Big Fat Disaster (27 page)

I give God—and Mom—one more chance. I peek in the window again.

Mom looks toward me.

Our eyes meet.

My heart skips a beat.

She takes a step toward the front door.

Relief floods my body: There
is
a God, and He is sending my mom outside to apologize to me.

I sit back on the bench and quickly dry my face with the neck of my shirt. I rub my eyes and take a few deep breaths.
I can forgive her, if she’ll just say she’s sorry for hurting me so badly. Maybe we can start over. She’ll understand how much I need her to love me the way I am. And I—I can try harder to be interested in the stuff she likes. Maybe I’ll ask her if we can start going on walks together. I might even lose weight. That’ll make her happy.

Moments pass: I don’t know how many, but the sun shifts in the sky. Bells chime from the Catholic church a couple of streets over. One…two…three…four…five.

We arrived at Sugar’s around 3:30. How long have I been sitting out here? Maybe I’m supposed to look for the sign. I do a quick scan for a rainbow, but all I see are three black vultures circling.

Three’s my lucky number; I’ll give Mom a third chance. I lean over and look in the window again. She’s moved behind the counter with Drew, and she’s helping her decorate the day-old cookies. Drew holds up an iced cookie; Mom nods and smiles at my perfect little sister’s masterpiece.

She’s not coming.

A numbness—kind of the same fuzzy feeling I get from stuffing my face—spreads from my head to my toes, and I know without a doubt that I’m going to do it this time.

I walk purposefully back to the house for rent and wait for my chance. I can hear the low rumble of a semi-truck approaching the top of the hill. I step off the curb, and, just in case anyone’s watching, I pretend be looking for something in the center of the road. My hair falls over my face, and I’m watching for the gleam of the truck’s grill as it clears the rise.
Relief. No more. I can’t take it anymore.

I close my eyes.
Why did I have to be the one to find that photo? Why can’t I stop eating like I do? Why does my mom hate me so much? And that video! Oh, my God, the video…

The truck is getting louder; I spy an oil stain in the oncoming lane and step into the center of it. The road shakes; a hot wind gently lifts my hair from my shoulders, and I am frozen by the sight of the truck’s grill coming straight for me.

The airbrakes squeal. I close my eyes tightly and hold out my arms like Jesus on the cross. Over the deafening roar, I think I hear someone call my name. I grimace, waiting for the truck to slam into me.

I’m hit, but it’s not what I expected. I thought I’d be killed instantly, but instead I’m thrown sideways, and I feel no pain until I land with a
Thud
and a
Snap
. I’d swear that my lungs collapse. It seems that the screaming truck is upon me, and I expect to be hit again. I gasp and inhale a lungful of acrid, burning-rubber-tinted air.

I’m confused; I expected to see a white light and feel God’s arms around me.
Am I on fire? My skin feels like it’s on fire. Maybe I’m in Hell.

Pounding footsteps, then a sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, like a waterfall of loss. A woman’s voice: “Oh my God, oh my God! No-No-No-No-Nooooooooo!”

Blackness.

I don’t know how long I’m out, but it’s as if I jolt into consciousness and see a half-full Coors beer bottle inches from my face. An orange and black beetle nearly smacks head-on into the bottle but veers around it at the last moment. I look back, up, and to the right and see the three vultures still circling against the blue sky. I face the beer bottle again and sharp stones and sand rub against my ear. I close my eyes. My left side feels as if I’ve been skinned alive.

Alive.
I’m alive.
My mind replays the moment I stepped into the road, raised my arms, and saw the truck bearing down.

I become vaguely aware of voices—of one voice in particular. Someone is wailing. There is an intense pulsing under my body.

From far off, I hear sirens. Then up close, footsteps and shuffling in the sand. Someone says, “Oh, my Lord, here’s where the other one landed. Is this your sister, little girl?”

Drew yells, “Mama, we found Colby!” My sister’s blonde hair is soft on my face. She covers my upper body with hers and whimpers, “Colby, are you dead, too?”

Dead…too?

I try to speak, but I can’t. The baby-shampoo smell of Drew’s hair mixes with that of burning rubber, and a jolt of terror zaps my body. I gasp and instinctively throw my right arm across her back, pull my little sister tight against me.
What is Drew doing in the road? She could get hit!

Her voice is muffled. “Colby, I can’t breathe! Let me go!”

But
I can’t
.

Someone peels my arm off of Drew, and she pulls away from me. Relief floods my body when I see her face. “You’re…safe,” I sob.

Drew nods, her voice tiny. “Yeah, I’m okay. But…” She gazes toward the road.

But…what?

Drew bends at the waist and presses her face against my forehead. She kisses me again and again, says into my skin, “Oh, Colby, I’m so glad you’re not dead, too.”

I hear a woman’s voice but I don’t understand what she says. Drew slides back onto her heels and gets to her feet. I think I’ll join her; I slowly roll onto my back and the pulsing beneath me explodes into excruciating pain. I scream, but it doesn’t sound as if it’s coming from me.

I look down at my left arm; it’s bent all funny. I stare at it, try to wiggle my fingers, and sharp pain jolts all the way up to my shoulder. A blue print dress fills my vision and a woman says soothingly, “Now, now, baby, stay where you are. Help’s on the way.” She kneels beside me, slides her purse off her shoulder, and uses it to elevate my head.

That’s when I see them.

Through the hazy heat rising off the road, Leah kneels by Ryan’s body. She cradles his bloody head in her hands and it falls back, eyes open, staring at me. A stream of blood runs down his cheek onto her arm like he’s crying blood.

I realize in horror that I’m here;
I’m alive
, because of him.
He knocked me out of the road.

I gasp, choke on my own spit, and spew, “No, no, this can’t be happening! This isn’t what was supposed to—”

Drew calls out, “Mama! Here! Colby’s arm is hurt!”

My mother walks slowly toward me. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, as if she’s afraid to let go because her insides will open up and spill everywhere. She’s shuffling like she’s walking on ice.

I sob, “Mom? Is Ryan really…?” I choke on the word. I can’t say it.

She kneels by me, but she won’t look at me. Her voice is strangled. “He’s…he’s not good, Colby.”

I slam my head side to side and kick my heels against the pavement. “Nooooo! Nooooo! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Paramedics arrive with a stretcher and ask me to scoot onto it, but I demand, “Go help Ryan!”

The taller of the two won’t look at me. He says flatly, “We’re helping you right now, ma’am. Please cooperate by—”

I become enraged and not only refuse to get on their stretcher, but fight them tooth and nail when they try to apply a splint to my arm. I’m growling like a wild animal.

Mom gets in my face. Her eyes shoot sparks. “Colby Diane Denton! Stop making a scene and let these people help you!”

I roll my head and sob, “No, no, noooooo…just leave me here. Leave me.”

They finally manage to get me onto the stretcher, but I won’t lie still long enough for them to fasten the buckles on the straps. Finally, one of the paramedics holds me down by putting his body across my upper chest and pushing my head to the left. I watch, transfixed, as a police officer pulls Leah off Ryan’s body while another cop tries to cover him with a blue sheet.

She escapes the officer’s grasp and lunges for the ground, covers Ryan’s body with her own, and weeps. His head flops to the side, his eyes on me. I freak out. It feels like my mind is melting, and I stop breathing just long enough to make the cop next to us wave his hand in front of my eyes like he thinks
I’m
dead.

Mom steps into my line of vision. “Don’t look, Colby.”

“You got her now?” the paramedic atop me asks his partner.

“Yup.” He sighs. “Finally.”

The paramedic carefully lifts himself off of me, and the gurney bumps toward the back of the waiting ambulance. Mom walks alongside with one hand on my shoulder and the other pulling Drew.

Chief Taylor stops the taller paramedic and asks, “Are the injuries on the boy consistent with pedestrian suicide? My officers think that the girl was trying to stop the boy from killing himself, but I want to get your take on it.”

His partner answers, “That’s for the coroner to decide. You know that.”

Chief Taylor withdraws a notepad from his back pocket and repeatedly clicks his pen open and closed. “I need to ask your patient some questions.”

The guy who had to restrain me snaps, “Can’t it wait? This kid’s ape-shit as it is, and she’s teetering on full-blown shock.”

The police chief acts like he doesn’t hear him. He leans down to me. “What happened?”

Mom uses her no-nonsense teacher voice: “I insist that you wait until Colby has been treated before questioning her.” She locks a stare on him and arches an eyebrow.

Chief Taylor returns Mom’s glare as he flips his notepad closed and slides the pen into his front pocket. “I’ll be in touch.” He hands her a business card. “Give me a call when she’s home from the hospital.”

Mom and Drew follow the paramedic into the back of the ambulance with me.

I wail, “I’m sorry, so sorry. Please, please…oh, God, Ryan. Ryan, I’m sorry.” I turn my face to the ambulance wall. I’m crying so hard that I start choking. I feel a sharp prick on my right arm.

The paramedic says loudly, “Colby, I just gave you a little something to help you calm down, all right, sweetie? You will start to feel like you’re floating, mmkay?”

I shake my head, whisper, “You—you don’t understand. Please, listen to me, I—”

He puts an oxygen mask over my face and gives the top of my head a little pat. My eyelids flutter, and a light buzzing fills my head. I’m very aware of the hiss of the oxygen, and my sister sounds like she’s in a canyon.

“Why is Colby sorry, Mama? Is she in trouble?”

I force my eyes open, turn my face toward Mom and Drew, and I see a double image of my mother staring out the back windows of the ambulance.

Drew taps Mom’s arm. “Is she, Mom? Is Colby in trouble with the police?”

My mother glances at me, shakes her head, and her face crumples. “No, why would she be? She can’t help it if Ryan…” Her voice lowers to a whisper, “Killed himself.” She leans forward and places her hand on my leg. “It’s not your fault that this happened. You did your best.”

I roll my head side to side and mumble beneath the oxygen mask, “Ryan—Ryan didn’t try to kill himself…I—I was—” The restraints feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. I float out of them in my mind and whisper, “I—I’ve got to go.
I’m…done
.”

As I fade into darkness, I hear my mother’s voice. It has an edge to it. “Are you sure you gave her enough sedative? I think she’s in shock. She doesn’t remember trying to save her cousin.”

I awaken in the emergency room. I blink and try to focus on the bright lights above me. I roll my head to the side and gasp at the awkward shape of my arm, which is on a board covered with a blue cloth. I close my eyes and in an instant my mind is swirling with vultures flying overhead, the shiny steel of the semi-truck’s grill, and Ryan’s eyes, bloody and blue, staring at me.

A woman’s voice, deep with an East Texas twang, says loudly, “Colby? Sweetie, we’re almost done. Take in a deep breath for me.”

I must not respond quickly enough, because she kind of shakes my right shoulder and says, “Hear me, Colby? Deep breath in.”

I comply, and she says, “Good girl. We’re almost finished. We’re giving you just a little more medicine for the pain, okay, hon?”

I manage to open my eyes and try to raise my right hand, but it’s tied down. I flex my fingers and feel tape and something stiff in the top of my hand:
an I.V. Just like yesterday, when I passed out from the heat. Maybe it still
is
yesterday, and this is a bizarre dream. I’ll be glad when I wake up.

Somebody fusses with the tubing coming out of my hand, and I watch as the nurse injects a needle into it. Whatever they put in feels cold; then I am covered in warm fuzziness.