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.”
Chapter Fifteen
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.
I jolt awake and look around. There’s a blue curtain pulled around the emergency room bay. I hear Mom talking on the other side of it. She sounds perturbed.
“Look, Reese, I just thought you’d want to know that your daughter nearly died today, and she has a broken arm…Well, I guess Ryan did it because he felt so guilty about posting a video of her dressing…Oh, so you did hear my message about it? Well, thanks a lot for calling me back…No, Reese, I’d never expect you to do anything about it. You’re only her father.
“…Leah’s in bad shape; how would you expect someone to be whose son just committed suicide?…She refuses to believe it; says he’d never do anything like that, and that there has to be more to the story…But he told us he felt like killing himself because of what he’d done to Colby.
“One minute he was sitting in Leah’s office, and the next minute he left out the back door…We heard this awful noise, went outside, and saw Ryan in the road. Some woman found Colby just off the shoulder. Right now the police are saying that it looks like Colby tried to push him out of the way but slipped on some gravel and ended up…No, she would never do that!�
��Reese, you and I both know that even if Colby was trying to kill herself, Ryan would never be able to knock somebody her size clear off the road…Because I know so, Reese; she’s gotten even bigger since last time you saw her…” Mom’s voice fades as she walks away.
I close my eyes tightly and see Ryan’s head hanging limply to the side, draped over Leah’s arm. I try to turn over, but my arm is in a bulky splint. I grit my teeth and push my head back into the pillow. So…I’m too fat to be saved. Nice to know what she really thinks. Well, the joke’s on you, Mom, because I was trying to die, and he did save me. So there.
Ryan’s dead.
Ryan’s dead.
I am alive, and Ryan is dead.
I killed him. I gasp and shake my head furiously. No, no, it can’t be.
My throat constricts, and the tickly feeling of tears running down the sides of my head only makes me angrier at still being alive.
We arrive home late in the evening to find cars parked along the road and lining Leah’s driveway. We meet Dulcie coming down Leah’s front steps; she shifts her baby to one arm and hugs Mom first, then me, then Drew.
She pulls up the neck of her shirt and wipes her tears. “I’m so sorry, y’all. So, so sorry. I—I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but…” She waves her hand in front of her face. “I guess I’m not finished yet. My husband needs our car for his night shift, so I’ve got to go. Y’all take care of Leah. I tried to get her to call your in-laws so they can support her through this, but she absolutely refuses to have a thing to do with any of them. I’m so glad y’all are here for her; otherwise, she’d be all alone as far as family’s concerned.”
Her voice breaks, and it takes her a moment to continue. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
Mom says, “Of course. Thank you, Dulcie.” She watches her go and turns her gaze back to Leah’s house. “I think we’d better get you home, Colby.”
Drew’s voice is high. “We’re not going to check on Aunt Leah, Mama?”
Mom snaps, “No!” She looks back at Leah’s house; someone in the front window quickly closes the curtains. “Colby’s been through a lot. We need to get her into bed and elevate that broken arm.”
An owl hoots and startles me, causing me to jump. I wince in pain.
“See, there? Colby needs to rest.” Mom presses her hand into the small of my back, takes Drew’s hand, and guides us to the trailer. In that moment, it almost feels like she sees me as more than just a big fat disaster. Maybe she does love me as much as she loves Drew and Rachel.
The next week is a blur. The doctor gave me pain meds, and I take them whether my arm hurts or not. Within thirty minutes of swallowing that little yellow pill, I can’t feel my head. Even better than that, I don’t have to remember that it’s my fault that Ryan is dead. Mom keeps the pill bottle in her purse; otherwise, I’d take the pills all at once and be done with it.
I feel wired with anger, and it only subsides when I’m doped out of my mind. When the meds wear off, my thoughts are electrified by the desire to die. I’m surprised when the sun comes up each morning. Why does it bother?
Drew’s second grade class makes Get Well cards for me. Her teacher, Mrs. Thurston, delivers them one day after school. “I noticed your mail came, too, so I hope you don’t mind that I pulled it out of your mailbox for you.”
Mom gushes, “That’s so nice of you!” She’s loving all the attention we’ve been getting, and she’s even pulled her You’d Love to Have Me for Your Best Friend self out of storage. She thumbs through the mail. “Why, look, Colby Diane! Your sister, Rachel, sent a letter from Lewis & Clark College in Oregon!” Mom smiles at Mrs. Thurston. “Rachel earned a fully paid scholarship to Lewis & Clark. That’s a private college, you know!” She takes a few steps over to me and hands me Rachel’s letter.
I take the letter to my room and stretch out on my bed to read it. The first thing I notice is that it’s dated the same day as what we’re calling “The Accident.”
August 28
C.~
Mom’s been telling me what a selfish little bitch you’re being lately. She didn’t use those words exactly, but come on, Colby. Why would you let her buy four bags of clothes that you knew wouldn’t fit? It’s your fault that she had to buy all those new clothes in the first place! Hellooooooooo, it’s called self-control, Colby. Lose some weight. If not for yourself, then think of Mom and what she’s dealing with.
Speaking of that, giving yourself heat exhaustion and ending up in the hospital is just what Mom didn’t need right now. If I were there, I’d sit you down and tell you to think of someone besides yourself for once.
Maybe you don’t realize how bad things are for us, money-wise. I may have a full-ride scholarship, but I have no spending money at all. Dad doesn’t send anything to help, and thanks to you and your selfishness, Mom has no extra money to send me, either. My friends whose parents can help them get to go out all the time, and I just have to sit in my dorm room. I’ve been trying to find a job, but it’s hard since I’m taking fifteen hours of classes.
At least you can talk to Mom any time you want. I can’t get a call through to her unless she’s at work or sitting by a stupid Goats for Sale sign so that her cell phone has a signal. You’ve got it a lot better than I do, so grow up, Colby!
R.
I read the letter several more times. This has to have been sent early on the day of “The Accident.” But knowing Rachel, she’d have put it in my casket if I had died, just to make sure that even in the Afterlife, I know what a wretched waste of flesh I am.
I slide off my bed, pull out my snack stash drawer, and withdraw a gallon-size bag of frosted cookies that I stole from Sugar’s. I gorge on them until the pain medicine makes me so sleepy that I pass out on the floor.
Mom finds me later, and from the way she reacts to finding me with my face smudged with icing and cookie crumbs all over the place, there’s no doubt that the You’d Love to Have Me for Your Best Friend version of Mom left the house at the same time Mrs. Thurston did.
When Chief Taylor calls to say that he’s coming over to interview me about the day Ryan died, I immediately ask Mom for a pain pill.
She props me up on the sofa with a stack of pillows under my arm. Two seconds later, there’s a knock on the door. She invites him in, then settles herself next to me.
Chief Taylor clears his throat. “Mrs. Denton, I’d prefer to speak to Colby alone.”
Mom pushes back into the sofa cushions, tilts her head, and softly says, “No.” She gives him her beauty queen smile, tosses her hair back, and crosses her arms. She’s apparently decided to be charming instead of stiff. Nice move, Mom.
Chief Taylor looks a little surprised and drops into the chair across from us. “All right, then; Colby, tell me what happened the day Ryan died.” He’s got his pen poised above his notepad.
My pain pill hasn’t actually kicked in yet, but I pretend that it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I blink repeatedly and allow my head to fall forward a few times.
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Is your daughter presently medicated, Mrs. Denton?”
“Yes; she’s taking pain pills for the broken arm she received when she tried to stop Ryan from taking his own life. Your officer told me that it appeared that she slipped on some gravel. It’s by the grace of God that she wasn’t also killed. I would think you’d be honoring Colby for bravery instead of treating her like a suspect.” Mom’s words are blunt, but her voice is coated in honey.
He flips his notepad closed and asks gruffly, “Did you see it happen? Because I have a driver who said that Colby purposely stepped in front of his car. He didn’t see Ryan at all.”
Mom’s eyebrows furrow; she turns and pokes my shoulder. This time, her voice is more sandpaper than sugar. “Hey.”
I allow my eyes to close.
She does it again: “Hey! Wake up!”
I pretend it works. “Huh? What?”
Her tone is accusing: “He s
ays that somebody saw you out in the street before Ryan was there. Is that true?” She’s teetering on brand-new disappointment in me, and what’s left of my soul shrivels up and dies a little more.
I make a face and speak slowly, “N-no, I was just sitting on the steps of that house for rent, thinking about the video that Ryan posted of me…Why would I be in the street?”
Chief Taylor flips open his notepad again and scrawls some notes.
“So, you did not enter the road until…when?” He narrows his eyes and watches me carefully.
I swallow hard and imagine how it might have happened. “Ryan just, like, showed up out of nowhere. He ran past me—past the steps, I mean—to the top of the hill and stood with his arms out, you know, like Jesus on the cross, and I said, ‘Hey, Ryan, what are you doing?’ and he said, ‘Leave me alone. I want to die. I’m done.’
“I heard the truck coming and I was afraid he was going to get hit, so I ran toward him as fast as I could. I tried to reach him…and I was just about to knock him out of the way of the truck, when I slipped on some rocks…and the next thing I knew, I was on the side of the road with a broken arm.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “The truck driver says it all happened lightning-fast, but he is ninety-five percent certain that you were in the road before Ryan was. The problem is, the driver had trace amounts of alcohol in his blood, so we can’t take his testimony at face value.”
Mom gasps. “You mean the driver was drunk?”
Chief Taylor shakes his head. “No, his blood alcohol level was too low to consider him impaired. It’s just standard procedure to test commercial drivers’ blood any time there’s a fatality accident.”
I feel the yellow pill kicking in: Woozy warmth is coating the inside of my skull and spreading through my body. I breathe in slowly and let it out. “I’ve told you what happened.” I turn to Mom. “My arm hurts. I need to go lay down.”
Big Fat Disaster Page 17
