Chapter 11

I picked her up on time, but had to wait while she was getting ready. We were an hour late for dinner and she bitched about her husband, his slut of a secretary, how he was behind on child support, how demanding her job as assistant curator of an art gallery was and didn’t seem to approve of much of anything. I listened, hoping that she’d wind down at some point and recognized some of my own anger after Linda and Billy came out in the things she was saying.

We were in the middle of dessert when she finally asked me about myself. I took the opportunity and started talking about growing up in Denver, going to college out here and then moving to Birmingham and working in Austin before accepting the job in LA. I glossed over the reasons I moved to Birmingham, but gave her what I thought was a pleasant rundown of what life had been like in Alabama and Texas.

She’d tried to stay with the conversation, but I could see that she was just nodding her head while she checked out of the conversation, so I let the topic die. I asked about her daughter politely and she talked about her some, but that led back to a rant about the child-support that her husband and that somehow merged into a discussion I didn’t want to have where I heard all about his performance in the bedroom. By the end of dinner, I was praying for a call from someone, ANYONE, to get me out of this date.

It wasn’t meant to be. I was forced to suffer through her anger as she talked through the play we went to see after dinner. I kept a wooden smile on my face through it all. I don’t know how. I just thought that I was inching closer to the end of the night and then I could flee with my dignity in tact.

“So, no girlfriends of your own to complain about?” she asked finally. “Typical. Marge WOULD set me up with a virgin.” Her disgust had started to ooze through the pores of her mask after the wine we’d had with dinner. I limited myself to a glass, but she’d had a few and was rapidly getting out of control of her temper.

“My last relationship didn’t end so well,” I said delicately. “I thought it would put a damper on the night.”

“She dumped you, huh? Bigger cock or bigger bank account?” she demanded with what she must have thought was a shrewd look into the ultimate truths of life.

I decided to take a page out of Eve’s book and be blunt. “We were in a car crash. An idiot ran a red light and rammed into the side of the car. She lived long enough to apologize to me for leaving me to find my own way and then she died while I screamed for help, pinned in the car with her.” I said bluntly, staring at her and daring her to say something jaded or cocky about it.

The blood drained out of her face and she looked shocked. Most people did when they found out. At least it sobered her up and shut her mouth. After the play, I took her home and walked her to her door. I thanked her for the lovely evening and then shook her hand before she let herself in. She was shaken and the handshake told her that I had no interest in a second date.

I avoided talking to anyone at work for a few days until her friend cornered me and asked me about it. “She didn’t tell you?” I asked surprised.

“Just that she wasn’t sure when she’d see you again,” she said. “How did it go?”

I sighed. “It was awful,” I admitted. “She ranted about her husband all night. I know exactly how much he owes her for child-support, how cheap he is, how slutty his secretary is, how short his penis is, how quickly he cums during sex, how terrible he is at oral, how annoying his laugh is, how he leaves the toilet seat up, how he ... Well, you get the idea. She talked about herself all through dinner, mentally checked out when I talked and when the wine settled in, she turned nasty.”

Poor Marge paled more with each word until she had her hands pressed over her mouth in horror that things had turned out so horribly. “She didn’t tell me any of that!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I thought that she was over the divorce by now. It’s been three years.”

I shrugged. “People heal differently. I gave her a bit of an attitude adjustment toward the end of the night and she got quiet until I dropped her off. I was tempted to bail on her, but she’d been drinking and I had no idea if she had money for a cab, so I stuck it out. Don’t worry about it, but I’m not going out with her again. I’d rather be a practice dummy for dental school.”

She winced at that and apologized again. A few days later, she gave me a funny look and I asked her what was up.

“Did you really tell her that your last girlfriend had died?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “It happened in Denver just before I left town,” I told her.

“So it’s true?” she asked, surprised.

I motioned her to follow me and returned to my desk. I quickly went to the Denver Post website and brought up the newspaper articles for the accident and then her obituary. “I didn’t tell her, but my brother was driving the truck that hit us,” I said. “Next summer, it’ll be three years since she died.”

She looked at the article and the picture of the crash that appeared with it. She shook her head and then switched back to the picture of Sabrina that was included in her obituary. “She was beautiful,” she commented.

“Right down to her heart,” I agreed and there was only the barest twinge of sorrow. Mostly, I remembered her with fondness and affection. “You’re friend’s pretty bitter,” I told her. “She should probably get some help before she tries to date again. She’s still bitter about her divorce to the point where it’s poisoned any hope that I’d ever go out with her again. If she’s gonna get over it, she’ll probably need a hand clearing the hurdles.”

She nodded and then closed the browser showing the crash and Sabrina’s memorial. That was the last time she ever set me up on a date, but she did tell me that her friend had started therapy and was dating. I didn’t really care if she dated, but the therapy was my good deed for the public that she might have come into contact with.

None of my other dates were much better, but there were a few that were pleasant enough to become friends as they moved on, looking for a spark that we hadn’t captured.

This year, I decided to stay in LA for Christmas. I’d told Mike and Rosa both that I didn’t have much time off for the holidays, so I was staying put and giving up the time off so that people with kids could spend the day with family. It wasn’t the selfless gesture you think. I got paid extra for it and I really didn’t have enough time off to fly across the country for the sake of a couple of days with Mike and Mary.

I worked through Christmas and had New Years off. I still wasn’t drinking anything strong, but I had a party to go to and I could be designated driver if necessary.

The party was thrown by Marge and her husband and I was introduced around to several of their friends. My disastrous date was there with a well-dressed older gentleman and she gave me an awkward smile, but made no effort to speak to me. I thought that was for the best. I had no desire to get into the middle of an apology for our one horrific date. We celebrated the countdown and the party broke up around 2. I drove a few couples home and then was on my way back from dropping off the last of my passengers when it happened.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes, but all that happened for me was that time seemed to slow down. I’d caught the flash of lights to my left and looked up as the sound of sirens registered on my ears. I saw the SUV speed toward the intersection, straight at me, police in pursuit.

“Sabrina,” I whispered and then there was nothing.

Thud ... Thud

Thud ... Thud

Thud ... Thud

My eyes hurt. I had them closed, but they still hurt. The light around me was so bright that it pressed in through the lids and all I could see was the red haze of blood vessels in my eyelids. I was laying down and the only sound was the sound of the thudding, but it was getting slower. It sounded like something I should recognize, but I wasn’t up to thinking.

This was pleasant, wherever it was. Even with the bright light, I was laying on something comfortable and I felt calm, relaxed, at peace. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time. The last time was with...

“SABRINA!” I shouted and sat up, my eyes flying open.

I was suddenly confused. I was behind the wheel of my truck. Hadn’t I just been lying on ... something? I looked around and I saw an SUV. It’s front bumper was just touching my door, but it seemed to have stopped. I looked at the driver. She looked scared. She was crying and her eyes were wide, staring into mine in horror. I wondered who she was. She looked pretty and young, but a little ragged around the edges, like she’d been partying hard. Her hair was a bit tangled and her makeup was highlighting the tear-tracks as much as her eyes.

I studied her face for a few minutes and thought about what to do. She seemed frozen as much as her car was. I was curious, but not alarmed, really.

I looked around and Sabrina was sitting in the passenger seat, watching me. “Sabrina!” I whispered.

She smiled at me and took my hand. “Hey, you!” she grinned, her voice filled with amusement. It sounded like music to me.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

“Do you FEEL dead?” she asked, answering me with her own question.

“How would I know what being dead felt like?” I asked, smiling myself. We’d sometimes play this game, asking questions until we couldn’t think of a way to avoid answering.

“How would you know what feeling alive felt like?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.

“That’s a low-blow,” I said to her, abandoning the game. “I’ve been trying.”

“Bringing me up on your first date was trying?” she asked dryly.

“Are you shitting me?” I asked. “You SAW that date. That was bullshit! She went out to dinner with me and ranted about her husband all night.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she admitted. “You’re still not making any headway. I tell you that I’m not coming back until you have good news and you pull a stunt like this!” she gestured toward the SUV that was about to slam into my door just like Billy had done to her years ago.

“Yeah, because I drive around LA trying to put myself in front of a high-speed chase,” I said sarcastically. “I had my police radio around here somewhere. I must have dropped it in my excitement to find someone running from the cops. You think I did this on purpose? The ONLY reason I’m on this road is because I was driving people home after a party. FYI, I went to the party and talked to people. Last time you were here, you bitched me out for not moving on and now you’re here because I’m not moving fast enough?” I was starting to get angry. “And what happened to not coming back until I meet someone? You don’t want anything to do with me, then stop complaining about what I do with my life while you’re gone.”

She looked at me for a long time and nodded. “That’s more like it,” she said, sounding satisfied that I was getting angry at her. “You’ve had me on a pedestal for a long time,” she pointed out. “Now that you can get angry at me, you’re in a better place.”

“What? What are you talking about?!” I blurted. “I’m about to be turned into hamburger,” I pointed to the SUV. “I’m a permanent resident now, same as you.”

“Are you?” she asked, giving me the look that said I was dense. “When did you become a doctor?”

“It doesn’t take a medical degree to figure out that I’m fucked once things start moving,” I pointed out to her.

She shrugged. “Tell me about the safety rating on the truck,” she demanded.

“It’s got a good rating,” I admitted, “but it’s not capable of standing up to being rammed like this.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “You think you’re going to die?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, looking at the SUV. “I think she’s gonna cave in my door as far as the center console and my seat-belt is gonna cut me in half.”

She laughed at that. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she asked and when I turned back, she was gone. That’s when things started moving again. Airbags deployed, metal screamed on metal, the windows blew out as the frames crumpled. Pain shot through the left side of my body as the door buckled in and slammed into me. I couldn’t make sense of anything. The truck spun, slamming into the building on the corner. I was conscious, but floating, still unable to ground myself in anything that had happened. “Sabrina,” I whispered, blood bubbling over my lips and then the world went dark for me.

I didn’t die though. This is not the memoir of a dead man. That’s a catchy title though. If I could write worth shit, I’d make something out of it.

I opened my eye for the first time on January 7th. I was groggy and it didn’t stay open very long, but I knew I was in Hell when the first person I saw was Billy. I closed my eye and dove back into unconsciousness, gratefully.

The next day, I woke up enough for a doctor to go over my injuries with me. “Well, I’d give you the list of your broken bones, but it’s easier to just inform you that you broke your left everything. Your arm, your leg, your hip, pelvis, several ribs, clavicle, your jaw. You turned your whole left side into a jigsaw puzzle. You had nine teeth knocked out, your left eye is healing nicely, but you had a piece of glass cut it up some. That’s why we have a patch over it for now. It’ll be fine. You’ve had some internal bleeding and we had you in an induced coma while the swelling in your brain went down. You had the mother of all concussions.” He patted my right shoulder, which seemed to have survived the crash.

I tried to ask what had happened and he shook his head. “Don’t try to talk, son,” he told me. “Just concentrate on getting better. You’ve had some visitors over the past few days and they’ll want to talk to you, but for now, just rest. I held up my right hand and made motions like writing. He nodded. “We’ll get you something to write with,” he promised and then he left.

I drifted in and out of consciousness over the next few days. Fortunately, Billy was never there when I was awake, but other people were. Rosa had nearly been frantic and had driven down to see me. She’d been the first to arrive, so I was told. She said Lizzy was worried, but couldn’t leave school to visit.

I wrote, “Good girl!” on the pad I’d been using to communicate with people. I told her that I was happy to see her and she wept.

“I couldn’t stay away when you needed me,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m staying at your apartment.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I wrote quickly.

“We’re all crowded in there,” she confessed. “It’s a little tight, but no one wants to leave.”

“Who? How many?”

“Well, there’s me and Linda and her husband and daughter, your brother Mike and his family and your mother,” she told me.

I gaped at her with my good eye. “HOW?!!?” I wrote. My apartment was only a two-bedroom. I’d put a king-sized bed in each room in case I had company, but there was one bathroom. It wasn’t equipped for six adults and three kids.

She chuckled. “We’re making it work,” she promised. “No one gets to sleep in and we share the bathroom. The couch is a pull-out, thank God or some of us would be curled up in chairs.”

I thought about that. “People need to start getting back to work,” I wrote. “I’m glad that everyone wanted to be here, but they need to pay bills.” I underscored that point with a single word. “Worried!” I wrote and underlined it hard.

She nodded. “Mike and Mary are leaving tomorrow,” she said. “Their kids really are beautiful. Petey looks a little like you.

That made me smile as much as I could, under the circumstances.

She left me after that and I got a visit from my mother. “Hi, Petey,” she said, looking like she wanted to cry. “Are you in any pain?”

“Not right now,” I wrote. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” she said. “I didn’t know if you’d be happy I was here, but when I heard that you’d been hurt, I had to come.”