Concussion Protocol
Copyright© 2021 by Kim Cancer
Junior Seau 2: You Broke the Hearts of Angels
“Hey buddy, what you ain’t?” asks Junior, leaning sideways in the backseat. Junior’s in his Chargers uniform, cleats and everything. But no helmet. The bullet hole and black hole in his chest remain, however, cut between the number 55.
The mere vision of Junior in the backseat of the car sucks the air from Jim’s lungs, causes Jim to have gooseflesh, the hair on his neck prickling in a morbid electric shock.
Jim presses his eyes closed, for a second, sees stars colliding, exploding and ending in infinite darkness.
Opening his eyes, Jim fixes his eyes at his rearview mirror. It’s empty. But he can spot a clear indentation in the peanut butter-colored leather backseat. A clear outline of a massive man...
The car in motion, Jim is driving. “Rusty Cage” by Soundgarden is blasting from the Porsche’s Burmeister surround sound stereo system.
” ... hit me with a hand of broken nails...”
The howling vocals and supersonic guitar focuses, uplifts Jim, and he fixes his eyes on the road.
Then, inside the car, he smells sweat, a salty, musky smell. He knows the smell. It’s like a locker room. It’s thick in the air, filling his nostrils. His nostrils flare; for a second, he almost forgets what he’s doing and nearly swerves off the road, collides with a yellow “SCHOOL XING” traffic sign.
But he shakes his head, trembles, gathers himself, jerks and steadies the steering wheel. He glances back in the rearview mirror and sees Junior again. The tip of Junior’s skull has been sliced off and his brain is exposed. Junior’s brain looks like oatmeal mixed with raspberry jam.
Jim cringes, shifts his eyes back to the road. Although mortified, he can’t resist the impulse to check the rearview again. And he does. Curling his upper lip, he peeks back up, sees Junior, still there. Junior’s staring at him with intention.
Junior’s brain stirs, animates, and twists into a nest of slithery white snakes, swirling and active, dueling and hissing at one another, like Medusa’s hair.
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