Chapter 1

I regained consciousness through a curtain of pain. Breathing hurt. I tried to lift my head. Hurt. Right arm moved okay. Left arm. I screamed. Let's not do left arm. Right leg hurt but not too bad. Left leg. Another scream. I was being cradled. And a soothing voice. I KNOW that voice.

"Don't try to move, Dave." The voice was soft, feminine. "I hear the ambulance. It's close."

I opened my eyes. Good! They still worked. I saw the face. Ronni. Pronounced "Ronnie". As in "Veronica". My seventeen year old next-door neighbor.

Okay. Inventory. I was hurting. Bad. Left leg. Left arm. Chest. Something warm running into my eyes. Things were NOT good.

The flashing red lights and incessant whooping of a siren became pervasive. I heard voices. Running. Shouting. I tried to see what was going on and the world disappeared again.

The next time I came back, I was in a room full of bright lights and very concerned faces and there was a mask over my face.

"Are you with us, Mister Johnson?" asked a voice somewhere off to my left.

The best I could do in response was a punctuated groan.

"Just relax. We're working on your arm right now." Then to somebody who wasn't me, "Dump another load. We need him out."

I felt a coolness and then a burning in my good arm and the world went away.

The next time I woke up I was in the recovery room. There was a nurse, my sister, and Ronni. I tried to squeeze out a simple "Hey" but I guess it came out a grunt more than anything else.

All three were immediately at my bedside. The nurse spoke first. "Welcome back, Mister Johnson. Just relax. The doctor will be here in a minute."

Then my sister: "Hey, brother," she said. "You're getting better."

Considering that I could still remember my previous inventory of assets, I didn't want to think of how bad things were, if this was "better".

And finally Ronni. Soft voice that I've known since it was seven. "Oh, Mister Dave, I was so worried."

And the doctor walked in. He shined a penlight into my eyes, listened to my chest, then stood where I could see him. "Well, Mister Johnson, you've had quite the afternoon, but you're going to be okay."

I made a noise that must have passed for a question.

"You've got a concussion, scalp lacerations, four fractured ribs, a serious laceration of your lower lower arm, and your tibia and fibula, that's your lower leg is a complex fracture. All on the left side. It's gonna take a while, but you'll get everything back in service in the next few weeks."

Finally my tongue and lips worked enough to get a decipherable sound that must have been interpreted as "what happened?"

The doctor looked toward my sister Jan and Ronni. "You know better than I do. What happened?"

Ronni stood by me, her hand touching my good shoulder. "Mister Dave, you were working near the road when that pickup truck ran into you."

Okay, so THIS is what it feels like to be run over by a truck. I grogged back to semi-consciousness. The nurse came back in, then an orderly, and I barely remember being wheeled up interminable hallways to be slid rather carefully onto a bed in a hospital room. Pain meds in my IV kept me teetering over the edge of consciousness.

I remember the nurses making rounds every hour, and each time I blinked to consciousness I saw somebody sitting in the corner. Ronni.

While I'm talking about being unconscious, let me tell you about Ronni. She lives next door. Ten years ago when I moved in to the house I live in now, a happy young husband with a very pregnant wife, Ronni was there, seven years old, visiting to see who the new neighbors were. She was ten when the wife left, taking my little girl with her. And now here she was, sitting in my hospital room. Ronni. Hopelessly plain, ordinary Ronni. Look up "brown-haired girl" in the dictionary, and there's Ronni. Not memorable in any fashion at all, at least from the outside. Five-six, a hundred thirty, maybe forty, brown eyes. Face was freckled, prominently. Hair was brown. Just brown. Not blonde. Not red. Not jet black. Brown. Quirky smile, though, with slightly crooked white teeth. And a nose with a non-standard kink in it. She'd finally passed through puberty in a fit of lankiness and came out the other end with legs, her best feature, and a pleasant figure with feminine hips, rather narrower than optimum, and breasts, again, rather less than needed to qualify for a swimsuit issue of a sports magazine.

That's who was sitting in my room when I finally awoke in the morning. I was hurting. I managed to croak, though, "Hi, Ronni."

Soft voice. "Hi, Mister Dave. How're ya feelin'?"

"Like I got run over by a truck." I tried a smile. I guess it showed because I heard a tiny hint of a giggle.

"You did, Mister Dave. Well, not run over, but pretty well smacked."

"What happened. Did anybody see?"

"I did," Ronni said. "You had your weed-eater out to trim around your mailbox when that truck came around the corner and lost control. It hit you and knocked you into my yard and it ended up hitting our tree." She took a breath. "Mom called 9-1-1 and I got to you first. You were bleeding and unconscious and I held you until the ambulance got you."

"What about the driver?" I wheezed. It hurt to take a really deep breath.

"Drunk. Just came from a barbecue an' had too many beers. Air bags saved him. He walked to an ambulance. He's in jail right now."

"Nice," I croaked.

The floor nurse came in her rounds at that time. "Hello, Mister Johnson," she said. "Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?"

It was worth another shot. "Like I was run over by a truck," I said. I tried to laugh. It hurt.

"Niiiice," the nurse said. Turning to Ronni, "Is he what, a comedian or something?"

"He tries," Ronni said. "Makes more money bein' an engineer."

"No doubt," the nurse chuckled.

"What's going on with me, nurse? I can't move..."

"You shouldn't move right now. You have a set of taped ribs, and you're bandaged and splinted on your left leg, and you've got a couple of dozen stitches in your scalp and down your left arm is stapled and stitched."

"How long am I gonna be here?"

"That's between you and your doctor, but usually with the kind of breaks you have, the swelling's got to go down and you don't show up with an infection, and that's a few days." She finished her assessment of me. "Would you like some water or some juice?"

"Water. Just a sip."

"Let me get it for him," Ronni said. She put a straw to my lips and I took several tiny sips. And it tasted wonderful.

"Not too much," the nurse said. "Just wet your mouth. You don't need the fluids while you're on the IV. And you're due for another painkiller in an hour."

So that's what life was for the next three days. Several co-workers dropped by for obligatory visits. And my sister and Ronni took turns. Ronni was gone for a couple of hours at a time to change clothes. She snuck out to eat at the hospital cafeteria. And she stayed. When I was awake, she talked if I wanted to talk. Her mom and dad came up to see me, too, and I was too out of it to talk, but I overheard the conversation in the hallway.

"Dad, I AM going to stay here. His sister has things she needs to do. I'm out of school. This is okay, really, Dad."

Her mother's voice was softer. "Ronni, I know he's your friend, but babe..."

Ronni interrupted. "Yes! He's my friend. He's helped me with homework and stuff and he's ... my friend. And he needs somebody to stay up here."

"Okay, Ron," her dad said. "You win."

"Careful what you win," her mom said.

And Ronni was back in my room. I looked like I was asleep. I was on the verge, but the conversation woke me. She walked to my bed and her fingers traced my brow at the bandage line. She tugged a corner of the sheet. And then her fingertips touched her lips and then mine.

Oh, and the second day into my little hospital adventure, it was time for a sponge bath. Instead of evacuating the room, my sister AND Ronni stayed. Ronni said, "In case I need to do this..." and you should've seen the look on my sister's face.

I also got the catheter removed, perhaps the most unpleasant thing that EVER happened to my dick. Well, you have to realize that babies don't remember circumcisions. THAT might have topped the catheter removal. Just the right amount of Demerol let me hobble, with assistance, to the bathroom for the first time to relieve myself. THAT burned like the fires of Hell, too. Was anything going to ever feel good again?

Ronni was hovering outside the bathroom door waiting on me. "Okay, Ron," I said. "I'm done." When she came in to help me, I was trying to tug the hem of that damned hospital gown down.

"Let me get that," Ronni said. I stood paralyzed as she reached down to tug the hem over my exposed dick. Never mind the fact that eroticism had NO place in the event, the idea of ... well, you know.

She straightened up. "Can't have you flashing passers-by," she smirked. "And I've already seen it." She put an arm around my waist. I put my right arm around her shoulders and she helped me hobble back to the bed. We pirouetted and I awkwardly sat my butt on the edge.

I tried twisting myself to lie down, but her help was necessary. She was careful with my left leg as she turned me lengthwise and then rearranged my gown.

"Comfy?" she asked.

"Yes. Thank you, babe! But I'm gonna need a pain-killer before long."

"Be right back," she said. She left and returned. "They'll be here in a few minutes, Dave. And your doctor's on the floor, too."

"Good," I said. "We need to figure out how all this is gonna work. Only half of me works."

"We'll figure something out, Dave," she said.

The doctor did come in. He poked and prodded and questioned. Finally, he said, "well, all things considered, another day in here, then you can go home. We'll get you set up with a home health nurse to come by and check on dressings and stuff. How're you set up for help around the house? You're single, says here." He tapped my chart.

Ronni didn't miss a beat. "Between me and his sister, we'll take care of him," she said.

The doctor looked at her. "He's gonna need round the clock care for a few weeks, ma'am."

Ronni just smiled. "It's summer. I'm out of school, so I can do it."

The doctor left. Lunch arrived. I tried to eat with only my right hand. It can be done. Especially if you have Ronni hold food in place so you don't have to chase it down with your fork. And open your cold drink. And blot up your mishaps. This was shaping up to be loads of fun.

I tried walking. You can walk with one good leg IF you have two good arms. When you don't have an arm to hold a crutch, you're pretty much screwed. That was me. Left arm hurt like hell. With help I made it to the toilet.

I also tried talking to the policeman they sent by to gather information about the accident. Turns out he was the same guy who showed up at the accident. "I'm Patrolman Frank Harmon," he said, extending a hand.

"Hello," I said. I shook his hand. "That one still works."

"You look better than you did the other day," he said. He saw Ronni. "Hi, young lady. You did a good job of taking care of him." He turned back to me. "Not much for me to do with this one. The tracks leaving the road to where he hit you, his final resting place, a blood alcohol level three times the legal limit ... open and shut case. Have you gotten a lawyer?"

"No. Do I need one?"

He smiled. "If I was you I'd talk to one. Rich kid spending daddy's money on a new pickup truck. Gets sauced and runs off the road. And you get in the way. At least make sure you get all your medical bills paid."

"You're right. I'll call one." I hadn't thought of that.

One more day in the hospital. Sister came in to relieve Ronni. After Ronni left, my sister Deb said, "I just finished cleaning up your place and feeding your cat and emptying his litterbox. And me and Terry moved things around as best we can so you'll have room to maneuver. And Home Health Services came in and installed a trapeze so you can get in and out of bed with one arm. Your neighbor, Ronni's dad, built you a wheelchair ramp."