CHAPTER 14
I RIDE my bike to and from work year ’round, resorting to my car only when there’s snow on the ground. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve always suspected that it’s the only reason I’ve managed to stay thin. Most of the time I enjoy it but not today. We were having one of our late afternoon thunderstorms, very common for Colorado in early September. The rain was chilly, and visibility was limited. The worst part was that I had originally planned to stop at the store on the way home since there was nothing edible in my house. But with the rain, I found all I really wanted to do was get home and get dry.
Maybe Matt would come by tonight, and we could order a pizza.
I had my head down and was pedaling down the sidewalk as fast as I could when a car hit me. It was coming out of a driveway, moving slow, which is probably what saved me. The driver was talking on his cell phone, not paying attention—just like Lizzy always predicted. I hoped she would be happy.
He hit me on my left side. I felt the front of the hood hit my head, and then I flew out into the street. Later, I would realize how lucky I was that no cars were coming. I slid a few feet across the asphalt on my right side before coming to a stop in the middle of the street.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking! Are you hurt?” The driver was already out of his car and leaning over me. I recognized him from around town. His name was Jason. Other than that I didn’t know anything about him.
“I think I’m okay.” Actually, I had no idea. I was stunned and trying to survey the damage. Nothing hurt yet, but that didn’t mean anything.
“I think I better take you to the hospital.”
When I looked up at him, I was surprised to see how scared he looked.
“I think I’m okay.” I was actually more worried about the state of my bike.
“You’re bleeding.” Jason pointed toward my left ear.
I put my hand against my head, and it came away covered in blood which was quickly washed away again by the rain. “Oh shit.” I realized there was blood on my shirt and in the rainy water on the street.
Jason was starting to panic now. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
The pain was starting to come now too. It was either let him take me or wait here for cops and an ambulance. I got in his car.
“THE wound on your head looks worse than it actually is,” the doctor told me. “Of course, if you had been wearing a helmet, you would be home by now with only a few bumps and bruises instead of bleeding in my emergency room.” I knew he was right. Worse than that, I knew that Lizzy, Brian, and my mom were all going to give me the same lecture at least a hundred times over the next few days. “There’s no sign of concussion, so once we’ve got your wounds clean and bandaged, you’ll be able to go home. Do you have somebody you can call to pick you up?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to get you some Oxycodone—”
“I hate that stuff. It makes me itchy.”
“That’s a fairly common side effect. Would you prefer Vicodin?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m going to give you a little bit now, plus I’ll send you home with a pretty heavy dose to take before bed. But only for tonight. You’ll probably be pretty sore tomorrow but try to make do with over-the-counter pain relievers.”
“You bet.” Everything was definitely starting to hurt, and I knew it was only going to get worse.
They gave me the first round of drugs and then closed the wound on my left temple with something that smelled suspiciously like super glue. Besides being covered with blood, my shirt had been shredded by my skid on the asphalt. They threw it away, painfully cleaned the giant patch of road rash on my right side, spread some kind of goo all over it and bandaged it, and then gave me a blue scrub shirt to wear home.
Cops were in and out, asking me questions. Matt apparently was not on duty. Jason gave me his insurance information and promised to bring my bike by my house the next day. It seemed to go on forever. It was almost nine o’clock when the doctor finally brought me the second dose of Vicodin. “You can take these in a couple of hours,” he said as he handed them to me. I nodded even though I knew I wouldn’t wait that long. He handed me a cordless phone. “Call your ride now. I’ll want to talk to them before you leave.”
I took the pills as soon as he left the room and thought about who to call. Lizzy would be a wreck, crying and trying to baby me. Brian would yell about me being an idiot. Mom would cry and give me a lecture on the same topic.
I called Matt.
“Hey Jared,” he said when he picked up. “Where the hell are you? I went by your house.”
“I’m at the hospital. Can you come get me?”
“Are you okay? What happened?” he asked with genuine alarm.
“I got hit by a car, but—”
Of course he didn’t let me finish. “What! Jesus, Jared, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But they won’t let me go unless I have a ride home.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
When Matt got there, the doctor took him into the hallway, and they talked for a while. By the time we got in the car, I was already feeling better.
“Please don’t lecture me,” I said as we got in the car. “Just let it wait until morning.”
“Okay.” He said it like it hadn’t even occurred to him. I could have kissed him.
By the time we got to my house, I was dead on my feet. Between the Vicodin and the adrenaline crash, I felt like I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I sat down on the couch, leaned back and closed my eyes. I felt him sit down next to me. Nothing happened for a minute. Or maybe it was an hour.
The whole world was soft around the edges, not quite tangible. I knew I was in pain,
but I was drifting on top of it, buoyed by the drugs, and comfortable back in my own home. I might have slept for a bit. I couldn’t be sure. At some point, I became aware of him again at my side, and then a feather-light touch near my temple, where the cut was. I cracked my eyes open a tiny bit. He was next to me but facing me, one leg tucked under him, looking at the cut on my head. His fingers were carefully pushing my hair back out of the way. My eyes closed again, and I drifted for a while, feeling his fingers moving in my hair. My head still hurt, but his light touch felt nice.
“Jesus, Jared.” Matt said, and it was not his usual bantering voice. It was almost a whisper, very strained, and it surprised me. My eyes opened a tiny bit. He was leaning close, looking at me, and the expression on his face was one I had never seen before. His eyebrows were down a little bit, and his eyes, not very far away from my own, were dark and troubled. His fingers seemed to still be moving in my hair, against my scalp, almost like a caress, but my addled brain wasn’t sure. “You could have died.”
Even in my drugged state, I was surprised by how much raw emotion I could hear in those four words. I had no idea what to say, but what came out of my mouth was, “I’m okay.”
His eyes closed. His fingers were still in my hair but not moving anymore. “Thank God.” I couldn’t get my brain to work. Something about this was strange and wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. He finally opened his eyes, and I must have looked confused, because he suddenly smiled at me a little bit and said, “Just how much Vicodin did they give you?”
“Enough.” I could easily have slept there the rest of the night and was especially reluctant to move away from where his fingers were tangled in my hair, just barely touching my head.
He shook his head at me, still smiling a little, and said, “Come on. Time for bed.”
He stood up, pulled me off the couch, and pushed me toward my bedroom. Once we got there, he said, “Do you have any sweats that might fit me?”
