. For what seems like the millionth time, I still can’t comprehend all this is happening.

How could my life possibly be this screwed up?

I knew I was going to have a hard time sleeping. I’d run out of the Diazepam, and the Ibuprofen the doc gave me wasn’t helping enough. I dreaded lying in bed awake all night, fighting the pain, and worrying. I couldn’t stop thinking about the lawsuits. I needed something.

I headed into the kitchen, searching for that something, and found an old friend. A half empty bottle of Jim Beam sat forgotten on a shelf. One drink ought to take the edge off, I figured. I pulled the bottle from the back of my cabinet, dusted it off, poured some into a glass and drank it neat. I don’t drink the hard stuff often; beer is usually my favorite adult beverage. I settled back down on the couch with Jim and it seemed to do the trick. It numbed me just enough to ease the pain a bit and relaxed me enough to get to sleep. Thank God.

Two days later I took the bus downtown to see Barney again. He told me about the same things he said before, made copies of the documents and gave me one, and said he’d contact me as soon as he knew anything. He said I might as well relax, because it was going to take some time to get this all worked out. I probably wouldn’t even be involved in it. He seemed certain that my insurance company would be able to take care of it. I felt a little better when I left there.

Chet was already at the station when I arrived for our shift and he followed me into the dorm. “Hey, Roy,” he said. “You seen Johnny lately?”

I’d only seen him once since he left my house, and that had been about five days ago. I’d been checking in with him by telephone and he’d said he was doing okay. “Not for a few days. Why? Have you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I stopped by his place yesterday.”

I turned to face him, interested in Chet’s take. “How’s he doing?”

Chet’s face turned somber. “Not too good.”

He looked at me and I was a little shocked to see genuine deep worry in his face.

“I think Gage needs some help.” His eyes strayed to Johnny’s locker. “I don’t know if there’s anything you could do…” His voice trailed off.

Now I was concerned, wondering if Johnny had taken a turn for the worse for some reason. “Chet. What’s wrong? Has something else happened?”

He turned to look at me again, slowly shaking his head. “He’s hurtin’, man.”

I stared at Chet, trying to extract more information from his expression. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, whether it was physical pain, or something else. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s in a lot of pain, Roy.” He said it with a little exasperation, like he was peeved I didn’t get it.

I knew Johnny still had pain, but assumed that it had subsided some by now. He was on some new drugs and I was hoping they’d helped.

I was a little surprised that Johnny would have complained – especially to Chet, which he seldom did in the past about his injuries. Usually when he did, it was to the opposite sex in order to gain a little attention; in front of the guys he’s always more stoic. I know he dislikes having me or any of us fussing over him; I think maybe he’s afraid we’ll see him as weak; I don’t know. Seems like every time he’s ever been injured he always downplays it, even jokes about it – no matter how bad it is. I wondered if Johnny had actually complained, or if it was just Chet’s evaluation of him.

So I asked him. “Did he tell you that?”

“No. He didn’t have to. It was pretty obvious. I could see it in his face every move he made.”

For Chet to have noticed it that plainly, it must be bad. Now I was really concerned. “Is he taking his pain meds?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he is. He had me go pick him up another prescription while I was there, since he was out.”

I stared a him a second, just a little surprised once again that Johnny would have asked that of Chet. “Thanks, Chet, for doing that.”

He shrugged. “No problem.” He glanced sideways over to the sink, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit his next statement. “I picked up some groceries for him too.”

My brows rose at that and I smiled. “Well that was awfully nice of you, Chet,” I teased in a tone that pretended that I was surprised, but obviously wasn’t.

“Well, I was already out getting the prescription. And I had to pick up a six pack of beer for myself anyway, so I offered.” He smiled a little then and added, “Besides, pigeons are better when they’re plump, not skinny and weak.”

I elected not to comment on that. No sense in making Chet feel any more self-conscious about helping his pigeon that he already did.

My mind wandered back to what Chet had said a moment ago and it worried me. I was beginning to wonder if Dr. Brackett had missed something. Or worse, what if Johnny was experiencing complications from his injuries? The skull fracture worried me the most.

Chet broke into my thoughts, serious once again. “It’s not just physical pain, Roy. He’s really down on himself about this accident.”

I sighed. That was nothing new. And it was nothing I could help either. What could I say to make it better for him? Nothing. And I hadn’t really tried because it would have sounded crass. I knew if I were in his shoes I’d be feeling the exact same way.

I’ve offered to listen more than a few times, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. The last time I asked him he just got this forlorn look on his face and asked me, ‘How am I gonna live with this, Roy?’

I hadn’t had a good answer. All I could say was that he’d made a human mistake, one that could have happened to any of us. We’d all had close calls before; I don’t think there’s anyone out there with a driver’s license that hasn’t had a near miss experience that hasn’t caused them to go back and sigh in relief that the terrible ‘what-if’ hadn’t happened. “Johnny, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I’d said. “Under the circumstances, I’d place any bet that the same thing would have happened to anyone else who’d been on the road in your place.”

I focused my attention back on Chet. “Did he say anything to you about the accident, Chet?”

“Not much. When I asked him how he was doing he just said, ‘I’m alive; that’s more than I can say for the girl I ran down.’ He wouldn’t talk about it any more than that.” He tilted his head slightly as he spoke to me. “Has he talked to you about it at all Roy?”

I shook my head. “He’s pretty much clammed up about it.”

“I wish there was something we could do,” Chet said thoughtfully.

I smiled inside, warmed again by Chet’s concern. Of course, he’d never want Johnny to know how concerned he was. “I think you’re doing it. I think we should all just keep in touch with him and offer our support, even if it just means hanging out with him and talking about nothing.”

Chet nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. But you know, I think it might do him good to maybe talk to a shrink about it. I think he needs some help, you know, more professional help than we can give. I mean, what do you say to a guy who…you know…is responsible for someone’s death? Especially someone like Johnny, a paramedic; he trained to help people in is job. I think this is killin’ him, Roy.”

I’d thought about suggesting that to Johnny, but knew that in his current frame of mind he’d probably get angry. As much as Johnny goes on about things sometimes, he never does about deeply personal things, and I think this qualifies as one of those. That’s why I don’t seem to know much about his background, other than a few minor things he’s told me and the rest of the guys. When it comes to really deep things, Johnny’s got a pretty fortified wall erected around them. I wonder sometimes if it would be good or not to break some of that wall away some day.

“Well, you’re probably right about the psychiatrist, but I’m not sure Johnny would agree.”  All this time I had been getting dressed. Now as I pinned on my badge, I had an idea. “I’m gonna talk to Dr. Brackett about it today when I see him. Maybe he can give us some suggestions.”

“That sounds good, Roy.” He got up. “I’m gonna get some coffee.”

“Save some for me,” I said. Yeah. That was the solution.

It’s been over six weeks now since the accident. I feel like I haven’t improved at all physically.

I hurt all the time. My neck, my back, shoulder, arm, head…it all hurts, sometimes all at once, sometimes separately. The Ibuprofen the doc gave me barely touches it. I’m actually starting to feel so desperate that I daydream about going back to work just so I can get my hands on some stronger drugs from the squad, although I know I’d never do that. But it sounds good.

I got the bandage on my wrist off, and I have one more week to wear the cervical collar. It’ll be a few more weeks before the doctor wants to see me again.

I can’t understand why I’m not getting better. My arm hurts now almost as much as it did when the accident first happened. It gets to me some days. It gets me down. It gets old.

I still have a lot of trouble sleeping. I keep having that dream. It’s not every night, but it continues to dog me – the one where I see the body crashing up against my windshield, then the blood. It always shakes me up when it happens.

I still can’t remember anything about the accident, although there’re times when I feel like the memory is there, just lurking around the corner, kind of like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue but can’t seem to think of it.

When the dreams don’t keep me awake, the pain does. It’s so hard to get comfortable. I can barely turn my head without it hurting.

Man, I’m complaining again. At least I’m alive to feel pain.

Penny’ll never feel anything again.

Some nights I get the bottle out to help me sleep. I know it’s a bad habit, and I loathe myself every time I do it, because I think of my father and how he started drinking when he was down. But sometimes I can’t stand it any more and I need some relief. I know I’ll stop when this pain gets better. And besides, I don’t drink to get drunk – not like my father. I drink just enough to take the edge off. There’s a difference.

Isn’t there?

Roy made an appointment for me to go back to the doctor, even though it’s only been a couple of weeks since I was at Rampart. He thinks I should be better by now. I know I’ve got him worried; actually I’m a little worried myself, because my recovery has never been this slow before. Even when I got hit by that car I got better faster. Heck, me and Roy were having wheelchair races down the hallway at Rampart when he got admitted for a day after being hurt in that fire. And I won. That was after major abdominal surgery and two broken bones in my leg. That was nine days after I got hit. It’s been a lot longer than that now and I still can’t move without pain. What is going on?

I went back to see Brackett. Roy took me on his day off. I could tell it was gonna take a while, so I just had him drop me off. I got the full work up. I was there almost all bloody day.

He took another x-ray of my arm. He got that frown on his face and that little twitch in the corner of his mouth that he always gets when he doesn’t like something. He says the bone is well aligned, but there’s no sign of joining yet.  He says I might need surgery down the road, but that we should give it more time. I had to agree with that, surgery did not sound good to me.

He did another CT scan of my skull, just to make there have been no new complications since I’ve been having so many headaches. Fortunately, the scan looked good, and he doesn’t anticipate any forthcoming complications.

He thinks the whiplash is what’s causing all the pain. Said it was much more severe than he anticipated, and that it could account for the headaches, and the neck, shoulder, and arm pain, even the pain in my jaw.

Whiplash is very difficult to diagnose since most injuries are to soft tissues, like muscles and ligaments, and will not show up on an x-ray. Plus there are many nerves in the neck area; it’s very complex.

He asked me if I had time to wait; he wanted a specialist to look at me. “Sure,” I said. What else did I have to do?

But before I saw the specialist, Dr. Brackett started asking me questions about how I was doing emotionally. He kind of danced around it, in his own way, like he was uncomfortable bringing it up. That was new for Brackett. Usually nothing made him flinch. I wonder if Roy put him up to the questioning because I don’t know who else would have.

Maybe Chet said something to Roy about me. He was here the other day and helped me out with some things. I was feeling really down, not to mention lousy, when he stopped by, and I was having a hard time acting normal. He tried to be nonchalant about it, but Kelly didn’t fool me any. He went on a fishing trip, and then he finally flat out asked me how I was feeling. I didn’t want to sound like a crybaby, so I glossed it over. I appreciate his concern, but I don’t want it. It’s too hard to talk about; I don’t think this is something that anyone could ever understand unless it happened to them. That’s why I don’t bother discussing it. Besides, it’s not pleasant to talk about, and when my friends are around, I like to take the opportunity to escape from it for a while.

 After Chet asked me, I tried to change the subject and so we talked about baseball. Ever since I taught Chet how to pitch for our station team (and we lost because he screwed up), he’s been interested in baseball. He asked me if I wanted to come over and watch a Dodgers game with him sometime. That was the most inviting thing I’ve heard in weeks. I told him I would. 

I didn’t get too detailed in my answer to Brackett. Just mumbled something vague like, ‘yeah, it’s not easy to deal with’, or something like that. Coming from Brackett, it was kind of a stupid question. I remember when he thought he’d been responsible for the death of a little girl’s father in a car accident not too long ago, and remember Dixie telling us he wasn’t handling it very well. Maybe that’s why he asked. Because he knew how it felt. He tried to tell me that depression was normal, but that if it began to feel overwhelming, that I should seek out help. He got out his little pad of paper, wrote down the name of a psychologist to talk to, ripped it off like it was a prescription, and handed it to me. I took it and thanked him, knowing I wasn’t going to call. He also told me to start eating more. I guess my ten-pound weight loss was evidence to him that I was depressed. I told him that it was hard to eat when I wasn’t feeling good. He just looked at me, twitched his mouth again, and said, ‘I know. But try to anyway.’

An hour later, I finally got to see Dr. Frank Gordon, an orthopedic surgeon.

For some reason, it was a little easier to talk to someone I didn’t know as well. I told him some things I didn’t tell Brackett. I was surprised to find out that the ringing in my ears that I still had, the difficulty sleeping, and the memory loss could also be caused by the whiplash. The shooting pain from my neck into my shoulder and arm and the muscle spasms I was having was definitely caused by the whiplash, he said. Man, if only that guy hadn’t hit me I wouldn’t be in such bad shape. I should be suing him.

Dr. Gordon told me that typically, symptoms subside in two to four weeks in the majority of patients, (obviously I wasn’t in that category), but for others, the recovery can take up to three months. Then he gave me even more wonderful news: twenty-five percent of people with whiplash report symptoms for up to a year, and about ten percent of patients report permanent symptoms as a result of their injuries. While that news didn’t thrill me, I figured it was appropriate in my case; after all, the price Penny paid will last forever.

He gave me more muscle relaxants, another Ibuprofen prescription, told me to wear the cervical collar for two more weeks, use heat to loosen the muscles, and rest. He said I didn’t have to wear the figure 8 brace any more; that the collarbone was healing well. At least that was something. But I was really dismayed that I had to wear the damn cervical collar. It was uncomfortable and it made me hot.

He said that if the pain continued there were other things we could try. Like anesthetic injections or nerve blocks. That did not sound like fun at all. I don’t mind needles at all as long as they’re not going into me.

Roy picked me up around four o’clock and I finally went home. He offered to get some carry out for dinner for us, which was fine with me. I was tired and hurting and didn’t really feel like eating, but I did anyway. Maybe if I can put some weight back on that’ll help.

Monica called me around six and offered to come over and cook me dinner. I told her that Roy was here and had already bought us some carry out. I felt bad, but I didn’t invite her over. I was kind of enjoying hanging out with Roy and I didn’t really want to see her. She sounded disappointed when she said good-bye, but I didn’t let myself think about it.

Roy gave me the evil eye when I had a beer later that evening while we were watching television. He lectured, “Johnny, you shouldn’t be drinking when you’re taking pain medication.”

I got annoyed and wished he’d just be my friend and not my mother. He asked me how I’d even gotten the beer, and I told him that Chet had bought it for me. I’d asked Kelly to pick me up a six-pack the other day when he went to the store for me. I could tell by Roy’s expression that Chet was gonna get an earful the next time Roy saw him. I told him to quit worrying, that one little beer wasn’t going to have any reaction with my medication. If anything, it’ll help me sleep better. Besides, I think I have enough sense to know not to drink and take Diazepam at the same time. I haven’t had my pain meds since late this morning, so it’s been long enough, in my opinion, to be safe. The primary reason for not drinking alcohol when you take muscle relaxants is because it could impair your judgment when operating any type of motor vehicle.

“It’s not like I’m going to go out driving anywhere,” I said, then instantly regretted that casual comment when it opened up the wound that I’d managed to keep closed for such a short time that evening.

He looked a bit stunned, then recovered quickly, obviously uncomfortable about how to respond to that comment. “Yeah,” he said, very quietly, then he dropped it.

After that, the accident was on my mind again, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. The lawsuits started to worry me again, so I finally decided to tell Roy about them. He looked a little shocked at first, but Roy is expert at keeping a poker face. After I told him what Barney had said, he tried to reassure me that everything would work out all right.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” he asked.

I told him I’d wanted to get all the details first and find out how bad it really was before I mentioned it.

He studied me a minute, then asked, “Who took you to Barney’s office?” There was a slight bit of reproach in his voice, as if he wondered who else besides him I would have preferred take me.

“I took the bus,” I said.

“Took the bus,” he repeated, like I’d committed a federal offense. “What did you do that for? I would have taken you.”

“I know, Roy. I just…well, you’ve done so much for me already, I – ”

“Johnny,” he interrupted. I would have been glad to do it.”

I felt like I’d hurt his feelings. More guilt. “I know. It’s just…” I couldn’t really put it into words. How could I explain to Roy that I was ashamed to take advantage of his kindness? That I felt like I deserved the hardship. It didn’t make sense, but it was how I felt.

Sometimes I feel like I deserve the pain too. I welcome it at times. For one, it reminds me that I’m still alive. But more profoundly, it takes my mind off the guilt. Because sometimes it’s so bad I can’t think of anything else. And it seems like just punishment. Is that demented, or what? Maybe I’m some kind of a masochist.

I wanted to look away from him, but couldn’t drop my head because of the cervical collar. My eyes dropped to my lap. I felt miserable again. Will I ever feel good again, I wondered disconsolately.

“Johnny.” Roy had now moved to the sofa nearer to me, trying to get my attention.

I looked up at him.

“Any time you need anything, I want you to call me. That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

I felt my throat tighten. “Yeah,” I finally said.

“You’d do the same for me,” he said quietly.

I nodded, hoping, yet knowing that Roy would likely never be in this same position as me. But what he said was true. It drove home just how strong our friendship had become over the years, something we’d acknowledged subconsciously but never really spoke of. “Thanks, Roy.”

“You’re welcome. No more bus trips, okay? Not until you’re feeling better.”

Well, I couldn’t promise that but I did anyway.

Roy stayed a little longer and he asked me if I needed anything before he left at nine o’clock. I said I was good and he finally left.

At ten o’clock I pulled Jim out of the cupboard again. The beer hadn’t been quite enough.

Chet invited all the guys from the station over Saturday to watch the Dodger's game. It was a good way to get Johnny out of his house and somewhere where he could get his mind off his problems. We all had a great time, including Johnny, at least for a while.

            He and Chet got into an animated discussion about the nuances of baseball and it was good to see Johnny actually enjoying himself. He gets into baseball. It's probably his favorite sport.

Well we all ate a lot and drank some beers and things got kind of loud and crazy – not the kind of afternoon that I'm used to having. The loud and crazy I'm used to having is hearing the kids fighting or running around the house screaming and Joanne yelling at them to settle down while the dog barks. Things like that.

It was kind of a nice change.

            So everyone was talking and having a good time and I suddenly heard something that I hadn't heard in a long time – Johnny laughing. I looked over at him and saw he and Chet and Marco were in a conversation, and Chet was talking animatedly about something, as only Kelly can, and he had this totally ridiculous expression on his face. I could tell he was imitating someone, and Johnny and Marco were laughing, Marco so hard he almost spit his drink out onto himself. I smiled to myself and thought that this was just what my partner needed.

But the next time I glanced over at them Johnny's expression had turned to stone. One minute he was laughing and then all of a sudden he wasn't. It was like someone had reached over and flicked a switch and turned him off.

I wondered if he wasn't feeling well, but I didn't want to embarrass him by asking. He didn't look like he was in pain. Not physical pain, at least. If I had to nail it down to one thing I’d say he looked…regretful, or even guilty. Like he’d caught himself at something.

I decided it would be best to leave him alone, which is what I think I would have wanted had I been in his shoes, and just try to enjoy the game, and hope that he would too.

It was a good one, really exciting; it was a tie game at the bottom of the ninth, and they had to go into extra innings. The Dodgers ended up winning by one run. Johnny would have loved it – if he hadn’t fallen asleep in Chet’s recliner. The guys all wanted to wake him up so he wouldn’t miss out, but I wouldn’t let them. I knew how much sleep Gage had been missing and knew it would be better to let him rest. I was surprised when Chet agreed with me. I don’t know how he slept through all of us yelling.

Probably because of the five beers he drank.

Not that I’m counting.

Johnny missed the burgers that Chet cooked out on his patio too.

He finally wandered outside about a half hour after everyone else had left. We saved a burger for him for later but he didn’t want it. I think he was pretty embarrassed but we didn’t make a big deal out of it, and for once Kelly kept his comments to himself. I took him home shortly after that.

 Man. Beer just isn’t strong enough to relieve this pain.

I saw Monica tonight. She came over, brought dinner. Things were strained between us. She tried everything she could think of to make me feel better, to cheer me up. It didn’t work.

She doesn’t understand.

I can’t act like nothing happened. How can I just sit and talk about the weather or the new movie she wants to see when I know that someone has died because of me? I don’t want to be cheerful. I don’t feel like I have the right to be. How can I be happy when I’ve caused so much unhappiness? How can I experience what I’ve permanently taken away from someone else? It doesn’t seem right.

I could tell she was on the verge of tears all evening. I’d been neglecting her so badly, and she never complained, but by now I guessed she was really questioning what might lie in the future for us. Was I gonna be this way forever? She just wanted things to be the way they used to be, and I couldn’t blame her.

She finally asked me why I was being so distant. She said she cared about me and only wanted to help. Then she subtly suggested that maybe it would help if I saw someone to talk about it with. Meaning a shrink.

That was the wrong thing to say. I didn’t want to hear that. No shrink is going to erase what I did. No shrink is going to bring back the dead.

I got upset and raised my voice to her. I told her that if she didn’t like the way I was acting that there were plenty of other fish in the sea. I wasn’t asking her to hang around. Maybe she should find a guy that could give her what she wanted, since I wasn’t able to do that any more.

That did it. She broke down in tears and left.

God I feel like a total jerk now. I never wanted to hurt her. And I never wanted to break up with her. Because I think I was starting to fall in love with her. But my accident killed that too.

As the evening wore on I began to feel like maybe it was for the best. Maybe she needed that jolt of reality that things weren’t going to work out. How can we have a normal relationship when I have to learn to live with the fact that I’ve killed someone? How can I expect her, or anyone, to look at me with respect again? How long is that gonna take?

Forever, likely.

Besides, how can I date anyone when I can’t drive? I can’t take her any place. It’d be too degrading to let the girl drive everywhere, not to mention that it’s just not right. Then I thought, so what are you going to do, Gage? Never date again because you can’t drive?  I didn’t have an answer to that. Did I want to commit myself to being alone the rest of my life?

I committed Penny to it. Why shouldn’t I get the same punishment?

The accident may not have killed me. The injuries may not kill me. If those don’t, the guilt just might.

It’s been three nights since Monica left. Not surprisingly, I haven’t heard from her, and I haven’t called her either.

I drank myself into oblivion tonight. Got totally shit-faced. The pain was especially bad today and I was lonely and depressed about Monica and I just needed something to numb all that for a little while.

Then I found myself on my knees, hugging the porcelain goddess in the middle of the night. And that was a misery I never want to experience again. Each time I convulsed my neck surged forward, which about killed me, then the pain made me throw up more.  I woke up on the bathroom floor a few hours later, shivering and in worse pain than I’d been in for a long time.

I’d thought the alcohol would make me forget everything. What a lot of good that did. Just like it did for my dad when he got drunk after my brother died.

I guess I have more in common with him than I thought.

The booze does help for a short time. It sort of numbs the pain – both kinds. It’s a welcome relief if only for a while, only the wearing off of it makes things so much worse. If I could just find some way to stay drunk, and not experience the hangover, that would maybe make life more tolerable. Hm, someone could make a lot of money if they came up with that solution.

I should have known better.

I’m drinking every night now. Not like the last time, but I still have at least one a night. That’s what my father did. And then he drank more. And more. Then he ended up killing himself, and my mother, and my best friend’s mom.

I don’t want to end up like my dad.

If I go down, I don’t want to take anyone else with me.

I stopped over to see Johnny tonight. I hadn’t told him I was coming by; I was near his neighborhood and just decided at the spur of the moment to see how he was. I hadn’t seen him since Chet’s place.

He held the door open unsteadily for me when I walked in. He seemed a little embarrassed, or surprised, like I’d caught him at something.

I had. He reeked of alcohol. “You’ve been drinking,” I said, not in an accusing way, just stating a fact.

He took it as accusing because I’d gotten on his case before about drinking while he was taking his meds. I hoped he hadn’t taken them for a while. “Yeah,” he slurred just enough to let me know he’d had a few but wasn’t plastered. “You the alcohol police?”

“No.” And when I turned and looked at him I made sure he understood from my expression and my tone that I wasn’t admonishing him. Because I understood. Not that I thought it was okay for him to be getting drunk, just that I understood why. If I’m honest with myself and put myself in his place I think I’d probably be hitting the bottle too.

And I don’t even drink.

Right then I felt so helpless. I could see my friend’s life spiraling away from him and I didn’t know what to do about it. Seeing him this way was almost harder than seeing him laying on the hospital ER gurney, bleeding, the night of the accident.

I knew one thing. Johnny needed an ally, not an adversary.

I went into his kitchen, saw the almost empty bottle of Jim Beam, and pulled a glass out for myself. Maybe if I get a little buzz on some creative solution will come to me, I thought sardonically. He looked a little surprised when I asked if I could join him.

“Sure,” he said, a little warily. “Help yourself.” Stiffly, he lowered himself down to his couch and waited for me.

I sat down in the chair across from him. I looked at him closely. He’d lost more weight, and he was pale; his face was lined with fatigue and stress. I took a sip of my drink while I thought. Unlike Johnny, I had put ice in mine.

He looked rough. I couldn’t hold back. “The pain still bad?” I asked.

His face fell as if in defeat. “Yeah,” he admitted for the first time.

I knew he’d been hiding it. I guess by now it had gotten to the point that he didn’t have the energy to do that any more. Or maybe the alcohol was making him more honest. “Is it getting worse?” I asked, hoping the answer would be no.

He sighed. “I don’t know, Roy. It’s just…almost constant. It seems like I never get a break from it. Some days it just gets to be a little too much, you know?”

I honestly didn’t know what that would be like. But I knew there were plenty of people out there who had gotten addicted to pain medication or alcohol because of chronic pain. Joanne had a friend who was one of them. She’d had a bad fall and messed up her spine. She ended up having to go to a pain clinic to get her off the drugs and help her deal with it. I knew it was bad, but couldn’t quite imagine what it was like to live with it hour after hour, day after day.

But alcohol was only going to make it worse. “Drinking’s not going to make this get better though, Johnny.”

“If Brackett will give me something stronger, I’ll quit.”

Quit? That didn’t sound good. He just admitted now that it’s a habit. “The Diazepam doesn’t help?”

“Not enough. And it makes me feel like a zombie. I need a more serious drug.”

“Johnny, you know you can’t be taking narcotics.”

“Well, if I keep takin’ the Ibuprofen he gave me I’m gonna burn a hole in my stomach.”

“And with that, you’re not?” I asked, gesturing to the drink.

“At least it works,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“Johnny,” I shook my head, knowing that he needed to get back to the doctor. “You need help.”

“Ya think?” he grinned sardonically at me.

“Will you go back and see Brackett?”

“Roy, there’s nothing more he can do for me. And I don’t want to get injections.”

“Injections?” I asked.

“Yeah. Dr. Gordon said he could give me anesthetic injections or nerve blocks.”

“Well, why don’t you try it?”

“Because it’s only temporary, Roy. It’s not going to solve the problem.”

Besides, you hate needles, I thought.  “Maybe it would help until you heal a little more. It’d be worth a try, wouldn’t it?”

“No.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should say what I was thinking next, but I did anyway. Johnny was my best friend, and this was something that needed to be said, whether he liked it or not. “Johnny…is this pain all physical, or could some of it possibly be…emotional?”

He glared at me, like I knew he would. “Oh, so you think this is all in my head, huh? Well, tell that to my neck, my back, my shoulder, and my arm.”

“No. I don’t think it’s all in your head,” I said. “But the emotional strain your under is likely exacerbating it. Maybe if you got some relief from that, you’d start to feel better.”

“I doubt it,” he muttered.

“Johnny, I’m not gonna insult you and claim to know what you’re going through, because I don’t. But it’s easy to see that you’re having a rough time with it. I wish I could help you, but I…I don’t really know how. Maybe if you would just talk to someone about it, a professional, they’d help you cope with it.”

He snorted, and tipped back the rest of his drink, swallowing the rest. “You’re startin’ to sound like Monica,” he mumbled, and set his glass down on the table.

“Monica must be a pretty smart girl.”

            A look of profound sadness crossed Johnny’s face, and he looked away. I wondered how all this had affected their relationship. I didn’t get a chance to find out.

            Suddenly, with a soft ‘ouhh,’ Johnny’s head jerked back almost imperceptibly. I saw dread flash across his face before his eyes squeezed closed and he grimaced. As his body became rigid and he sank sideways, I shot out of my chair, heading toward the sofa.

“What is it?” I asked.

His shoulders were writhing and he seemed to be fighting against something.

“Mus…muscle spasms,” he told me through gritted teeth.

“Where?”

“B-back, shoulder, neck. Uhh.” He clawed at his neck with his hand.

I laid my hand on his back and cringed when I felt a tremor ripple through his muscles. The first thing I thought of was the Diazepam, but I didn’t know how much Johnny had drunk. Meanwhile, he looked like he was in agony. “Johnny, where’s your pain meds?”

“Ba-bathroom,” he panted.

I just looked at him a minute, frozen in indecision over whether to get him the drugs or not. Right now wasn’t the time to give him the third degree about the alcohol he’d consumed. I’m not sure he could have even answered accurately anyway. I actually thought about calling a squad.

“Johnny, I’m gonna take you to the hospital.”

“No,” he said adamantly. “Won’t help. There’s…there’s a…a hot water bottle in my bedroom. Can you get it?”

Heat. That should help. I jumped up, ran in the bedroom, and found it on his bed. I ran into the bathroom, emptied the cold water out and put in the hottest water I could get from the tap. By the time I made it back out into the living room, he looked a little better, like maybe it was beginning to fade. “Here.” I placed the water bottle between his neck and his back and held it there. He reached up with his right hand and held it in place.

It looked like it was doing the trick because his face finally slackened a little and he started to relax. Breathing unevenly, he looked up at me. “Still think…this is in my head?”

“No, of course not.” I said quietly. I never did. But I still felt his mental anguish was contributing to it.

The spasms finally passed and Johnny relaxed. He looked exhausted. He took my suggestion to get to bed, so I helped him off the couch and followed him back to his bedroom. He sat down on the bed heavily. He began to try to take off the cervical collar.

“Can you help me off with this thing?” he asked tiredly.

Releasing the fastener, I loosened it and slid the soft collar off. It seemed to be a relief, yet I could tell it was painful even for him to lie down. I refilled the hot water bottle with hotter water and situated it behind his shoulder. I offered to stay the night at his house, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I can manage.” He finally smiled at me. “Thanks, though.” His face turned serious. “For everything. I…I appreciate everything you’ve done, Roy.”

What had I done? Not much. If only there was more I could do. Or undo.

Before he left that night, Roy convinced me to try the nerve block. I really wasn’t looking forward to it, but figured maybe Roy was right. I desperately needed some relief. There were times that I’d actually felt suicidal lately, thinking I couldn’t stand the pain one more minute. I knew it had to get better sooner or later, but when I thought of how the doc said that symptoms could even persist for a year, that seemed too overwhelming.

Once again, Roy drove me in. I felt terrible for taking up so much of his time, time away from his family, but he never complained. I tell ya, if there’s one thing this whole ordeal has taught me, it’s what a true and devoted friend I have in Roy.

They took me up to x-ray, where the procedure would be performed, and a nurse started an IV. She did a terrible job; she had trouble getting a vein and after she jabbed me four times I was just about ready to grab the damn needle from her and do it myself. I think I probably could have been more successful than her with my eyes closed. I’d had practice, after all, when that snake bit me a few years ago, and despite feeling like shit at the time, I’d started a perfect IV on myself on the first try.

She finally got it in on the other arm, and injected me with a sedative. After a while, Dr. Gordon came in, along with an anesthesiologist. He introduced him, but I didn’t really register his name; I was just kind of floating along by then.

They had me lie down on my stomach, and my whole upper body screamed at me that this position was intolerable. They injected me in several places with a numbing agent, which ruined the nice trance-like state they’d put me in. That’s when I started to regret making the decision to do this.

After that, it got a little better. They used the x-rays to guide the needles to the right places then injected contrast dyes to confirm that the medicine only targeted the correct areas. When they had the right spots, they injected the anesthetic. After that, it was over. About thirty minutes later, they had me move to see if I was feeling any pain. I thought I was, though it seemed diminished. It was hard to tell; I still felt a little woozy. They gave me a pain diary to fill out every day and told me to limit my regular pain meds the first day.

It took about three hours. Roy was waiting for me, then took me home. I was sore where they did the injections, but used the ice they told me to use.

The next morning, I was feeling better. In fact, I had almost no pain, except for the ache in my arm. It was such an incredible relief that I felt like jumping for joy. Of course, that was out of the question given the condition I was in, but I took advantage of feeling better and went out and ran some errands I needed to do. I went to the bank, the post office, and the grocery.

The lack of pain did wonders for my attitude and as I walked, I took joy in just appreciating all the little things around me. The blue skies, the singing birds, the sounds of the kids playing in the schoolyard I walked by – all the things I hadn’t paid any attention to for weeks now, or had always taken for granted, was like music to my ears. This morning, all that stuff masked all the bad feelings I’d been having for so long.

Just doing those few things took most of the day. Having to walk and ride the bus places wasn’t very practical, but I decided I’d better get used to it. I was probably going to end up having to sell the house and move someplace else anyway, so I’d have to pick somewhere close to a lot of stores and the bus line. That wouldn’t be too difficult living in LA. I guess I could always buy a bicycle. Or maybe I wouldn’t end up living in LA at all. I didn’t know at that point. I was going to have to wait and find out how the lawsuit would work out. See if I had anything left to live on.

Thinking about the transportation problem made me think about my Rover. I hadn’t thought much about my car until now, and doing so brought a sudden wave of sadness through me. Roy had said it was totaled, but I hadn’t seen it yet for myself. I wondered if maybe it could be repaired after all, then maybe I could sell it. I’d get more money for it that way than what the insurance company was going to give me for it, which was less than the blue book cost. I was going to need all the cash I could get.

Something in the back of my mind told me that checking it out might not be the best idea, but I ignored that thought, feeling like I needed to see it.

I was feeling good again the next day and so I went to the police auto impoundment lot. The guy running the place looked at me knowingly when he saw me with the neck brace and cast and all. He didn’t have any trouble putting the pieces together. The name on his shirt was ‘Bob’.

In a monotone Bob asked, ‘Vehicle?’ All I had to say was Land Rover, and he knew immediately where it was. They weren’t real common cars, but I had a feeling by the look on his face that the condition of the car must have made an impression on him.

I followed him through the lot and I had to stop walking even before I got up close to it. As I stood there with my mouth hanging open, Bob silently walked away, leaving me there by myself to ogle the damage. Roy was right; it was totaled. I was shocked at the sight of it and my knees suddenly felt weak as I got a little closer.

It was like seeing an old friend lying there broken and dead, and it brought a pain to my heart almost as if it had been a living being. Now that sounds just plain crazy, even to me, but I couldn’t help the feelings that rushed through me.

I’ve had so many good times in that car, seen so much, done so much. The memories flowed out of me like blood hemorrhaging from a mortal wound. I should have left right then but a morbid curiosity took over and possessed me to walk all the way around the car, kind of like people have the tendency to do when they rubberneck at a freeway accident. Only I wasn’t detached. In my case, I felt like I had to, like I needed to stay and offer some sort of apology, or explanation to this barely recognizable piece of twisted metal and broken glass that had once been such a defining part of my life.

I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have gone around to the front of the car and saw what I saw. I stared at the indentation for a moment, saw the dark dried blood and God knows what else that had splattered all over, and found myself unable to stop what happened next.

My stomach lurched and everything I’d eaten that day spewed out of my mouth and onto the ground. I dropped to my knees and puked again, holding onto the front bumper for support. The sun beat down on me and I remained crouched there, head down, saliva dripping from my mouth, for a long time. When I finally thought I could stand I looked over and saw where my hand had been resting, right on top of Penny’s dried blood.

I pulled my hand away and then tears just flooded my eyes and started running down my face on their own accord, dropping down into the dirt, mixing with my emesis. It was like some invisible alien force had taken control of me and was wrenching fluids out of my body against my will. There was that exorcist again. It felt like my life being sucked out.

I got my foot under my leg and pushed myself up, and as the dry dust swirled around me I just stared upward, thinking about the life I’d taken away.

An auto wrecker came rattling my way, hauling another metal casualty of some other tragedy. I finally turned away, not being able to stand to look any longer. I wiped my face with my shirttail and shoved my sunglasses on. Trudging toward the exit, I didn’t even acknowledge the guy as he called to me; I was too drained.

I’d told myself the reason that I’d gone to see my car was to check out the damage, to say good-bye to an old friend. But I knew that wasn’t the real reason. Or at least not the only reason. Now when I think about it, I think that I did it as a reminder to myself that I shouldn’t forget what I’d done. I needed that visual reinforcement.

The guilt had eased up a tiny bit lately, maybe because time had gone by and the shock of it was fading, and I think my subconscious mind wanted me to know that I didn’t have a right to let the impact of it be diminished. It was like I was my own torturer. Well, it certainly did the trick. The indentation of her body and the blood on the front end of my car was now permanently embedded into my memory.

There’s no danger I’ll ever forget that.

I had the dream again tonight. In living color and stereo. I’m surprised the NBC peacock didn’t show up at the beginning of it. It was more real than it had ever been before.

This time I felt the body slamming into my car, and as it flipped up and over the hood, I saw her eyes, big and blue just before they squeezed shut and her face smashed into my windshield. Then the blood exploded and it washed over me like rain from the sky. I could taste it and smell it.

I woke up on the floor, having what felt like tachycardia. I was hyperventilating too. It took me the longest time to orient myself, and I scrambled around in the dark on my one good hand and my knees, terrified, trying to find the light. I knocked the lamp over and broke it, then finally crawled to the bathroom and found the switch there. It was absolutely the most awful nightmare I’d ever had. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

I was afraid to.

It’s been five days since the nerve block. I woke up feeling not quite right today. As the morning wore on, I figured out why. The pain is coming back. It got progressively worse as the day wore on. It started in my neck with a little twinge. Then came the headache. After that, it spread down into my shoulder and arm again. By dinnertime, it was in my back.

The feeling of dread engulfed me as I realized I was gonna have to learn to deal with it again. I’d actually felt optimistic the last few days that things were finally getting better, and it was a big blow to have to come to terms with this chronic pain. It scared me.

I’d always thought I had a pretty high pain tolerance. As much shit as has happened to me over the years; it seemed like I was always recovering from something; I’d always managed to get through it and get back on my feet again. But this – this is tougher than anything I’ve ever dealt with. I wonder sometimes if this is the punishment some higher being up there is doling out to me because of what I did. It’s a pretty effective punishment. I think I’d like to have the option of trading places with Penny.

Only I wouldn’t do that to a person.

Except I already did.

I don’t know how much longer I can handle it.

I never got off the couch today, except to get water, take my drugs, and go to the bathroom. Oh, and refill the hot water bag. It’s worse now – worse than it was even before the injections. I feel desperate.

Maybe I do need to see a shrink.

Or join a group.

Yeah, like AA, only it would be called MA. Murderers Anonymous.

How absurd.

Or pathetic.

Take your pick.

It’d be hard to find a time to go when I don’t hurt. I’ve got to do something. I can’t keep living like this.

I finally made the call. I pulled the little slip of paper Brackett had given me out of my desk drawer and called the shrink. At the very least, maybe he can help me figure out how to deal with this physical burden. And maybe Roy is partially right. Maybe if I can figure out a way to handle the guilt, some of the pain will go away. I want to believe that. I’m desperate. At this point I’ll try anything.

Mornings are the best time for me, so I made the appointment for ten-thirty. I know I should have asked Roy or someone to take me, but I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. Besides, I was getting the hang of the bus thing now. I think what works best is to take the pain meds the minute I get up; that way they have a chance to kick in before I move around too much and things are more manageable. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. When they don’t, I’ve always got my friend Jim.

I left the house at nine-thirty, allowing myself an hour to get to his office.

I was on the way to the bus stop when I saw a black dog come out of nowhere and dart across the street. My heart almost stopped because I saw the car that was headed straight for him and it looked like the driver wasn’t going to be able to stop.

I was right. Not only didn’t he stop, but the bastard didn’t even brake. He had to have seen the dog, but he kept right on going.

I saw the impact.

Only it wasn’t the impact of the dog with the car.

Images suddenly seized my mind that I had no control over. I stumbled backwards, bumping into something, as the street disappeared into darkness and I saw headlights from the 280Z coming at me. It smashed into me, and my whole body seemed to explode in pain, and things went blurry. Split seconds later, or even simultaneously, I’m not sure which, I saw the radio in the dashboard of my Rover and my hand reaching to touch the control, then the windshield in front of me and Penny’s face smashing into it in an burst of red.

I fell backward, landing on my butt and back, hitting the ground hard. I lay there dazed, trying to absorb the pain wracking me. When reality returned, I found myself on the sidewalk, several yards from the bus stop, alone, shaking like a leaf.

I sat there, trying to comprehend what had just happened, trying to figure out if it was real. I finally concluded it hadn’t been, at least not today, and that only about thirty seconds had passed. I looked up and saw the dog limping on the other side of the road, in the grass. Then he collapsed under a tree.

Thankfully having a good excuse to brush aside the cruel tricks my mind had just played on me, I scraped myself off the ground and hurried across the street. Kneeling beside the dog, I could see that he was shaking and in pain, probably already going into shock. He held his right front paw up and protectively toward his body, and blood was trickling out of a large gash there.

I looked around, seeing if there was anyone available to help. Why is it that whenever you need someone, no one’s around? I could see that I was going to have to take care of him myself. Conscious that the dog might bite me since he was in pain, I gently reached toward him, talking soothingly to him, same as I did for the kids I’ve worked on. He was panting, and fortunately made no move to attack me.

First thing I did was check for a collar and tags; there was none. Damn! If only he’d had some identification I could let the owner handle this.

There wasn’t time to wait. He was bleeding and I didn’t know if he had any other internal injuries. I hated to move him, but I couldn’t exactly call the paramedics and an ambulance to help him.

Well, you’re a paramedic, I thought; help him! A vision of Captain Stanley came to mind, standing over me and Roy when Henry the dog first waltzed into our station and we thought he was sick, and that prompted me to action.

I struggled out of my shirt, and laid it on the ground, put one foot on it and with my good hand tore it open. As carefully as I could I scooped my hand under the dog and tugged him on top of my shirt. Using my teeth and my right hand, somehow I managed to make a knot at the top of the shirt so that when I was done I had fashioned sort of a sling. It was the only way I could have lifted him. I would have used the one on my arm, but it was too small.

I don’t know what kind of dog he was, some kind of mixed breed, but he was cute. He had medium straight black fur with a large white spot on his chest and another at the tip of his tail. He was medium-sized, about twenty-five pounds, but I could feel his ribs through his skin; he obviously hadn’t eaten too much lately.

He didn’t fight me when I picked him up, only whimpered a bit. I had a difficult time holding him even with my good arm, and feared that he’d slip out of the sling. I remembered seeing a vet clinic not too far from where we were, about six blocks or so, so I headed in that direction.

Fortunately, it ended up being closer than I thought and I got him there pretty quickly. It was a relief when the vet assistant finally took him from my arms and into an exam room. I told her he’d been hit by a car and they examined him immediately. After fitting a muzzle around his mouth, they got an IV started and immobilized his leg.

The vet’s name was Joan Kennedy. She looked at me a little quizzically, then I realized how strange it must be to see a disheveled looking shirtless guy with a cervical collar around his neck and a cast on his arm walk in with an injured dog in a homemade sling.

“You two make a good pair,” she said lightly, glancing at my cast and sling as she fitted the stethoscope under the dog’s belly.

“Oh, well, he’s not my dog,” I said, as if that explained anything.

She raised her eyebrows at me, and I explained that I’d just been the witness, that I didn’t know who the dog belonged to.

She nodded and frowned a bit as she listened to his heartbeat. She took her time palpating the dog’s underside, carefully running her fingers all along his body. She finished her exam and then told me that it appeared the dog’s leg was broken and that an x-ray would be needed for further evaluation. She said that right now there didn’t appear to be any internal injuries, but that she’d like to take more x-rays to be sure and that he’d need to be under observation for at least a day or two to make sure he was all right.

She looked up at me. “What would you like us to do?” she asked.

I just stared at her blankly, not quite getting what she was after. It seemed a stupid question when it was obvious what needed to be done.

Then she made it clearer. “Are you going to be paying for the dog’s care?”

Oh. Crap. Pay for the dog? I didn’t have the money. He wasn’t even mine. My mind started to race. What if I said no? “Well,” I finally said, “I don’t know if I can afford it.” I knew I couldn’t afford it, but I asked anyway. “Uh, how much is it going to cost?”

She had her assistant go run the numbers and a few minutes later, she came back with a paper in her hand with everything listed. So far, with just the IV, the exam and the doctor visit, the total was $65.00. The x-rays and hospitalization would be another $100.00. Then there was surgery, which he likely needed, by the looks of his leg. That, she said, could run anywhere from $200.00 to $1000.00 dollars, including anesthesia, blood work, and pain medication, depending on what the x-rays showed and how complicated the surgery would be.

I staggered sideways a bit, caught off guard at the cost. There was no way. I couldn’t even afford the $65.00. I was already in debt up to my eyeballs with some of my own hospital bills and Barney’s bills coming in. I just stood there and my mouth went dry. I looked down at the dog, then back up at her. “What…what happens if I say I can’t afford it?”

She looked at me sadly. “I’m afraid we’d have to euthanize him,” she said. “That would be the kindest thing, unless somebody claimed him, or you could find the owner.”

“Euthanize?” I said, shocked. “But he’s…you’d…” I was at a loss for words. “Couldn’t you take him, maybe find a home for him?”

She shook her head. “We’ve got four dogs back there right now and two mother cats with kittens that we’re trying to find homes for for other clients,” she explained. “We don’t have the room, and we can’t afford to take on any more animals.”

Oh man. I didn’t know what to do. I stood there, trying to figure out a solution, when I felt something wet on my fingers. I looked down, and the dog was licking my hand, his pink tongue sliding between the straps of the muzzle, its big brown eyes staring at me kindly, as if he was begging me to help him.

Just then, it occurred to me what had happened to this dog. It was like an omen or something. He’d been hit by a car. I knew what that was like. I’d been hit by a car too. Today had brought that memory back clearly. How would I have liked it if Roy had looked at Dr. Early that night and said, ‘Gee Doc, it’s too expensive to operate on Johnny. You’ll just have to euthanize him.’ 

The dog needed help. I was the only one available to help him. And I thought of Penny. I’d hit her with my car. I’d taken her life. If I didn’t help this dog, he’d lose his life too. I didn’t want that responsibility.

I took a deep breath, knowing what I was about to say was going to get me in trouble.

“You don’t take credit cards, do you?”

She smiled widely at me, nodding.

They did the surgery the next morning.

Chet called me tonight to say hello and see if I needed anything. The timing couldn’t have been better.

“Yeah, I said. Can you take me to the vet tomorrow?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, “Sure, Gage. So you finally figured out which type of doctor was best for you, huh?”

I sighed. “Very funny.” Then I told him about the dog and that he was being released from the animal hospital tomorrow and that I could use some help transporting him. I’d been wracking my brain to figure out how I was gonna get him home since they surely wouldn’t let him on the bus.

Chet said it was no problem, and we made arrangements for him to come by around ten o’clock.

I slept terrible tonight. What else is new?

Dreams of cars hitting me, the dog, and me running Penny down tortured me all night. It was almost constant; every time I found myself asleep for more than a half hour or so I had the dreams. Sometimes the incidences were separate; sometimes they were blended together. About five am, I had a really vivid one where I hit Penny with my car.

It seemed so real, like that night; it was raining, and my windshield wipers were slapping back and forth, and I was listening to a song on the radio. I dreamed seeing my hand on the stereo dials, then when I looked up, I saw a person in the road – right in front of me – and I hit her. Then there was the blood everywhere and the car spinning around, then a crash. Then I was lying in the street, and the dog was lying next to me in a pool of blood, and I looked up at my car, and there was a body lying on the hood – Penny’s body. I woke up right then thinking I was going to be sick. I was really shaky and I sat there in bed for a long time trying to analyze the dream, much as I didn’t want to, but I thought maybe I was beginning to remember what happened that night. Only the dog wasn’t there, and I wasn’t lying in the street, so I don’t know if what I had dreamt had any reality to it or not. I decided not to go back to bed after that. I’d had enough.

Chet came by in his van the next morning along with a couple of cups of coffee and a box of donuts, which couldn’t have hit the spot better. I hadn’t been eating very well, mostly because I’m never hungry, and not that donuts are exactly health food, but they tasted better than anything I’d eaten in a while. He even bought the jelly ones ‘cause he knew I liked ‘em. As much as a jerk that Chet can be at times, he does possess some shining moments that always seems to tip the scale in his favor. (He probably thinks the same thing about me.)

We went in to the vet clinic together and I sat down to wait for them to bring the dog out. Wendy, as I found out was the vet assistant’s name, came out to talk to me. She had a clipboard in her hand.

“We forgot to ask you the other day,” she said, “what would you like to put down for the dog’s name?”

Name? I was gonna have to name him too? Now that was taking it one step closer to making him my dog, and I didn’t want a dog. I had a hard enough time taking care of myself without caring for an animal. And animals were expensive, and I didn’t have any money to spare. “I don’t know,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”

Chet chimed in. “Doesn’t matter? C’mon Gage, don’t give a lame answer like that. Give the poor dog a name. I mean, your mother had the decency to name you, didn’t she? Even if she did use ‘Roderick’ for your middle name,” he drawled.

I glared at him, not being deft enough to come up with anything better than, “Shut up, Kelly.” I looked at Wendy and said, “You got any suggestions?”

She looked around. “Well…how about ‘Chance’, since you just gave him a second one?”

Chance. Huh. That was catchy. It was as good a name as any. Chet gave it his approval too, nodding that he thought it was appropriate. “Okay,” I said. “Chance it is.”

She scribbled it down on the paperwork, then handed it to me to sign at the bottom. On it were all the charges for what they’d done during the three days. My mind reeled as I looked at the bottom line and my heart skipped a beat. $585.00. Had I really agreed to that?

Chet, looking over my shoulder, whistled, and I pulled the paperwork away from him.

“Jeez, Gage. How are you going to afford that?”

I looked at him with a sick feeling in my stomach. I pulled out my wallet and withdrew that little magic plastic card.

“Visa,” I said.

They brought the dog out to me then and put him in my lap. He had a cast all the way up his front left leg, and he just laid there sort of limply, looking up at me. “Hey, boy, how’re you doin’?” I asked. He was a cute dog.

Chet eyed both our casts and smiled at Wendy. “Well they say that most owners look like their pets, but this is uncanny,” he quipped.

“Ha-ha-ha-,” I muttered under my breath. “He’s not my dog, Kelly.”

“So what are you gonna do with him?”

I sighed. I hadn’t figured that out yet. I’d already put “Found Dog” signs up around the area where he was hit, but so far no one had called me. I didn’t know what else to do. “I’ll have to find him a home somehow.”

Chet took a step back. “Well, don’t look at me, Gage.”

“I wasn’t lookin’ at you, Chet. Don’t worry, I wasn’t even gonna bother to ask. You, or any of the guys.” I knew it would be a waste of time to ask the guys at the station if they were interested in adopting the dog. I’d tried that before when I watched Paula Clayton’s dog a few years ago. Even when I was ready to get kicked out of my apartment, no one would help me out with boarding her dog – even for a few days until Paula got back.

“Okay, well, just wanted to be clear.”

I ignored him and looked at Wendy. “How can I find him a home?”

“Well, we could put up a ‘free to good home’ notice in our office here. If you brought in a picture of him it would help. I might also suggest you try the Humane Society, although I can’t guarantee anything. You’d better wait until he heals up though. That’ll make him easier to adopt.”

“Okay,” I said. That meant I had to take him home, which I didn’t want to do, but I had no choice. Wendy asked me if I had a crate because he needed to be kept immobile as much as possible for several days. Of course I didn’t have one, so she let me borrow one from their office and said I could return it when I brought him back in for his check up.

Chet and I left, stopping at the grocery to pick up some dog food and some dog dishes. I thanked Chet for his help and he dropped Chance and I back off at my house.

Chet told me about the dog Johnny found the next day when we were on shift. I wasn’t  surprised, given Gage’s propensity to attract stray animals. Actually, I was kind of glad. I thought maybe a dog would be good for Johnny. At the same time I thought about the circumstances under which Johnny attained the dog and wondered how that was affecting him.

It couldn’t have been easy for him to have watched that dog get hit. It would not only be a reminder of the time he was a victim of a hit and run accident just a short year ago, but also of the more recent accident he’d just had resulting in a fatality. I wanted to see how he was doing, so I called him on the pretense that I wanted to see his dog.

“It’s not my dog,” he said on the phone, “but, sure, you can come by.”

So I stopped by the next morning after going home to see Joanne and have breakfast.

He was a nice dog, but pretty subdued. He shied away from me when I tried to pet him, like he was afraid I was going to hurt him. He only let Johnny pet him, and even Johnny had a hard time getting him to come out of his cage, but finally was able to coax him out. With a groan, he scooped up the dog in his right arm and sat down with him in his lap.

It was funny. They both looked like each other. The black dog and Johnny with his dark hair – both with casts on their left arms – both with the same somber expressions on their faces.

“I think you should keep him,” I stated.

“Roy, I can’t afford a dog right now.”

Chance looked up at Johnny with a mournful stare, as if he understood what he was saying.

“They don’t cost much, just dog food and some shots every now and then.”

“Don’t cost much, huh?” He picked up the vet bill off the end table and passed it to me.

Five hundred and eight five dollars! I was floored. “Holy sh…how’d you pay this?” I asked.

“Visa,” he said dejectedly.

“Johnny…” I already knew the bills coming in from Barney and the hospital were overloading him. He didn’t need this on top of it.

“Don’t say it, Roy. I know. I was stupid to pay it. But I just couldn’t…” His voice trailed off.

“It wasn’t stupid,” I said quietly. I’d like to think that I would have done the same thing, but I can’t say for sure. Johnny’s always been a sucker for animals. This was just one of those times that showed what a big heart my partner has. I wasn’t going to fault him for it. Besides, I imagined that helping the dog helped him too – in more ways then one.

I didn’t exactly have an overabundance of spare cash myself, but now I wondered if I should offer to help him out. I know he would never ask, but how would he take it if I offered a loan? I decided to give it a chance. “Listen, Johnny, uh, I know all these expenses have got to be a burden on you right now…I could loan you a little if – ”

“No.” He cut me off, holding up his hand. “Thanks, Roy, but I can manage. I’ll just have to…pay it off slowly.”

“Well,” I said, “you’ve already made an investment in him.” I nodded toward the dog. “From here on out he probably won’t cost much. Maybe you should just keep him.” I looked at the two of them and smiled wryly. “I think you’re a perfect match.”

Johnny snorted.

I chuckled. “I guess you’ll have to find someone to let him out when you go back to work though.”

Johnny’s smile fell away and he looked at me hesitantly. There was this bleak look in his eyes that instantly felt foreboding.

We hadn’t talked about it yet, because I wasn’t anywhere near being able to return to work yet, but I realized that I better tell him, that he deserved to know. I’d thought about this quite a bit and knew it was the only decision I could make. “Roy,” I said, “I’m not gonna be coming back to work. At least, not back to 51’s.”

He just sort of stared at me with a look like a deer caught in headlights. “What? What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I can’t drive, Roy.”

Roy’s shoulders relaxed a little, like that explained it. “Well I know that,” he said. “But it’s only for six months. You’ll get your license back soon.”

I looked him right in the eyes now to make sure he understood. “Roy, I’m not going to get behind the wheel of a car again. Ever.”

Roy looked stunned. I could almost see the gears turning in his mind. “But you need to be able to drive the squad…” Realization was beginning to sink in.

Had the situation been funny, I might have laughed at his comment. I rarely drove the squad anyway, except to the hospital on runs where Roy rode in with the patient. Still, I couldn’t do the job if I didn’t drive, even that little bit. “Exactly,” I said, driving his point home.

Even though he tried to hide it, Roy’s face changed from mortified to stricken, and a pain went through my heart that was almost physical. He’d just figured out that he was going to lose his partner. I remembered what that felt like, all the way back to the time Roy almost decided to quit being a paramedic and become and engineer, but didn’t. Emotion suddenly welled up in me and I swallowed hard to choke it down, because it drove home the fact for me too that our partnership was breaking up. For good.

            A lot of thoughts passed wordlessly between us right then as we looked at each other. Neither of us needed to say anything out loud to know what the other was thinking.

            Finally, Roy gave it one last-ditch effort, but I think he knew I wasn’t going to change my mind. He looked at me like he dreaded hearing my response. “You can’t be serious.”

            “I am. Dead serious.” How fitting those words were.

I’ll never drive again – especially the squad. I’d never be able to trust myself. Which means, my paramedic career is over. I’ve given careful consideration to what a recipe for disaster it would be – me, streaming through traffic at top speed, sirens blaring. I could hit someone else.

Ironic how all these years I practically begged Roy to drive and he wouldn’t let me.

Maybe he’d known something I hadn’t.

I was stunned. But I could tell that this was one time in my relationship with Johnny that there was no convincing him to change his mind. He was serious. I could see it in his face; just the set of his jaw told me he’d never budge. And I didn’t really feel I had the right to try to talk him out of it. I’d be a hypocrite, because I know darn well that if this had happened to me I’d never get behind the wheel of a car again either.

If he wasn’t going to drive, he couldn’t do the job. That meant he couldn’t be a paramedic any more. I suddenly felt awful that I’d never let Johnny drive the squad. What was worse was that I knew that he was probably thinking I’d had a reason behind that, and that the reason was that I didn’t trust him to drive, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. No words were going to be able to rectify that now.

We sat in silence, both looking in different directions, for what seemed like an eternity. “What will you do then?” I asked him quietly.

Roy asked me what I was going to do.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Stay on disability until I can work again. I guess I can still be a fireman.” If I ever have enough strength or movement in my arm to pull a hose again. “Maybe I can sign on with a station closer to home…”

Home. I wasn’t sure I was gonna have a home too much longer. I might need to sell it to get the equity out of it… “If I could find a way to get to work, I could still ride an engine.”

“Yeah,” Roy said very quietly.

I don’t think I’d feel right calling myself a paramedic anyway. Not after what I did.

I wondered what station would want me. Maybe I’d be better off starting somewhere fresh where no one knew me, somewhere other than LA that wouldn’t remind me of all this all the time. Maybe that’s what I needed. But it would be really hard moving away from my friends. I decided not to voice those thoughts.

The next time I looked up at Roy, his face had changed. He had this thoughtful expression and suddenly his eyes got a little wider like he was a kid in a toy store who’d just seen the toy he’d been wanting for his birthday.

“Johnny,” he said suddenly, “you may not have to go back to hauling hose.”

Johnny just looked at me.

An idea had come to me that I thought was pretty good. Now I just had to sell him on it.

“What are you getting at?” he asked.

I just decided to blurt it out. “You can be a captain.”

Total incomprehension. “Huh?”

I leaned toward him. “You’re not required to drive to be a captain. At least not that I know of. While you’re home recuperating, study for the Captain’s exam. Then take the test. Hell, maybe we could do it together. You know we’ve talked about it…”

His face fell and he shook his head slowly.

“Why not? Think about it. You’d be a fine captain.”

“Roy, thank you.” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “I appreciate that. But,” he looked away from me uncomfortably, “I don’t think I’d be a very good role model.”

Now that surprised me coming from Gage. I’d never known Johnny to have a lack of confidence or a lack of ability to lead. “What are you talking about? You’d be a great role model. I ought to know, don’t you think? I’ve worked with you for almost six years.”

Shame was the next emotion to cross his face, and it was painful to see. “Roy, to be a captain, you have to have the respect of the men under you. I don’t think a group of guys would want to be led by a…a murderer.”

I couldn’t help it then; I sort of lost it. “Damn it, Johnny, you’re NOT a murderer. You’re a man who had an accident. An accident that any one of us could have had on a rainy night on a deserted road where no one in their right mind would normally be out walking in the dark, but just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve watched you torture and blame yourself now for almost two months for something that I’ll never be convinced was your fault. Now I know you feel bad – ”

“Bad’s not quite the word, Roy.”

I knew that had sounded crass. But he had to know what I meant. “You’re right. And I’m sorry, Johnny. There are likely no words to describe how you must feel, and I understand that. I…just don’t know how to say it.” I paused a moment, growing frustrated, trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words. It wasn’t easy; I’ve never been that good at expressing my feelings.

Johnny was staring down into his lap.

The next words came from my heart. “Johnny…if you let life pass you by over this…it’d be a terrible loss.” In more ways than one, I didn’t add.

My tone might have sounded a little desperate to him, and it was. I felt like I had to save him from going so far down into a pit that he’d never be able to climb out. Maybe it was just too soon for this speech, or maybe it would never be appropriate. Maybe Johnny would never be able to forgive himself.

His eyes rose to meet mine and they looked almost as desperate as I felt.

“Johnny, just…do me a favor and promise me you won’t punish yourself the rest of your life. Remember, you’ve got a lot to give, partner.”

His right elbow went to rest on the back of the couch and he started massaging his eyes with his right hand. I could see the headache plainly in his face. God, when was he ever going to get some relief?

He sighed and smiled a small smile at me. “Thanks, Roy,” he said quietly.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just…think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

I got a bill from Barney today, and I wondered what in the hell was going on with the lawsuits. The dog had taken my mind off them for a while, but now I was beginning to worry again. I decided to call him.

He said that they were still in the negotiation process, that the insurance company was preparing to make the plaintiffs an offer. He said it could take weeks or maybe even months, that they were in the process of reviewing police reports and interviewing the victims and the doctors who treated Gary Goldstein at the hospital for his knee. He’s the guy that hit me. Barney also said that someone from the insurance company would be contacting me soon to interview me about the accident. I wasn’t looking forward to that.

I spent the next two days lying around. My arm ached constantly; it seemed to pulse in time to the pounding in the left side of my head.

Chance lay in his cage most of the time; he didn’t seem to want to be up and around any more than I did. I only got up to let him out to go to the bathroom and to fill his food and water bowls. Sometimes he came over and lay on the bed with me or on the couch, but that was about the extent of his mobility, which was probably for the best, because the vet had said he shouldn’t be too active.

The pain wasn’t as bad the next day. I looked down at Chance in his cage. He seemed so despondent. He’d hardly touched the dog food I gave him.

“This is no kind of life for you,” I said to him. “Being here with me, you need a kid to play with you and a family to belong to.” But man, who was gonna want a dog that seemed so depressed and scared all the time. I wondered what kind of life he’d had before I found him.

It’d been a week since I found him, and no one had called to claim him. I had to do something. Since my pain seemed to be under control for the time being, I decided to go down to the animal shelter and talk to them about getting him adopted.

I wish I could have taken Chance with me, but I was pretty sure they wouldn’t let him on the bus, and I didn’t want to bother Chet again.

The shelter was a busy place. I walked through the double doors into a wide area with a receiving desk. When I asked where to go to talk to someone about bringing the dog here for adoption, I was directed toward that desk.

There were several people lined up there, all with animals in their arms or on leashes. I got in line behind a guy with a cat in a plastic carrier. He had sort of a hard expression and looked like he’d rather be anyplace else but here.

I peered into the cage and saw a beautiful long-haired calico cat who looked terrified. “She a stray?” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “She’s my kids’ cat.”

I couldn’t figure out why he’d bring in the family pet to leave here. He must have seen the questioning look on my face because then he said, “We can’t deal with her any more. She keeps throwing up all the time. Always puking.”

Huh. I knew sometimes cats got hairballs but maybe there was something else wrong. “Have you tried taking her to a vet?” I asked.

“Yeah. The vet can’t figure out what’s wrong. It’s been going on for months. The damn thing threw up in my shoes this morning. I’ve had enough of it.”

The cat emitted a long pitiful meow then and I glanced back into the cage at her. My heart clenched when I looked into her amber eyes. Here was this beautiful cat who one day has a home and now the next gets discarded because there’s something physically wrong with her.

A woman in front of him without an animal turned to him and said, “You know they’ll just euthanize her, don’t you?”

The guy just shrugged. “It’s just a cat,” he said.

Euthanize? Would they put the cat to sleep? How did she know? I looked back down at the cat again and felt sick for the animal. I hoped she was wrong. I decided to ask her because I sure didn’t want to bring Chance here if they were just going to put him to sleep.

I leaned toward her a bit. “What makes you think they’re gonna euthanize his cat?”

“I’ve been a shelter volunteer for years,” she said. “Not here, but I’ve worked at several others. There just isn’t room for them all. And here at the Humane Society they euthanize probably about eighty percent of the animals that come through these doors, particularly at this time of year when dozens of kittens and puppies are being born. That cat,” she gestured toward the man’s, “doesn’t have much of a chance of being adopted since she’s an adult and also has a medical problem.”

I looked at the cat again and I felt like someone had reached into my chest and grabbed my heart, and was squeezing and twisting it. I wanted to snatch the cage out of the guy’s hand and say I would take her. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I already had an animal that needed a home.

I didn’t know what to do. I decided to stay in line anyway and at least talk to them about Chance. Maybe…maybe she was wrong. Maybe they’d be able to take him in.

But as I stood in line and watched one person after another surrender their animal I began to realize that the woman in line was right. How could they take in this many animals day after day after day? The only way they could would be if they adopted out just as many. And while there were people in here looking to adopt, there were more out here dropping their animals off.

I began to feel despaired. I finally got to the front of the line and got my chance to tell them about Chance. They said yes, they would take him. But when I asked whether he’d get a chance to be adopted or if they would euthanize him, the woman just sort of stared at me and said, “I’m sorry, but there’s no way I’d be able to guarantee anything.”

I tried another tactic. “Well, do you have some sort of a grace period or something, like, if you can’t adopt him out after a couple of weeks I could come pick him up?” I tried my best charming grin on her and it didn’t even crack the surface. I got the feeling that she’d had lots of practice at keeping her expression as unmoving as concrete.

“I’m sorry, but once you surrender an animal to us, that’s it. There’s no grace period.”

Chance’s chances were slowly dwindling and I started to feel desperate. “Well, if I do leave him here, would I be able to find out if he got a home?”  

Again, she shook her head. “It’s against our policy. You’d just have to come here and see for yourself if he was here.”
            “Well how would I know if he got a home or if he got euthanized?” I asked, getting a little exasperated.

She shrugged. “You wouldn’t.”

Oh man. I thanked the lady and got out of line. I walked around in the lobby area trying to figure out what to do. I didn’t want to bring Chance here. After everything he’d been through I didn’t want to see them put him to sleep. That wasn’t fair. And not only that, all the money I just spent on him would have been for nothing.

Just then a young couple with a little boy walked through the doors with a tan colored dog on a leash. Apparently they’d just adopted him. They looked happy. The dog looked happy too. It was wagging its tail and his tongue was hanging out of his mouth and the boy was practically jumping up and down with excitement. I looked from them to the people in line and shook my head.

I was just getting ready to leave when something possessed me to stay. I glanced through the doors that the family had come through and wanted to see what was on the other side. I figured maybe if I could see where the dogs were and how many there were, I might be able to decide if I should leave Chance here. Maybe there would be some empty cages or something.

I went through, instantly hearing a lot of barking. The hallway was long and wide, and as I got farther down I saw doorways on both sides leading to the animals’ rooms.

I entered the first one I came to and saw a room full of cages with cats. They were stacked, one up, one down, and there must have been about thirty of them. There were no empty cages. Most of the cats were just sitting huddled, some near the front, some obviously scared and hiding in the back. There were all different kinds; some even looked purebred. A couple of people were looking around, poking their fingers between the bars to pet them. A few of the cats were meowing, but most were quiet, some sleeping. Some were actually lying in their litter boxes, maybe trying to get some sort of comfort from being enclosed.

I walked around, looking at them all, finding that I had to tear my eyes away from theirs, not being able to stand to see their hopefulness, or worse, their hopelessness. Some perked up as I walked by, as if anticipating I would be the one to reach in and take them. Guilt consumed me and my heart ached even more. It got to me, and I wondered how the people who worked here could stand it.

 I left that room and went on to the next. It too was full of cats, and I decided I’d seen enough desperate faces, so I went on by to the next room, which housed some of the dogs.

The barking became almost deafening when I walked in, and I found that this room also, had no empty cages. The enclosures were bigger here and sat on the floor, lined with newspaper. Most of them were a mess because the dogs got so excited when people came in that they jumped around, spilling their food and water in the process of trying to get people to notice them.

There were dogs of all different breeds and sizes; each one’s eyes seemed to bore into mine, as if they were expecting me to be the one to rescue them.

This was hard. Guilt was flowing full force. How could I bring Chance here when there were so many other dogs that needed homes? It would mean that one of them wouldn’t get adopted. Or maybe it would mean another dog would get euthanized in place of Chance.

But darn it, I didn’t want a dog right now. I felt so overwhelmed with my own life that adding one more thing to my plate just seemed impossible. Between the constant pain, trying to cope with the guilt, and the financial worries, I felt like I would explode if one more thing were dumped on top of me. Well, I guess it already had been.

Chance wasn’t just any dog. He was an injured dog, one that needed special care and attention, attention I felt incapable of giving. Or maybe I wasn’t. I mean, I’d already taken care of him, hadn’t I? But I was already worried that I might not even have enough money to live on myself without trying to feed a dog. The last thing I needed was something dependent on me. But I felt guilty for feeling that way. All I could think about was myself; maybe I should think about something else. There were others in need beside myself, I thought. Why was I being so selfish?

Man. This is a real downer. All these dogs looking at me. All of them wanting attention, just a little pat or a scratch. I want to turn and leave. But I can’t.

I squatted down in front of one of the cages and reached in to pet a small dog. Pretty soon I was going around and petting all of them. Each one loved it and it made me feel better that I’d been able to offer them something.

Just then a woman walked in. Her arms were full of newspapers with a box stacked on top. She was short, about four foot eleven, kinda plump, and in her late thirties I estimated. She had straight blonde hair pulled back into a bun, and her cheeks were sort of flushed. She smiled a big smile at me and said hello and I liked her instantly. She had one of those faces that just looked friendly and kind and put you at ease. She started talking to all the dogs, throwing treats in each cage before she opened them. You could tell she really loved those animals.

She asked if she could help me and I said no, figuring she was assuming I was looking for a dog to adopt. I hung around for a while and we started to talk. Her name was Jane. I found out she was the lead volunteer here and she told me a little about the shelter and about how some of the dogs came to be here. I told her about Chance and she commiserated, telling me about her eight dogs and four cats. Some she had rescued from the shelter, some she had rescued from abuse.

After she took care of some of the cages, she got some pills out, explaining that some of the dogs needed medication. She was good with them and they took the pills with no problems. I saw her get out a syringe then, and she explained that two of the dogs needed injections.

“This is the part I hate,” she said. She’d received special training to do it, but it still got to her when she had to inject them.

On impulse, I offered, “I could do it for you.”

She looked at me sort of warily and so I pulled out my wallet and showed her my credentials. “I’m a…was a…um, am…a paramedic.”

She laughed, still a little unsure. “Well, are you, or aren’t you?” she asked.

I felt stupid then. “I am. I mean, I’m not right now,” obviously, I meant, because she noticed the cast, the sling, and the cervical collar. “Anyway, I’d be happy to do it for you if you like.”
            “Can you do it with only one arm?”

“You hold the dog, and I can give the injection one-handed,” I said.

So she did. And I did. It was simple, and I did both dogs, for which she was really grateful.

We talked a while longer. She asked what happened to me, and I just told her I’d been in a car accident. I certainly wasn’t about to get into any details with a stranger. I steered our conversation back to Chance and I asked her what she thought I should do.

“Tell you what,” she said. “We take several of the animals to the mall on Saturdays for adoptions. Why don’t you bring Chance with you and meet us there. If he gets adopted, then the money will go to the shelter. It’ll help both of us.”

Now that sounded like the best idea I’d heard in a long time. I agreed, found out which shopping mall she was talking about, and left there feeling much more optimistic than when I’d left.

Chet dropped me and Chance off at the mall Saturday morning. I hung around Jane the whole time, listening to her talk to people about the animals and the shelter. After a while I started helping people too. I answered some basic questions and handed out literature about the shelter. Six animals got adopted, but not Chance. I thought for sure someone would see his bandaged paw and feel sorry for him, but maybe they saw that bandaged paw and decided he was too much trouble.

Jane said it was a good day, and was happy at the adoption rate. Me, I was disappointed. At least I told myself I was. I tried all day not to think about how I was gonna feel if someone picked Chance, then took him away. That’s when it hit me how lonely I would feel without him. I really wanted him to have a good home. But at the same time, a strong part of me wished he wouldn’t get adopted. Well anyway, I got my wish.

I helped Jane and the other volunteers clean up as much as I could, given I only had one hand, then went to find a phone to call Chet to pick me up. He didn’t answer; I guess he was out, and I was stuck.

By this time of the day I had started not to feel too good and I needed to rest. My back and neck were killing me and my arm ached. I wanted nothing more than to be out of there and back home, and now I had no way to get there.

Then Jane offered me a ride home. I must have looked rough because she asked me if I was feeling all right. I felt a little uncomfortable taking advantage of her generosity, but she insisted, and when I found out she only lived a few miles away, I didn’t feel as guilty about taking her up on her offer. She’s a really nice person.

The insurance company called me this week and asked if I could come in to talk to them. I dreaded it, but I had no choice. So I went down to their office on Wednesday. It didn’t take long, since I still didn’t have any details to give them. They sure were tight-lipped about the settlement. They couldn’t tell me how much or when it might be. It’s driving me crazy wondering what’s going to happen.

I’ve been miserable all week.

I’m so tired of being in pain. I try to prepare myself for the long haul, that I might have to put up with this for months, but when I think about that it makes it even harder just to get through another day.

Roy took me to my latest appointment with Brackett to have my arm checked. If I have any more x-rays I’m gonna start to glow. They shot about five different angles. The Doc said that the bones are in alignment but there are still gaps. Same as last time.

Roy tried to convince me to see Dr. Gordon again and ask about setting up another appointment for another nerve block, but I’m not going. I honestly don’t think there’s anything anyone can do for me. I think I’m just gonna have to gut it out.

Roy didn’t look happy. I think he gets frustrated when he can’t fix things. I know his intentions are good, but sometimes things seem just a little too black and white for him. I don’t think he understands that there just might not be solutions to all my problems.

I’ve gotta be careful not to complain to Roy anymore; I think my problems are stressing him out. Ever since our conversation about me not coming back to 51’s, things have been a little strained between us. He’s probably worried about who he’s gonna get for a new permanent partner. I would be anyway. I feel bad about it, feel like I let him down.

I miss Monica. I haven’t heard from her in weeks and I haven’t bothered to call her either. I try to tell myself that it’s the best thing, that she wouldn’t have wanted to continue our relationship after what happened, and that I saved her from having to be the one to break it off. I’d let her save face. But that wasn’t really true and I knew it. She’d never given me any indication that she wanted to end things. More the opposite, she went out of her way to be loving and kind when I got out of the hospital.

I think about the night she came over after I left Roy’s the second time. She brought me dinner. I was in a lot of pain. Everything hurt. I was exhausted because of trying to sleep sitting up. I couldn’t do anything. I needed a shower and clean hair and a shave and couldn’t manage it.

That night she helped me into a hot tub of water and climbed in behind me. I leaned against her and she washed my hair for me. She took the hot water and poured cups of it over my shoulders and back over and over again. It felt incredible. Then she climbed around to face me, and to my surprise, straddled me. She reached for my shaving cream, slowly lathering my face, and shaving it, being extra careful of the bruises Penny’s father had inflicted. I couldn’t believe how erotic that was and how unselfishly she gave herself to me that night. I closed my eyes and she planted these little feather kisses all over my face while I experienced this incredible release that almost brought tears to my eyes.

I haven’t felt that good since that night.

I wonder if I ever will again.

Why did I let her go?

Part 4