Wild Child
Page 7
His words float through the church like they’re on angel’s wings. I’m pretty sure every heart has stopped, just like mine has. To know a love like that is everyone’s dream, whether they admit it or not. And to have someone look at me the way Trick’s looking at Cami is my dream.
If he hadn’t said a single word, the look in his eyes says it all. All he sees is Cami. And that’s all he needs to see. It’s right there on his face, for all to behold. Just like he said, she’s everything to him. Everything.
My eyes flicker to Rusty. He’s watching me with a strangely puzzled expression. I look away. My heart can’t stand the pain of it.
CHAPTER TWELVE- Rusty
I grab Trick’s arm after the photographer finishes taking a blue million pictures. I want to catch him before he heads toward the reception hall with Cami.
“Hey, man, can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure,” he says, kissing Cami’s cheek and telling her he’ll be right back. We walk a few feet away. “What’s up?”
“Would I be on your shit list forever if I bailed?” He says nothing, just eyes me suspiciously. I rush to explain. “I’ve got some major work to do on that car I just got in and—”
Trick starts shaking his head. “Stop right there, man. You don’t have to make excuses for me. I know you’re full of shit. There’s nothing that’s that important, that you have to do today.” I have nothing to say to that. Because he’s right. That has nothing to do with me wanting to get the hell out of here. “But, you’re my best friend and I love ya. I’m grateful you did this much for me.”
I feel like a steaming pile of shit. “If it really means that much to you, I can—”
“Go, dude. Get out of here,” Trick says with a smile as he claps me on the shoulder. “Go do what you need to do.”
I know by his expression and the look in his eye what he means by me doing what I need to do. He may not understand it completely (hell, I don’t even understand it completely), but he knows me well enough to know I need to get out of here. And he doesn’t ask questions, which I’m grateful for.
This whole day has me feeling flustered. Jenna’s confession last night caught me off guard, although I guess I suspected that she loves me. The fact is, however, that it doesn’t change anything. I know the type of person Jenna is. I’ve seen it before. With my father. Already, she’s trying to hide her plans to leave. She couldn’t even really meet my eyes in the church. You can love somebody and still end up leaving them. Some people are just made that way—to always want greener pastures. I’ve seen it before. And I’m not getting attached to a person like that again. I guess today just reminded me of that. And it feels pretty shitty.
I pull Trick in for a quick hug and a manly slap on the back. “Be happy, man. And enjoy the hell out of that honeymoon.”
Trick laughs. “Oh, I will, but I’m not waiting for Tahiti to get this damn dry spell behind me. I plan to get Cami out of that dress myself here in about an hour.”
I laugh, too, leaning back to pound my fist against Trick’s. “Get it done, my friend!”
Trick nods and turns toward the reception hall, so I slip off, over the hill, through the trees and down to the parking lot behind the church to get my car. I need some speed and the freedom of the road to clear my head.
I feel antsy as I slide in behind the wheel. I loosen my bow tie as I crank the engine. Within seconds, I hit the gas and steer the car back toward town, and then on toward interstate. I want a long, straight stretch of road that I can open it up on.
When I clear the entrance ramp and see that there are no cars in front of me, or even really off in the distance, I punch it, milking every last one of the four hundred plus horsepower that I can get with the modifications I made to my GTO.
I exhale as the landscape speeds by and the engine roars around me, quieting all the shit from my past that’s mixing with the shit from my present to cloud my head. I don’t want to think about then. I don’t want to think about now. And I sure as hell don’t want to think about the future. I just want to feel the road. And the speed. And the fine-tuned handling of the car I practically built from the ground up.
I’m so lost in the moment that I don’t see the fine spray of gravel on the road up ahead. Until it’s too late.
And I’m spinning out of control.
********
I wake to the sound of a stranger’s voice. “Can you hear me, sir? Sir? Can you hear me?” he repeats.
I feel like I’m hanging upside down, and when I try to open my eyes, they won’t cooperate. I try to move, to right myself, but someone or something is holding my arm. I try to jerk free, but pain shoots through my whole right side. I hear a deep scream.
And then there’s nothing.
********
Something’s covering my face. I try to raise my hand to knock it off, but my limbs feel too heavy to move. I feel pressure on my right arm, like something is squeezing it tight.
My head feels like lead. Thick, numb lead. Again, I try to open my eyes. This time they obey, and I crack them just enough that I can see bright lights overhead, but none that look familiar. It seems like I’m moving, too.
“Sir, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?” The voice sounds the same, like the same guy I heard before. I want to tell that bastard that if he doesn’t stop asking me the same questions, I’m gonna kick his ass, but no words come out. I hear only someone moaning.
And then there’s nothing again.
********
There’s a weird beeping sound. And I smell some kind of harsh chemical, like antiseptic or something. When I try to turn my face away, pain sears my brain like a branding iron.
What the hell?
The beeping speeds up and I try to open my eyes to see what’s making that God-awful noise. I see a flash of hospital green, then bright lights again.
I hear a woman’s voice. “Take deep breaths, Mr. Catron. Slow, deep breaths. You’re gonna be just fine.” She sounds reasonable enough. “Count to ten for me,” she says.
I don’t hear my voice, but in my head I count.
One. Two. Three.
And then there’s nothing.
Again.
********
“Mr. Catron? You’re all done. Can you open your eyes?” I recognize her voice, even though it sounds like it’s coming to me through a tunnel a mile long. My head feels a little fuzzy, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as it did.
“Yes,” I manage to answer. My tongue feels like it’s covered in cotton and my throat has never been rawer. “Drink,” I croak.
“Can you open your eyes and look at me?”
I’m a little annoyed at her request, but I comply. With what seems like an inordinate amount of effort, I crank my lids up and try to focus on the face hovering above me. I blink twice and things seem to work a little better.
“Very good. Now I’m going to slip a piece of ice into your mouth, okay? Don’t swallow. Just let it melt on your tongue.”
God, ice sounds wonderful! I open my mouth a little and feel like sighing when the tiny, cold sliver hits my tongue.
I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the liquid before I open them again, focusing more easily on the woman.
She’s young and very attractive. Her hair is dark red and pulled back into a pony tail. Her face is pretty and scrubbed free of makeup. She’s wearing nursing scrubs. I recognize them because I saw my mother in them nearly every day for the last fifteen years. After Dad left, she put herself through nursing school. She worked the night shift for years while she went on for her master’s degree. She doesn’t wear scrubs anymore, but she still works at the hospital.
“You’re a nurse,” I say, stating the obvious. I don’t even know why I make the comment.
“Yes, I am. Do you know where you are?”
“I assume at the hospital.”
“Yes. You’re just coming out of surgery. Do you remember what happened?”
I try to think back, but it all seems pretty blurry. I remember feeling the car start to slide, and I remember seeing snatches of grass go tumbling by. I vaguely remember hearing some loud, metallic sounds, but none of it really makes sense. The best I can gather is that I was in a wreck, but the details just aren’t there.
“I suppose I wrecked, but I don’t remember much else.”
“Yes, you were in a car accident. You suffered a severe concussion, numerous contusions and your right arm was nearly torn off. You were taken to surgery within an hour of arriving in the ambulance. You’ll be spending some time in ICU until we can make sure you didn’t suffer any internal injuries. Are you in pain?”
Her words jumble around in my head. “Uhhh…” She’s telling me too much too fast. I can’t think.
“On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, where would you rate your pain?”
I only feel pain in one spot. “My head. It hurts.”
“You have a headache?”
Isn’t that what I just said?
“Yes.”
“That could be from the anesthesia or from the narcotics. Once we get you upstairs, I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
I nod, feeling grumbly and irritated all of a sudden.
I close my eyes against the sight of rectangles of light passing by overhead, and I relax against the mattress of the gurney. As we roll through the halls, I digest what I’ve just been told.
“Which arm was hurt?” I ask, unable to clearly recall everything the nurse said.
“Your right.”
A mild feeling of alarm passes through me, but the world is too fuzzy for me to process it or dwell on it.
“Can I use it?”
“You’ll need some physical therapy, but the doctor repaired everything as best he could.”
“My car?”
“I don’t know about that, but considering the shape you arrived in, I’m thinking it’s going to need a lot of work.”
Dammit!
After a short trip in the elevator, the nurse wheels me down a short hall and through automatic doors. The world gets quiet all of a sudden. I barely hear the click of the doors closing behind us.
As the nurse rolls me farther into the new area, I hear muted whispers and faint beeping sounds. I open my eyes again just as I’m being backed into a room. To my left is a window that looks outside. The curtain is pulled shut against the setting sun. To my right is a wall of windows that look out into a semi-circular configuration of counter tops—a nurse’s station. This must be the ICU.
Within a few seconds, there’s a loud thump as the nurse sets my bed’s brake, and then I hear my mother’s voice.
“Was he able to fix it all?”
I lift my head to try and locate her, but it falls right back onto the pillow. It must weigh at least fifty pounds. “Mom?”
I feel her cool hand take my left one. “I’m here, Jeff,” she says in her calm, practiced, nurse voice. I feel like smiling. She’s the only person on the planet that calls me Jeff. Jeffrey when she’s mad. “Give me just a few minutes to talk to the nurse. I’ll be right back.”
She kisses my forehead and then I don’t hear their voices anymore. I want to wait for her to come back and answer all my questions, but damn! I’m so tired all of a sudden. Maybe if I rest for just a few minutes…
********
When I wake, my eyes open immediately and effortlessly.
Bout damn time! I think to myself.
I raise my head and, despite the dull throb that starts up instantly, I look around. There are some people behind the tall counter of the nurse’s station. All the lights are on and, when I turn to look out the windows, I see that it’s dark outside. But what puzzles me is that I have to look past some kind of contraption to see.
My right arm is immobilized by a series of cords. My upper arm is casted and there are straps coming out of it at my elbow. They attach to some fixed point that I can’t see. My elbow is bent to ninety degrees and my lower arm is casted, too. There are straps coming out from beneath it at my fingertips, and they attach to some wires that go up into a pulley that is counterweighted somewhere down around the foot of the bed.
“What the hell?” I say to no one in particular.
A shadow falls across me and I look back toward the door. My mother is standing there. Although not one short, strawberry hair is out of place and her clothes and makeup look like she has just come to work, there’s a frazzled look about her I’m not used to seeing.
My stomach sinks.
“What? Something’s up. I can see it on your face.”
She walks farther into the room and gives me a smile as she perches on the edge of the bed. “Can’t I just be happy you’re all right?”
“Sure you can. Was there ever a doubt that I would be?”
“Not really. You’re here just as a precaution, in case they might’ve missed something internal.”
“Well then, why the worry?”
“Well… It’s just that… Jeff, your arm is in pretty bad shape. And I know how impatient you are. You need to understand how important it is for you to let this heal right and to realize that you’re going to be very limited for a while. But if you push it, son, you could have permanent damage.”
“Push it? What the hell am I gonna push? They’ve got me strung up like a damn puppet!”
“For good reason. You were thrown from the car and your right arm must’ve gotten tangled up in your lap belt somehow. Nearly tore it off. Your rotator cuff is torn, you dislocated your shoulder, your humerus is broken in two places, your—”
If he hadn’t said a single word, the look in his eyes says it all. All he sees is Cami. And that’s all he needs to see. It’s right there on his face, for all to behold. Just like he said, she’s everything to him. Everything.
My eyes flicker to Rusty. He’s watching me with a strangely puzzled expression. I look away. My heart can’t stand the pain of it.
CHAPTER TWELVE- Rusty
I grab Trick’s arm after the photographer finishes taking a blue million pictures. I want to catch him before he heads toward the reception hall with Cami.
“Hey, man, can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure,” he says, kissing Cami’s cheek and telling her he’ll be right back. We walk a few feet away. “What’s up?”
“Would I be on your shit list forever if I bailed?” He says nothing, just eyes me suspiciously. I rush to explain. “I’ve got some major work to do on that car I just got in and—”
Trick starts shaking his head. “Stop right there, man. You don’t have to make excuses for me. I know you’re full of shit. There’s nothing that’s that important, that you have to do today.” I have nothing to say to that. Because he’s right. That has nothing to do with me wanting to get the hell out of here. “But, you’re my best friend and I love ya. I’m grateful you did this much for me.”
I feel like a steaming pile of shit. “If it really means that much to you, I can—”
“Go, dude. Get out of here,” Trick says with a smile as he claps me on the shoulder. “Go do what you need to do.”
I know by his expression and the look in his eye what he means by me doing what I need to do. He may not understand it completely (hell, I don’t even understand it completely), but he knows me well enough to know I need to get out of here. And he doesn’t ask questions, which I’m grateful for.
This whole day has me feeling flustered. Jenna’s confession last night caught me off guard, although I guess I suspected that she loves me. The fact is, however, that it doesn’t change anything. I know the type of person Jenna is. I’ve seen it before. With my father. Already, she’s trying to hide her plans to leave. She couldn’t even really meet my eyes in the church. You can love somebody and still end up leaving them. Some people are just made that way—to always want greener pastures. I’ve seen it before. And I’m not getting attached to a person like that again. I guess today just reminded me of that. And it feels pretty shitty.
I pull Trick in for a quick hug and a manly slap on the back. “Be happy, man. And enjoy the hell out of that honeymoon.”
Trick laughs. “Oh, I will, but I’m not waiting for Tahiti to get this damn dry spell behind me. I plan to get Cami out of that dress myself here in about an hour.”
I laugh, too, leaning back to pound my fist against Trick’s. “Get it done, my friend!”
Trick nods and turns toward the reception hall, so I slip off, over the hill, through the trees and down to the parking lot behind the church to get my car. I need some speed and the freedom of the road to clear my head.
I feel antsy as I slide in behind the wheel. I loosen my bow tie as I crank the engine. Within seconds, I hit the gas and steer the car back toward town, and then on toward interstate. I want a long, straight stretch of road that I can open it up on.
When I clear the entrance ramp and see that there are no cars in front of me, or even really off in the distance, I punch it, milking every last one of the four hundred plus horsepower that I can get with the modifications I made to my GTO.
I exhale as the landscape speeds by and the engine roars around me, quieting all the shit from my past that’s mixing with the shit from my present to cloud my head. I don’t want to think about then. I don’t want to think about now. And I sure as hell don’t want to think about the future. I just want to feel the road. And the speed. And the fine-tuned handling of the car I practically built from the ground up.
I’m so lost in the moment that I don’t see the fine spray of gravel on the road up ahead. Until it’s too late.
And I’m spinning out of control.
********
I wake to the sound of a stranger’s voice. “Can you hear me, sir? Sir? Can you hear me?” he repeats.
I feel like I’m hanging upside down, and when I try to open my eyes, they won’t cooperate. I try to move, to right myself, but someone or something is holding my arm. I try to jerk free, but pain shoots through my whole right side. I hear a deep scream.
And then there’s nothing.
********
Something’s covering my face. I try to raise my hand to knock it off, but my limbs feel too heavy to move. I feel pressure on my right arm, like something is squeezing it tight.
My head feels like lead. Thick, numb lead. Again, I try to open my eyes. This time they obey, and I crack them just enough that I can see bright lights overhead, but none that look familiar. It seems like I’m moving, too.
“Sir, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?” The voice sounds the same, like the same guy I heard before. I want to tell that bastard that if he doesn’t stop asking me the same questions, I’m gonna kick his ass, but no words come out. I hear only someone moaning.
And then there’s nothing again.
********
There’s a weird beeping sound. And I smell some kind of harsh chemical, like antiseptic or something. When I try to turn my face away, pain sears my brain like a branding iron.
What the hell?
The beeping speeds up and I try to open my eyes to see what’s making that God-awful noise. I see a flash of hospital green, then bright lights again.
I hear a woman’s voice. “Take deep breaths, Mr. Catron. Slow, deep breaths. You’re gonna be just fine.” She sounds reasonable enough. “Count to ten for me,” she says.
I don’t hear my voice, but in my head I count.
One. Two. Three.
And then there’s nothing.
Again.
********
“Mr. Catron? You’re all done. Can you open your eyes?” I recognize her voice, even though it sounds like it’s coming to me through a tunnel a mile long. My head feels a little fuzzy, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as it did.
“Yes,” I manage to answer. My tongue feels like it’s covered in cotton and my throat has never been rawer. “Drink,” I croak.
“Can you open your eyes and look at me?”
I’m a little annoyed at her request, but I comply. With what seems like an inordinate amount of effort, I crank my lids up and try to focus on the face hovering above me. I blink twice and things seem to work a little better.
“Very good. Now I’m going to slip a piece of ice into your mouth, okay? Don’t swallow. Just let it melt on your tongue.”
God, ice sounds wonderful! I open my mouth a little and feel like sighing when the tiny, cold sliver hits my tongue.
I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the liquid before I open them again, focusing more easily on the woman.
She’s young and very attractive. Her hair is dark red and pulled back into a pony tail. Her face is pretty and scrubbed free of makeup. She’s wearing nursing scrubs. I recognize them because I saw my mother in them nearly every day for the last fifteen years. After Dad left, she put herself through nursing school. She worked the night shift for years while she went on for her master’s degree. She doesn’t wear scrubs anymore, but she still works at the hospital.
“You’re a nurse,” I say, stating the obvious. I don’t even know why I make the comment.
“Yes, I am. Do you know where you are?”
“I assume at the hospital.”
“Yes. You’re just coming out of surgery. Do you remember what happened?”
I try to think back, but it all seems pretty blurry. I remember feeling the car start to slide, and I remember seeing snatches of grass go tumbling by. I vaguely remember hearing some loud, metallic sounds, but none of it really makes sense. The best I can gather is that I was in a wreck, but the details just aren’t there.
“I suppose I wrecked, but I don’t remember much else.”
“Yes, you were in a car accident. You suffered a severe concussion, numerous contusions and your right arm was nearly torn off. You were taken to surgery within an hour of arriving in the ambulance. You’ll be spending some time in ICU until we can make sure you didn’t suffer any internal injuries. Are you in pain?”
Her words jumble around in my head. “Uhhh…” She’s telling me too much too fast. I can’t think.
“On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, where would you rate your pain?”
I only feel pain in one spot. “My head. It hurts.”
“You have a headache?”
Isn’t that what I just said?
“Yes.”
“That could be from the anesthesia or from the narcotics. Once we get you upstairs, I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
I nod, feeling grumbly and irritated all of a sudden.
I close my eyes against the sight of rectangles of light passing by overhead, and I relax against the mattress of the gurney. As we roll through the halls, I digest what I’ve just been told.
“Which arm was hurt?” I ask, unable to clearly recall everything the nurse said.
“Your right.”
A mild feeling of alarm passes through me, but the world is too fuzzy for me to process it or dwell on it.
“Can I use it?”
“You’ll need some physical therapy, but the doctor repaired everything as best he could.”
“My car?”
“I don’t know about that, but considering the shape you arrived in, I’m thinking it’s going to need a lot of work.”
Dammit!
After a short trip in the elevator, the nurse wheels me down a short hall and through automatic doors. The world gets quiet all of a sudden. I barely hear the click of the doors closing behind us.
As the nurse rolls me farther into the new area, I hear muted whispers and faint beeping sounds. I open my eyes again just as I’m being backed into a room. To my left is a window that looks outside. The curtain is pulled shut against the setting sun. To my right is a wall of windows that look out into a semi-circular configuration of counter tops—a nurse’s station. This must be the ICU.
Within a few seconds, there’s a loud thump as the nurse sets my bed’s brake, and then I hear my mother’s voice.
“Was he able to fix it all?”
I lift my head to try and locate her, but it falls right back onto the pillow. It must weigh at least fifty pounds. “Mom?”
I feel her cool hand take my left one. “I’m here, Jeff,” she says in her calm, practiced, nurse voice. I feel like smiling. She’s the only person on the planet that calls me Jeff. Jeffrey when she’s mad. “Give me just a few minutes to talk to the nurse. I’ll be right back.”
She kisses my forehead and then I don’t hear their voices anymore. I want to wait for her to come back and answer all my questions, but damn! I’m so tired all of a sudden. Maybe if I rest for just a few minutes…
********
When I wake, my eyes open immediately and effortlessly.
Bout damn time! I think to myself.
I raise my head and, despite the dull throb that starts up instantly, I look around. There are some people behind the tall counter of the nurse’s station. All the lights are on and, when I turn to look out the windows, I see that it’s dark outside. But what puzzles me is that I have to look past some kind of contraption to see.
My right arm is immobilized by a series of cords. My upper arm is casted and there are straps coming out of it at my elbow. They attach to some fixed point that I can’t see. My elbow is bent to ninety degrees and my lower arm is casted, too. There are straps coming out from beneath it at my fingertips, and they attach to some wires that go up into a pulley that is counterweighted somewhere down around the foot of the bed.
“What the hell?” I say to no one in particular.
A shadow falls across me and I look back toward the door. My mother is standing there. Although not one short, strawberry hair is out of place and her clothes and makeup look like she has just come to work, there’s a frazzled look about her I’m not used to seeing.
My stomach sinks.
“What? Something’s up. I can see it on your face.”
She walks farther into the room and gives me a smile as she perches on the edge of the bed. “Can’t I just be happy you’re all right?”
“Sure you can. Was there ever a doubt that I would be?”
“Not really. You’re here just as a precaution, in case they might’ve missed something internal.”
“Well then, why the worry?”
“Well… It’s just that… Jeff, your arm is in pretty bad shape. And I know how impatient you are. You need to understand how important it is for you to let this heal right and to realize that you’re going to be very limited for a while. But if you push it, son, you could have permanent damage.”
“Push it? What the hell am I gonna push? They’ve got me strung up like a damn puppet!”
“For good reason. You were thrown from the car and your right arm must’ve gotten tangled up in your lap belt somehow. Nearly tore it off. Your rotator cuff is torn, you dislocated your shoulder, your humerus is broken in two places, your—”
