Wrecked
I never thought that I would be grateful for a car crash. That was until I met John.
It was the day after New Years. John cranked up the Beatles song; you know the one called A Day in a life? We were singing in the car, loudly and horribly. John was out of tune as usual and as usual it only made him sing louder. This was our second date and I was starting to see my best friend as something more. He was a handsome guy, only 19 at the time, young and carefree, I never had more fun then when I was with him. He could turn any situation into the funniest story you every heard. He’d make you laugh so hard your sides would ache and your face couldn’t bare one more smile or it’d melt clear off. I looked at him and grinned, he was wearing his John Denver jacket and brown corduroy jeans. John always looked like he walked right out of the 60s.
John made a left turn heading down the hill. I gazed out my window thinking about our date the night before. I turned to John grinning, ready to recall my memory to him. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a car speeding uphill towards us. Something was wrong though. The car was in our lane heading straight for us. My mind barely had time to register what was happening, I didn’t even let out a yell.
I awoke to blinding, stabbing pain in my head. I felt as if someone had smashed my head into an unusually large blender and hit the liquefy button. I could feel something warm oozing off my face. The taste of pennies filled my mouth, overwhelming me, choking me. I realized I was bleeding. Trying to force my eyelids open I managed to squint, blinding bright light busted through and I realized I was laying with my head in a pool of blood on John’s lap. I sat up. Too fast, my head swam, like a million tiny bees inside my brain, fighting and forcing their way out.
Sitting back in what used to be my seat, I lifted my heavy hand to touch my head but instead of feeling familiar skin I felt something foreign and sharp. Glass. Thousands of tiny cold shards of glass lodged everywhere I touched, making my forehead a shiny piece of crystal. I didn’t touch it again.
Just then I heard a voice. A woman’s voice, soft and concerned. “Are you ok?” I didn’t answer. “Lay back” the voice said. Gentle hands guided me, securing my body in a resting reclining positing. “What’s your name honey?” “Flo” I managed in a raspy whisper. “Oh! I know you. I know your mom; it’s me Ann West. Just lay back everything is ok, help is coming.”
Next thing I know I’m waking up in the hospital. Someone is scrubbing and scraping my forehead ruthlessly. I let out a cry but the torturer doesn’t relent only pausing to say, “Sorry, I have to get all the glass out. It has to go.” “Just leave it!” I blurt out “I like it there, really!” No response, just more scrubbing. I squirmed and groaned the entire time. I was so exhausted by the ordeal I barely remember my stitches.
After I was stitched up, x rayed and cleaned, they let John come in. He rolled toward me in a wheelchair eyes wide with responsibility. “Are you ok Flo?“ Holding back tears and pulling a smile I croaked “just barely”. “Don’t worry we still might be able to make the 8 o’clock show.” He said with a comforting grin. I couldn’t hold back my laugh, which caused the pain to sear through my body turning my giggles into cries. He quickly covered the space between us, encircling me in an earnest embrace. Laughing and wincing from pain we clutched each other and stayed that way.
John had a concussion but was otherwise ok. You see I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt like the irresponsible teenage I was, so when the car hit us I was tossed around like a rag doll. Our car crunched in like a can from the force and I flew forward shattering the windshield with my face and then sliding down. The glass cut and sliced every bit of my skin on the way down. The glass had claimed even my left eyebrow, it was shaved clean off. It’s probably still in that totaled car, still attached to the glass.
So you might be wondering why I said I was grateful for the car crash. Well it’s definitely not because of the black and blue eyes and swollen bruised nose. It’s not for the Frankenstein- like stitches surrounding my eye and missing left eyebrow. Or the deep vertical lacerations that covered my bulging swollen forehead, earning me the nickname of rhino for 3 weeks. And certainly not for the concussion, neck brace or bruises and bumps along my legs. No, it’s because without that car crash who knows if John and me would’ve ended up together. Our traumatic event brought us closer. I don’t know if it was because of our head injuries or destiny, but we haven’t been apart since.
