Undone (44 page)
Authors: R. E. Hunter
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Anchor
by M.J. Abraham, coming early 2014.
People say that consequences are simply a reflection of the decisions you’ve made. They help chronicle the story of your life—marking where you’ve been and paving the road to your future. The good thing is that nothing in life is permanent. But sometimes things happen that are out of your control and your moral compass is left spinning. Round and round. Pulling you … pushing you … testing you. I can’t change my past, but I
can
change the direction I take. So long as I’m breathing.
I rushed into my house with the ghost of my decision echoing behind me. For not being large in size or heavy in weight, the heart carries an immeasurable amount of feelings. With soft pressure, I touched my chest with the palm of my hand, wondering how it could beat after being broken. All of my past mistakes, my worries, and my overthinking needed to be buried so I could face what was right in front of me. The here and now would be my concern. I tossed my purse on the bed not caring that I missed and it landed on the floor. My mind spun old memories as I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Using the pale sunlight coming in from the window as a spotlight, I purposely avoided flipping the switch. A woman stared back at me that I didn’t recognize. This stranger had a pale complexion and heavy bags under her eyes. I reached my hand up to touch my skin as if testing the reflection. It
is
me, there’s no doubt. Gone was the life in my eyes, now a dull brown instead of the usual caramel color. My dark hair was in a messy bun with strands sticking out. I pinched my cheeks but it didn’t wake me up from this nightmare. It was early morning, and I wished for a second that I looked like this simply from waking up. How many times had I woken up looking hideous? The last time I’d gotten any sleep was almost twenty-four hours ago, but that wasn’t the problem. No, this was worse. There was an ache in my soul that made my legs tremble. My hands, which I often looked at and wondered how miraculous they could be for helping so many people daily, were slightly shaking, and grime hid under the nails. My mind replayed last night’s events.
It started with a phone call. You know the one. The late night call that makes your stomach drop like an anchor and leaves you looking at the screen for a second or two. That’s the time it takes to realize that a call at this hour can’t be good. Your mind has already switched over to something negative and you answer with baited breath sending a quick prayer that this time, it
wouldn’t
be bad news. In my case, it was no such luck.
“There’s been an accident.”
I had the keys in my hand before he could tell me exactly what happened. I rushed over as fast as I could wearing pajama pants and a faded U2 concert T-shirt. My hands gripped the steering wheel as I cursed every red light. By the time I reached my destination, however, I slowed down, and every muscle in my body tensed up. There aren’t a lot of things that can make your stomach twist like that of watching the scene of a car accident. It’s such a common thing too; after all, it happens daily and more than once. Most of the time, we drive by and glance over with tight lips or a slight nod of the head. Knowing they have to deal with insurance claims, police reports, a doctor visit or two, they’ll receive looks of pity and sympathy. But sometimes it’s not that simple. Some accidents leave you open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Coldness seeps into your bones, presenting a trail of goose bumps over your body; a distinct coldness only fear can deliver. And why should we fear? If we’re the onlooker and not the recipient we’ve been saved of the horror and pain. After all, it’s not happening to
us
. But it very well could be. It’s because it’s so common that it’s terrifying.
If you’re not scared of dying, you’re surely scared of someone you love dying.
Ian’s car was flipped onto its side with the roof jammed against a tree. When I pulled my vehicle to the side of the road, I got out and stood frozen for a split second, almost forgetting what to do.
I’m a nurse! I can handle this! I see patients come into the hospital all the time with more than just a scrape on the shoulder,
I told myself
.
But that damn fear seized me like a tidal wave and I almost drowned in it. Here I was, witnessing
my
someone I loved dying. The green, bent metal was holding him in an impossible hug. I clenched my fists and punched through the horror that wanted to claim my limbs and ran to him.
The paramedics were already trying to pull him out. The top of his head was barely visible under the broken glass and rubble. An EMT specialist grabbed me by the waist as I kicked and screamed for them to let me go.
“Let me help him!” I yelled, afraid we were all too late.
Why won’t they let me get closer!
“Ma’am, you have to let us do our job.” He sounded calm and with the last sliver of conscience left, I refrained from elbowing him in the gut. I twisted my body to free myself from his grip before dropping to my knees. My fingers dug into the ground as the sobs came loudly. Sirens, radio transmitters and the Jaws of Life covered up my cries.
He’s dead, I just know it!
As the thought echoed through me, my body shook. I lifted up my sleeve and buried my face in the crook of my arm. How could Ian, my best friend of eight years, be dead at such an early age, leaving behind his baby girl that he’d fought so hard to adopt and had only enjoyed for ten months? She was going to be sent to an orphanage. Again. My despair was for her; it came for the both of us.
“Miss?” A man’s voice said in the distance and when I looked up, his face was blurred. He looked so tall, a giant with a scatter of movement in the background. It all seemed like a foggy dream. I blinked and avoided his gaze. The hard asphalt and smell of burnt rubber was just inches away.
This is it. He’s going to tell me what I already know.
“Is he?” I whispered, the words hurting my throat.
Why did I even speak? I should have stayed quiet and maybe prolonged the inevitable. I wanted to hide the question, run back into my car, and erase this night. But you can’t turn back the clock, and you can’t bury secrets forever. Time pushes everything forward.
The officer squatted down to my level, and I forced myself to look at him. “He’s unconscious with a severe head injury,” he answered gravely. Hot tears rushed down my face. “We’re going to St. Anthony’s Hospital if you want to follow.”
With that, he wiped his brow as if simply telling me the news was exerting him and turned to walk back to the ambulance. I nodded slowly, at no one in particular. The hospital was our second home; we both worked there. I stood on shaky legs and finally made my way back into my car to drive to the hospital and wait for him there.
The sound of the phone ringing snapped me out of my reverie, causing my body to jump. The tone was now something I’d dread for several months to come. I had been so accustomed to using it for social media or text messaging, but hearing that sound now caused the hairs on my neck to stand up. I grabbed tissues from the bathroom and blew my nose as I walked slowly … until my eyes caught sight of the caller. It was the hospital line.
Please, no.
“Hello?” I croaked out.
“Eliana, are you okay? I heard about Ian,” Marisol, my girl friend and sidekick in the unit asked, sounding concerned.
I inhaled slowly and pressed down on my stomach.
“Everything is not okay, Mari,” I said. “He lost control of his car and it flipped on the side, major head trauma …” My palms fisted around the tissue as I pressed it against my temple, in a weak attempt to soothe the headache that was beginning to form. “He’s in a coma,” I finished.
Marisol let out a rush of air. “Oh my God, Eliana. Were you with him? Was Mabel?”
I slowly sat on the edge of the bed before answering her. “No, but I did see the wreck.” My tongue and throat screamed for water. “It happened late last night; he must have left Mabel with the sitter. I’ve been in the hospital since then waiting to see if his condition changes. I finally had to come home for a shower and some sleep. Beatrice knows I’m not coming in today.” Well, not for work. There was no doubt that I would be visiting Ian as soon as I got some rest.
“Shit,” Marisol whispered, and I could picture the worry lines on my sweet friend’s face.
I knew exactly what she meant. Behind the curtain of my eyes all I could see was Ian’s frame on a stretcher. Before yesterday, he would have been described as slim but muscular, like a basketball player. Today, he was weak and frail. His thick dark hair shaved off for cleaning and testing. His shirt was cut into shreds, giving doctors access to his chest, needing to find the beat of his heart. Dark bruises under scratches coated his face, neck, and arms.
It was an image I’d never forget.
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “Shit.”
MJ Abraham
Twitter:
@MJAbraham12
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