513 Running Creek, The Graingers
Ralph pulled his skinny arm close to his face. His dressings needed changing. Since the accident, his thoughts were awash by the tides of recovery. The mind numbing ache of pain and loss was wiped away by the timely anesthetic of Oxycodone. He often wished he could drink it down with a fifth of Bourbon, but the woman in charge of his care would never have it. Although, when the drugs wore off, the images of that day would repeat over and over again, like the end of an unchanged real of film. It dominated all of his waking thoughts.
He could still feel how hot it was on that summer day, the annoying trickle of sweat dripping down his back and onto his shirt. He could hear the chirp of crickets near the creek and the hum of dragon flies mating in the air. He could smell the heat rising through the sweet cedar boards of the porch. He could still taste the cold beer.
His wife, Maggie, had gone to Wal-Mart, which was at the North edge of town, across the street from Fort Lowery military base where a wild commotion occurred two days before. The news stations arrived. Helicopters were deployed. Everybody wondered what was going on, but nobody knew what happened. This was odd behavior for a small town like Lowery, where everyone knew everybody else and few secrets could be kept for longer than a hot minute. The silence after the event was surely stranger than the event itself. Nothing newsworthy was reported that night and it seemed nobody gave two thoughts of it afterwards, except for Ralph, who remembered telling his wife to be careful.
“We don’t know what happened over at that base now, honey. Just do me a favor and be careful, OK?” She dismissed his warnings with a quick wave of her hand as she backed out of their driveway in her 2007 Saturn Ion, leaving him in cloud of gravel dust and sipping a beer.
They had briefly argued about the incident at the military base over a chicken dinner the night before. He always hated arguing at dinner, it diminished any chance of appreciation for his cooking. Maggie seldom cooked. She had grown up in a family where her father was the family chef and he always prepared dinner, regardless of how long he worked in the day. Before Ralph and Maggie got married, she would say, “I can cook breakfast…”, but the only problem was that Ralph could cook it better than her. Needless to say, he did most of the cooking.
The argument started at their small dinner table, with Maggie making negative comments about the President, which always got Ralph hot under the collar. She grew up in a Republican household, and he was a Democrat since conception. He sometimes wondered how they would ever get along before they were married, but they simply agreed to disagree. Although, if Maggie ever wanted to get under his skin, as a wife is wont to do, a quick political jab would always do the trick.
“Some people are saying that Obama hasn’t a chance for a second term,” she said before scooping a spoonful of peas in her mouth. She never liked peas, but Ralph would make them anyway.
“Some people are saying, eh?” He looked up at her over the rim of his glasses, his head tilted downward, still facing the plate. “They must have a damn crystal ball then.”
“Well, you know, people are upset about the jobs situation and they just are saying that the public are going to rebel against him next election,” she said, a matter-of-factly, followed by more peas, which were getting cold.
He tried to gently put his fork and knife down, but his frustration was emphasized by the clatter of metal on the plate. A pea rolled off of it and onto the tablecloth. He picked it up with his thumb and forefinger and ate it, licking his fingers after. “You know, those damn Republican’s of yours have hijacked this country-“
“-Here we go again-“
“-That’s right, Maggie, and you started it, repeating that commercial bullshit they call news, and believing it, for crying out loud. First of all, let me reiterate for the umpteenth time, Obama can only do so much as President, OK? Secondly, those damn House Republicans and their wealthy buddies in Wall Street are doing everything in their power to threaten the public with this ‘jobs crisis’. I swear, it’s a goddamned catch phrase.” He accented each point with a firm fingertip on the tabletop. “They would have the public believe that by giving the rich more tax cuts that somehow, millions of jobs would suddenly appear, almost if magically. That is just the same old trickle down hogwash they sold to us in the eighties. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now. The wealthy are too busy planning for their next yacht or their summer house in the Hamptons. They don’t give a damn about you. Frankly, you can’t afford to be a Republican, dear. I know I can’t afford it.”
He picked up his silverware and cut into his chicken breast. It was starting to get cold.
“You get so defensive, Ralph. I am just trying to start a conversation, that’s all.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, and appeared ready to leave the table, but she knew that he wasn’t finished yet.
“It makes me wonder what kind of strange Republican bullshit was going on at the military base the other day. The Republicans always were the damn war party. They got their special interest military contracts and their effin’ wars in Iraq, Afghanistan – and I am the first to admit that Obama does not make me happy about his decisions there,” he said this while pointing his finger out the window, as if it provided a direct view of Washington D.C. and the White House. “He has used those wars as a goddamned employment agency, I swear,” he took a drink from his beer and thought for a moment. “Still, I do wonder what the hell was going on at that base to warrant the local news to arrive and then pretend that nothing happened. Helicopters were flying all over, search lights, and Tom at the Sunoco swears he heard gun fire. Whatever was going on was not normal. Some Republican experiment gone wrong, I say.”
“Now, don’t go on about that, Ralph. I am sure if something dangerous had happened, they would have let us know. Don’t get too ruffled about it; remember I have to go on to the Wal-Mart and pick a few things up tomorrow,” she replied. “And how do you know that it was a ‘Republican experiment gone wrong’? Now, you are talking hogwash. This is a Democrat administration.” She picked up her plate, which signaled she was finished with the discussion and finished with the peas, which she had eaten only half of.
“I’m just saying, that’s all…” He welcomed a change of topic, but the night did not end without his suggesting several times that she wait a few days before visiting the Wal-Mart, “So this can all blow over,” he said with a kiss on her forehead, before rolling over in bed and putting out the light.
The next morning, after she had driven away, he stood there in the driveway for a while, hoping that she would change her mind and turn around for home, instead of going to Wal-Mart. He chuckled to himself, thinking he wouldn’t mind if she stopped going to that place altogether, it being a Chinese-run company and all, but that was just another political discussion that would have fallen on deaf ears. He kicked at some gravel, finished his beer and headed for the screen door to the porch. Several hours passed before Maggie returned.
The driveway was long, their home built on the backside of a three acre lot. Ralph liked how the back door opened up onto a small shady creek, but Maggie didn’t care for the bugs. He always planned to fish that creek, but he spent most of his time on the front porch-swing instead, sipping beers, and waiting for the unemployment check, which came twice a month.
The Graingers had seen better times. He knew their jobs were coming to an end when the Super Wal-Mart with a grocery section was moving into town. The city council welcomed the opportunity with open arms, but the local business owners tried their best to kill the deal. Ralph hoped there was a chance to stop it. So, he and Maggie both joined the picket lines for the few months before the ribbons were cut, and the ground was broken for construction. Looking back on it, he was sure that back room deals had been made, the land had been sold way before the town new about it, and there was nothing anyone could have done.
They were both laid off on the same day from the Kroger store where they had met ten years before, just two young kids. He was twenty-two then, an assistant to the butcher and she was twenty one, working the cash register. It was love at first site and they married three months after their first date. They bought the house and the land early in their marriage, something they were both very proud of. Having no desire to vacation or buy a new home, they never took out a second mortgage. His father would tell him, “Once you buy a home, then that is your home. Don’t let someone else tell you how valuable it is. That place is yours. Do you hear me, son? Don’t ever get rid of it.” They had no real debts to speak of, but the unemployment would run out in four months at the same time for both of them. He often stared out into the distance, wondering what to do. Then, he would wake up on the swing with drool on his chin, wondering where his wife had gone off to.
Her arrival was signaled by the distinct crunch of gravel in the distance. The sound of rocks flinging upward from her tires and hitting the bottom of her Saturn, indicated a sense of speed and immediacy. It was these sounds that woke Ralph up from his nap on the porch swing. His thoughts were confused by sleep and the fog of alcohol, but he knew something was wrong and he stood up so quickly that he nearly lost his balance from a head rush. He knocked over a couple of empty beer bottles and they rolled behind the swing. He steadied himself for a moment and then flung himself out the screen door to his wife’s car, which was barreling headlong towards the house, as if she were unable to stop.
“Maggie?!” he hollered, trying to blind his eyes from the reflection of the sun on her windshield. “Slow down, Maggie!” The hand at his brow was quickly covered in perspiration. The sun was hot, the air was humid, and there was no wind.
Something was definitely wrong, he was sure of it. He felt the hair on his neck stand up and a chill went through his body as if the temperature had dramatically dropped. He waved his arms in front of himself, signaling her to stop the car, but he was unsure if she could see his silhouette with the sun blinding her from behind him.
Suddenly, she swerved out of the way, nearly hitting him with her bumper as he jumped aside, and into the grass. She slammed on the breaks so hard that the car spun out, hitting the porch with a blunt thud and a crunch. The car was stopped, and Maggie slumped over in the driver’s seat, her head resting against the car horn, heard two miles away as it echoed throughout the surrounding wilderness. Folks in the town wondered what the ruckus was all about.
He wanted to laugh at first, in hopes to lighten the mood, but he realized that he was only kidding himself when the car horn kept up like a steady moan. He got up from off of the ground, dusted himself, and quickly checked the damage to the car and the porch before making his way to the back of the car, where he could reach the driver’s side door and assess his wife.
He gently pulled his wife’s head away from the steering column and the horn finally stopped. Then, he poked his head through the car window, reached in with his hand and turned off the engine, removing the keys and putting them in his shirt pocket.
“Mag’?” he asked gently, “Maggie, are you OK, hun?” Her hair was wet with sweat; her face was burning up with fever; her eyes were unable to focus on him and rolled about in all directions. He was sure she had a concussion.
The driver’s side door was jammed, so he went around to the other side and gently removed her from the car through the passenger’s side door, making sure not to twist her in case she had injured her back or neck. When he first moved her, she let out a guttural moan that was somewhat like a growl. Hearing this put a fear in him that made his skin crawl and he stopped what he was doing for just a moment. Then, she looked up at him with weak albeit insistent eyes, the Maggie he knew, awake, aware and she whispered, “Was… the… Mart… parking lot…” there was a long pause, long enough for him to finish pulling her out. When he had fully removed her from the car, he carried her like a baby in both arms toward the house and she looked at him again. “It bit me,” she croaked. Her eyes glazed over and she fainted.
Why he had not called an ambulance or the police right away, he was not sure, but once Ralph had got his wife inside the house and onto the bed in the downstairs guest room, he was well aware that she needed professional help.
He went into the kitchen, grabbed the wall phone, and dialed 911. The phone rang for three minutes before the call was picked up by an answering machine telling him that all of the lines were busy and he should try back in a few minutes.
“Fuck!” he yelled into the receiver before slamming it back into its cradle, where it slipped off and fell to the floor, shattering on the kitchen tile. “Fuck!!” he yelled again. He and his wife had never invested in a cell phone because the reception was poor in the area. Now, he wished he had one, just in case.
He ran to the guest room where his wife had wet the bed and the sheets were soaked with her sweat. He dabbed and squeezed a cold wet rag on her forehead, which was hot when he lifted it away and actually warmed the bowl of ice water he had brought in to keep her cool.
He noticed a rip through her lower right pant leg and he wondered if this was where she had been bitten. He pulled back the denim and took a close look at the wound. It festered with puss and blood, and pulsated at the rate of her heartbeat, which had become irregular like her breathing. The bite was strange. He noticed that quickly. It was not a dog bite. He was certain of that. It looked almost as if a small child had bitten her or perhaps a monkey. Whatever it was, it was dangerous and potentially lethal. That was clear to him. He could smell that she had defecated while he was examining her and he could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. He had never been so scared in his life.
“Oh my, Maggie, we need to get you some help.” She groaned in response and he kissed her forehead, which dried his lips. “You’re burning up. Ok, we are going to the hospital, Mag. I am going to put you back in the car and take you to the hospital.” He stood up and left the room.
Ralph gathered a few things from the house for the trip to the emergency room and hoped that she could not hear his tears. He needed to be strong for Maggie. He needed to save her. He grabbed her favorite night gown from their bedroom and her Bible, which she kept next to the lamp on her bedside table. He gathered up their toothbrushes and a change of clothes for him. There was no time for a shower. From the kitchen, he poured a cold glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and ran back to the room, where she looked withered in the soiled bed clothes. Her skin seemed transparent; her blue veins were visible even in the dim finger-like shadows of dusk that slowly fell upon the room.
Ralph crouched beside the bed, wetting his fingers in the glass of water and dabbing them gently on her forehead and then her lips.
“You need to drink this, Mag. For god’s sake, you need to drink some of this, ‘cause you are really ill, OK? I don’t know what is going on or what happened to you, but we are going to leave in just a minute. I am going to load these few things in the back of your car, and then I am coming to get you, but first, take a sip, babe.” He grabbed her head gently from behind. It felt like a rotting melon in the heat and a reek emanated from her hair and scalp that smelled like death. He stuffed several pillows behind her and tilted her head slightly forward. Then he poured water into her mouth, slowly and carefully.
With what little energy she had, Maggie put up her hand as if to tell him no, but he knew she had lost too much water from the sweating and the incontinence. He thought that she would die if he could not get her to drink. At first she coughed it up, some of it running down her chin like drool, and some of it sputtered out like the engine of a river boat, coating his arm with hot water and phlegm that was thick, green, and wormy. He persisted and he saw her swallow a few sips, but each drink was slow and labored and he feared that she would choke.
He put the water down at the side of the bed and gently touched her forehead one more time, hoping that somehow the cold water had improved her condition. Her left hand reached out and grabbed his right arm firmly, gripping him with icy fingers, and she spoke with a vigorous voice not her own. “What the fuck are you waiting for?!” She squeezed for a few seconds and opened her eyes wide, which seemed to be filled with hate, regret and fear all at the same time. She was trembling.
Ralph was taken aback and he jumped away from her startled, almost unable to break her grasp. “You are delirious, Maggie. You don’t even know what you are saying now.” He knew he had to be calm. He got up quickly, gathered the things he had brought down from their bed room, and ran out to pack the car.
She seemed lighter in his arms when he first brought her inside. Now, lifting her up from the bed was a chore. She was limp as a wet dish rag, but heavier than a sack of bricks and carrying her to the car was a labor of love. Her head lay in the crook of his neck, her right arm was slung across his shoulder and her skin was sticky with sweat and human waste. He considered removing her soiled clothes to keep her cool and wash off the filth from her body before putting her in the car, but he knew there was little time and he decided against it.
After setting Maggie down in the passenger seat, he tilted it back so she would not choke, but not too far. He wanted her to feel the wind on her cheeks when he was driving. He took hold of the seatbelt and crossed over her to lock it in place, not aware that part of her blouse had got between the belt and the buckle. Not listening for the click of the seatbelt, and thinking loudly to himself, I can’t lose her, I can’t lose her, she’s all I’ve got, I can’t lose her, he slammed the door shut, ran around to the driver’s side and quickly crawled through the window feet first.
Ralph patted his pant legs for the keys, then his back pocket, before he remembered putting them in the pocket of his shirt, which was drenched with the sweat of panic and haste. The car started right up, and he shoved it in reverse, ripped the bumper from where Maggie had crashed it earlier and then peeled out, speeding down the driveway, a shower of gravel flying higher than the setting sun behind him.
In Lowery, Running Creek road marked the city limits on the Eastern side of town. The Graingers lived on the south end, not too far from Summer Street, which marked the Southern boundary. The hospital was located in the North Western corner, downtown at First and Pew. Pew Street was named after the seven competing churches that lined the road. Ralph often joked how there were more priests than parishioners in Lowery (with so many of the youth gone to fight in the Middle East). The row of churches, cathedrals, and synagogues seemed to pave the way for the Hospital, where both First and Pew stopped in a dead end. That was where Ralph was headed.
“Where are we going,” Maggie asked with a raspy whisper. “I don’t know where we’re going.”
“You’re sick, hun. Do you remember what happened earlier?”
She was mumbling. Ralph wiped the tears from his cheeks, so happy to hear her speak.
“I don’t know what’s happening.” She sounded dreamy, almost childlike.
“Just relax a little bit longer, Mag. Save your energy. We are going to the hospital.” She was muttering something under her breath that he could not hear. He needed to concentrate on driving.
Running Creek was at the edge of town, but Lowery was small and it took Ralph only a few minutes to reach Main Street. He soon turned left on Providence. He made sure the emergency blinkers were on and did his best to ignore the red lights. Traffic was often sparse at night. The roads had been clear and his foot was on the floor. He felt lucky. He was sure that Maggie would make it.
“We are six minutes away, Mag. We are almost there. Hold on for me. OK?” He reached over with his right hand and gently touched her knee. His left hand gripped the steering wheel for dear life; his right foot never moved from the gas pedal.
He checked his mirrors. It was dark now. He saw the street lamps switching on, one by one, casting their pale light on the street and stretching behind him in the distance. He plowed through Second Street with a green signal.
Suddenly, Ralph was startled by a slow moving car that honked its horn and turned its high beams on. He abruptly slammed on the breaks. His glasses flew off of his face and he threw an arm in front of Maggie, which he always did out of habit. The glasses tumbled between his legs and fell near the gas pedal. The pressure from the quick stop had unlatched Maggie’s belt buckle, which was never locked in place. He could hear her gasp and wheeze.
“We are almost there, Maggie.” He couldn’t reach his glasses, so he stepped on the gas once more.
From the corner of his eye, Ralph noticed the seatbelt sliding up Maggie’s shoulder. He turned his head briefly and took his right hand off the steering wheel to lock it in place. He did not see the tractor trailer stalled in the intersection of Providence and First.
Grabbing his arm to warn him of the sudden impact before them, Maggie gouged his flesh with her forefinger as she squeezed him tight, slicing into his arm. Ralph looked up just in time to see the tractor, slammed the breaks, and made a hard left, but it wasn’t soon enough. The crash scene investigators would determine later on that he was driving at eighty-five miles an hour on impact.
The driver’s side airbag did not deploy and Ralph’s nose splattered when his head hit the steering column. The center console thrust towards him and sharply to the left, shattering his right knee. He did not remember screaming. He felt for Maggie’s hand and it was limp beside him. He felt warmth pooling in his lap and he considered how long it had been since he last wet himself. Then, Ralph lost consciousness.
He woke in the car only a few minutes later. He heard the scattering of civilians, who were unsure what to do. Some of them called the fire department. Others called the police department. He could hear a woman crying in the street. He heard someone say something about gasoline. He heard his own blood rushing through his veins. He could hear the gurgled exhale of his smashed nose. His right shoulder felt as if it had been ripped from his body and he wiggled his fingers to confirm if this was true. The broken knee felt like a distant throb, hidden behind the confusion of a concussed brain. He heard the sirens in the distance, but they soon were muffled by the beating of his own heart.
Ralph felt something warm on his right cheek. He felt blood coursing down his face and onto his neck and chin. He couldn’t open his right eye to see Maggie. He reached up with his left hand and pawed at the left side of his face, which was swollen, but not too bad. Then, his arm limply fell back down to his side. He tried to open the door, but had only the energy to try once, forgetting it was jammed from Maggie’s wreck an hour or so before.
He could feel the cold night air flowing in from above him, but he couldn’t recall if the Ion had a sun roof. Afraid of what he might see, Ralph slowly opened his left eye. He tried his best not to move his neck. The windshield was gone. He could see the dented steering column and he wondered if his skull was fractured. He could see the shattered plastic mess of the dashboard and the mixed makings of the meters and gauges it housed. Then, he saw Maggie’s severed head in his lap. Her glassy eyes stared up at him, her skin was pale, and her crooked mouth was gaping and contorted, frozen in a silent, terrified scream. Ralph cried out for her. He choked on his bloody sobs. The tears came from a hidden well of emotion that one should never hope to find. He felt every muscle in his body spasm and contract. The world was spinning around him. Ralph thought he might die then. Someone asked, “Are you OK?” Then, he blacked out.
