Chapter 89: Nothing’s Really Wrong With Me

Monday, February 28, 1983

When I woke up for good, around nine, I found Mom already settled into one of the chairs.

“Sleep okay?” she said, smiling.

“I did,” I said, finding that my jaw was a trifle better. Still sore, and I still sounded wrong, but it wasn’t as bad.

“Good,” she said. Then she sighed. “I have to apologize. When we heard you were in an accident, I was sure that you’d caused it.”

“It’s fine, Mom. I mean it. That happens to a lot of teenagers.”

“Your father is worried about the insurance, although I don’t know why. That car wasn’t worth much, and you weren’t at fault!”

“Statistically, I think drivers who have one accident are more likely to have a second than drivers who haven’t had even one are to have their first accident. That, and insurance companies love to make money off of teenagers. I’m not sure he should worry, though.”

“Oh? Why?”

I grinned, or did as much as my jaw would allow, anyway. “I think we’ll likely be able to pay it from the settlement we get from the other driver.”

“Oh! Oh, I like that!”

“If he’d just hit my car, we might not get much. He’s negligent, but we wouldn’t have a lot of real injury. But loudly blaming me, then punching me ... well, we’ve got grounds to sue. Settling would be his best course of action. I can’t imagine anyone wants to wind up in court with me there to parade in front of the jury, much less Jasmine.”

She chuckled. “You’d make a good lawyer, I bet. And, maybe you will. I always thought you’d do math or computers, but recently...”

“I don’t know what I’m going to study yet, Mom, and that’s the truth. Maybe some of all of them. Somewhere in the intersection of computers, law, business, marketing, and communication there’s a host of opportunities. Maybe not all of those at once, but maybe.”

“Your father mentioned patent law.”

“That’s one of them. Might be good, but it might be ... boring ... by itself.”

“We were talking about that. He thinks it might be good to have you and Angie take one of those aptitude tests. Maybe it would help you pick a career.”

And ... wow! A forgotten memory! We’d done just that my first go-round, and I’d almost completely forgotten about it. Indeed, I could only remember two things about it. One, ironically, was Dad nearly getting us in a wreck as we left the testing center. The other was them counseling me to take a job that involved working with other people — that I’d do poorly in a job where I just did my own thing off by myself.

So, of course, I’d gone right out and done just that. Most of the first couple of decades of my career were largely solo programming projects. Within large organizations, with lots of coworkers, but it hadn’t been uncommon for me to come in, sit down, work, have lunch, work some more, and go home without more than saying ‘Hello, how are you?’ to a few people.

It wasn’t a bad idea. I doubted that it would really help me, but it might. It really might help Ang, though. Or not, but ... it might. And I’d bet we could get Jas in on the fun.

“That sounds interesting, Mom. I’d be happy to, and I bet Angie would.”

“Also ... and I guess I’m changing the subject ... but you’re talking a lot more.”

“I’ve half worn my jaw out, I think, but it is feeling better.”

“Good! I’m glad of that.”

An aide came in, bringing scrambled eggs and more Jell-O, plus some juice. “Breakfast of champions!” she said, brightly.

“I’m not sure which champions,” I said, and winked, “but it’s good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling, and headed off to the next patient. I busied myself with eating.

That was the end of most of the major medical work. Doctor Blair came by and gave me a clean bill of health. I had some jaw exercises to do, courtesy of one specialist, and a prescription for pain medicine, an antibiotic (on general principles, I assumed, especially in 1983 when that was nearly ubiquitous), and some cream that might help with the bruising. I also had the neck brace I was wearing, a second one, and some washable covers. I’d have to wear it for ten days for at least eight hours a day (waking ones only — I didn’t need it for sleep), and longer if my neck started hurting more than it did now.

A few hours later, they brought a wheelchair, I climbed aboard, and we were off to Mom’s car. As for my car? I might never see it again. Someone would hopefully go through it and box up my stuff and send it to me, but it had to be a total loss in insurance terms, and looking at it would probably just be nightmare fodder.

We’d replace it, but for the moment, I was likely Angie’s passenger.

At least my first accident in this life was someone else’s fault. My first go-round ... not so much. I had my share of stupid teenage mishaps. Minor ones — breaking a hub and denting up the fender hitting a curb, scraping the paint on a pillar, that sort of thing. No other cars involved, nothing even remotely life-threatening, but my fault.

This was, by far, the most serious accident I’d ever been in — with the exception of the one that brought me to this life, of course, and I hadn’t had to actually experience much of that one, or at least not consciously.

Mom was quiet for a bit of the drive, but then she glanced over while at a red light and smiled. “Just to let you know, your father and I talked about this. A lot. Neither of us blame you in any way. If anything, we trust you as a driver just a bit more.”

“I’m almost hearing a ‘but’ in there.”

She sighed. “The Department of Public Safety will put a hold on your license for at least a short time while they investigate. They do that for any teenager in a serious accident.”

I hadn’t actually known that, but it made sense.

“I’m not worried,” I said. “Or ... not much. If they don’t do the right thing, I’ll talk to Mr. Michaels. He helped us with the DPS before, after all. Even if it’s not his specialty, he’ll know whose it is, I bet.”

She chuckled. “That’s what we thought, too. Your father will work with the insurance company.”

“I’m dreading that,” I said. “It’ll be completely unfair, but I understand their reasoning. I could take Defensive Driving, though. That’ll force them to lower the bill a bit.”

“We agree that the other driver will wind up covering the bills,” she said, with a bit of a grim smile. “Sam’s already asking around after a good accident lawyer.”

“Go, Dad!” I said. “This is one case where I have no problem saying ‘Throw the book at him, and take him to the cleaners, too!’”

By the time we got home, Dad and Angie were already home, as was Jasmine (wearing a neck brace, like me), and Paige and Cammie, too. I was pretty sure Dad still thought Paige was ‘just a friend,’ but Cammie’s presence might explain Paige’s (if incorrectly, all around).

I got hugs from everyone. Gentle ones, which meant someone had spread the word about bruised ribs.

“We’re so happy you’re home,” Dad said. “I have to say — and it’s not your fault! — but Friday night was one of the most nerve-wracking nights of my life!”

I smiled a little. “I really am sorry about that.”

“Mine, too!” Jasmine said, actually sniffling a little. “After I’d figured out that I was really okay, I was just so worried, after he hit you and all!”

I gave her a tighter hug than the first, ribs be damned.

“I’m just glad you’re all right! Both of you!” Paige said.

Cammie smiled. “I hear you might’ve screwed up U.T.” Fortunately, her tone was light and playful. I had worried, just a bit, anyway.

“I’m not so sure judges would like my Frankenstein act,” I said.

She giggled. “I could be the Bride of Frankenstein?”

“Maybe if we were doing Duo or something.”

She opened her backpack and produced a large card. “Everyone signed it.”

“Everyone!” Paige said.

It was a big card. It would have to be! I opened it and looked, and ... well ... this time I was the one with sniffles and misty eyes. It’s one thing to know you have friends and teammates. It’s another to have a big card where every possible space is covered in best wishes and signatures, and there’s an extra piece of paper with even more. They’d gotten not just Debate and Drama, but Study Group and Student Council, along with a few others.

“Thank you,” I said, still a bit sniffly.

“Are they letting you go to school tomorrow?” Cammie said.

“Yeah. I have to wear the neck brace almost until Spring Break, but I’ll be there. I’m mostly just sore. Lots of sore! But nothing’s really wrong with me.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Possibly some slightly fractured ribs, deep bruising, and maybe whiplash, but nothing’s really wrong!”

“Mom!” I drew the word out in a perfect teenager voice, which got everyone laughing. “Seriously, I mean it. Nothing’s really wrong. If it were, they’d still be monitoring me. This is just time and rest and a bit of pain management. Considering ... well, I’m feeling like we got off really lightly, here.”

“You have a point,” Mom said, smiling.

Dad nodded. “I saw pictures of the car, and ... yes.”

“I didn’t look,” Mom said. “And I do not want to see them. Ever!”

Jasmine shivered. “I saw ... after ... and, yeah. I agree. I don’t want to see that again!”

“I imagine I will,” I said. “They’ll probably want me to testify.”

“You’re suing the ba ... I mean ... jerk? Right?” Paige said.

“Language!” Mom said, but she was chuckling.

Dad chuckled a little, too. “I might have said something similar. And, yes.”

“Good!”

Cammie nodded. “See, if I do become a lawyer, I don’t want to be an ambulance-chaser, but things like this? I’m all for helping victims get compensated when people do them wrong.”

“I think the problem is when someone really didn’t do anything wrong and they still get sued as if it was all intentional,” Dad said. “This guy made the choice to drink and then made the choice to drive. That’s intentional.”

“Definitely,” Cammie said, nodding.

“Okay!” Mom said. “I’m really glad you all came over, but I think Steve needs to rest so he’ll be okay to go to school tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mrs. Marshall,” Jasmine, Cammie, and Paige said, in near perfect unison. Then they nearly broke up laughing.

Jasmine gave me a very nice kiss that was just restrained enough to be okay in front of my parents, though I think they might have preferred she save that one for the wedding. “I love you, Steve,” she said, and her eyes said even more than the words did.

“I love you, too, Jasmine.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow!”

Paige and Cammie gave me hugs and said their goodbyes, too, then they headed out.

“Hungry?” Mom said.

“Honestly ... no,” I said. “I’ve had enough Jell-O and my jaw is a bit sore, and I’m really not hungry yet. I’ll probably be better all-around tomorrow.”

“Then go lie down — I insist! — and we’ll check in on you in a bit.”

“Yes, Mom!” I said, smiling. In truth, I wanted to lie down. I felt exhausted, which might or might not make sense, after spending most of two days flat on my back. Hospitals are exhausting, though. Stress, anxiety, interruptions, strange noises at all times of the day and night, IVs, and so on and so forth.