by A. K. Rose
The lawyer in her said, “don’t do it,” but the compassionate human in her held more power in this moment. She knew if she did it, she’d forego her opportunity to press charges against the pickup truck driver; she didn’t care. She had a story to tell. If she kept it in, she’d never heal. If she shared it, she could potentially heal and help other people along the way. If she were her client, she wouldn’t allow it. She’d say to keep it in, to not provide any culpability or a shadow of doubt that she was somehow at fault. She’d say sit on it, think about it; for God’s sake, don’t write it down.
Screw it, Cassie thought, and grabbed her laptop off the end table. Rachel had helped her set up somewhat of a command center around the couch. Everything she needed was within arm’s reach—her laptop, medications, a variety of snacks and liquids. She’d overtaken the living room, and made a mental note to clean up her mess before the day was done. Two weeks of this English Patient routine was enough—she was going take her life back. She’d sleep in the bed that night, come hell or high water.
Cassie knew very little about blogging, but was compelled to learn. She researched blog platforms. She searched to see if anyone already ran a blog with a similar slant. She thought about trademarks and intellectual property and what she wanted to accomplish. She’d never thought much about accident victims’ rights before. After all, she’d never been an accident victim. She knew she could bring a different angle to the discussion, if even just a relatable voice where similar people could find comfort. So, she secured a URL and started writing. What was the worst that could happen? She’d have an online journal to refer to in the future to remind her of this period of her life? It wasn’t much of a risk, she thought. As a lawyer, she was strangely not litigious. She had no intent of pressing charges in all reality—she didn’t want to drag out the physical pain and turn it into emotional pain shared in a courtroom. She wasn’t after money; she didn’t want retribution. She just wanted to move on, so that’s exactly what she did.
NINETEEN
“How are you feeling?” Rachel asked the moment her feet hit the carpet in her living room, just as she had for the previous two weeks. Cassie’s mother had left as promised after just a few days, and she’d effectively established a routine that worked for her role as temporary nurse. The dental training certainly came in handy, her strong stomach and crossover medical knowledge helpful when dressing the wounds on Cassie’s face and helping her manage pain. Every day, Rachel woke up, checked on Cassie, made breakfast, went to work, and came home to tend to her patient. It was trying, but also completely comfortable. Cassie wouldn’t be hurt forever, and if they could get through this roadblock, they could also get through whatever life had to offer in the future.
“I’m fired up today,” Cassie said with a smile, a sparkle in her eye re-appearing for the first time since the accident. “And I’m coming to bed tonight. No more patient Cassie. I’m back.”
“You are? Is everything okay? You know you can’t just decide to be back and make it all go away, right?”
“Yep, it sure is, and of course I can,” Cassie said, patting the cushion beside her. She’d managed to sit in a more normal position for a change, freeing up half the couch. As Rachel settled in, she planted a soft kiss on her lips. “I made some decisions today. I’m excited about them.”
“Decisions? Hon, what are you getting into?” Rachel was skeptical. Cassie was still on pain medications. Certainly anything she decided was not necessarily what she’d want in few weeks when she was medication-free. They’d had lots of discussions about decisions and legal action and whether or not to press charges on the driver of the pickup. She had no idea where this conversation was going. What had happened while she was at work?
“Don’t worry . . . it’s nothing dramatic. I decided to write a blog, you know, to share my experience. I realized I can’t do a lot from this couch. I can’t really do my work, and I’m sick of watching TV and reading. I need to do something. It sounds strange, but I thought writing a blog of my experience might help. Even if no one reads it, it could help me manage my feelings. And, if someone reads it and finds it helpful, then that’s even better.”
“Are you sure? This doesn’t sound like something the counselor I know would say is a good idea . . . what if you want to press charges?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I decided I don’t want to press charges. I just want to get on with my life. You know I’m not really litigious, I’m just not. Money can’t fix me and the pain of drawing this out in court is unappealing. So, I decided to write about it. In fact, I wrote my first post today, here, take a look,” Cassie pushed her laptop over to Rachel’s lap, the smile on her face really selling her pitch. She was riding high on adrenaline from publishing her first post; it was exciting.
Hello world, the post started. That text was the default from her blog site’s host, but she liked it, so she kept it. I’m Cassie, and this is my story.
I think everyone is shaped by their pasts, by the things they want to happen but don’t, the things they don’t want to happen and do, by the people they meet and people they don’t. I was recently in an unfortunate accident where I met the business end of a pickup truck in a crosswalk. Thankfully, my head is hard and my bones resilient. As I’ve worked to cope with my new reality—I’m injured but will get my life back eventually—I’ve had time to think about my past, my present, and my future. I’ve had time to think about the people in my situation who are less fortunate, the people who lost the battle with the proverbial truck.
I decided to write this blog for a few reasons. I need an outlet to share the struggles and successes of my journey back to health, but I also want to provide information for accident victims, to share current news and legislation and information with people who need a little extra help to recover. So, I see it as part blog, part resource center, and part community site.
I’ll keep this first post brief while I think about how to best share in this format, but here’s my starting point in a nutshell.
The Monday after Thanksgiving, I was walking back to my office after a meeting at a coffee shop across the street. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I know I was in a crosswalk when I was hit by a truck. I’m lucky; I escaped with a broken leg and some serious road rash on my face. It could’ve been much, much worse.
At first, my instinct was to be angry. I was at a great point. My job was going well. I was in a healthy relationship for the first time in my life. Things were good. And then, they weren’t. It seems that’s how life works a lot of times. The least we expect something, the more likely it is to happen. The more we want to hold tight to how things are, the more slippery those things become.
As we get to know each other in the coming weeks and months, I’ll share with you my very raw battle with healing both my mind and my body. And I hope you’ll chime in and do the same. Anything is possible when we come together, and anything is possible with the right attitude.
Rachel was taken aback. She knew Cassie was struggling with her new reality, but figured it would pass in time as she healed. She didn’t expect to come home and hear about or read a blog post, or Cassie’s plan to use it as an outlet to help other people. “It’s beautiful.”
“You think?”
“I do, Cass. I think this is a great way to help you start to heal. Writing is a powerful form of meditation, you know. If you turn the tables a bit and make it about serving other people, well then, that’s a great idea. I’m proud of you.”
Rachel closed the lid on the laptop and leaned in, careful not to disturb the casted left leg in her way, and gently kissed the lips she’d missed. They’d been living together, yes, but with Cassie’s injuries, their time to bond romantically was reduced to almost nothing. She wasn’t sure if it was okay—if she was hurting the woman who’d become her patient by default—but in no time Cassie’s hands were cradling her head and her lips parted with desire. Cassie’s position was slightly uncomfortable but she didn’t care. She n
eeded the connection, she wanted it and her reaction showed her feelings.
“I’ve missed this so much,” Rachel whispered, touching her cheek to Cassie’s to feel the warmth emanating from her skin. “I have missed touching you and holding you. It’s killing me to see you like this, in pain, on crutches . . .”
Cassie just held on and breathed softly, thoughts disappearing from her head. It had been a powerful day. She’d made some big decisions and taken action. She was exhausted from using her brain for a change, which felt better than being exhausted from managing her injuries. At some point her head landed sideways in Rachel’s lap, fingers running through her hair in a comforting way, reassurance that it was all going to be okay.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Rachel asked sincerely.
“No, I don’t know that . . .”
“Well, you should. I’m not saying it because you decided to write a blog—though I think that’s a good outlet—I’m saying it because two weeks after having your life upended, you’ve already worked through it enough to get to a place where you can talk to the world about it. You haven’t looked for sympathy through this; you’ve approached it so methodically, so rationally. I can’t say I’d be the same way about it.”
“Oh well, I guess I just think there’s not much I can do about the situation—it’s done. And it’s not forever. My mom was always big on saying, this too shall pass. So, even though I doubt it, even though I get depressed and worried, I guess I know it’s going to be okay. Besides, I think I’m going to have a killer scar to show for it,” Cassie smiled, trying her best to crack a small joke in a serious moment. “Also, I’m lucky, I know that. I could just as easily have been DOA, you know?”
“I know,” Rachel sighed, the admission hitting home. She’d thought about it a lot, in fact. What if Cassie had been killed? It wasn’t a thought she liked having, but it was a thought that crept into her head daily. “I’ve known you for only a couple of months and I can’t imagine my future without you. I can’t picture a life where we’re not together, and you scared the hell out of me. When Crystal told me what happened, the world went black around me. I didn’t know if you were okay, I didn’t know if you would be okay, and then I saw you in that hospital bed, all cut to pieces and your leg in traction and it took everything I had to just hold it together so you didn’t see me cry.”
“Really? I had no idea. You seemed so calm. You’ve been so calm throughout this whole thing, getting me moved out, keeping me comfortable, tending to my crazy requests. Why . . . why are you telling me this now? I mean, it’s been two weeks . . .”
Rachel was looking straight ahead at the large tree in her backyard lit up with a soft white glow from the landscaping light, blinking back tears, trying to keep her composure. She gently took Cassie’s hand in hers and started brushing her thumb against her lover’s.
“Well yeah, I’ve been holding it together for your sake, and I guess I just . . . you seem like you’re in a good place now and I guess I needed to let it out. Beneath the calm exterior I’ve been a bit of a mess myself at the thought of not having you around. You know, when you fall in love, it’s exciting, but it’s also terrifying. Because all of a sudden there’s this person in your life that you’d do anything for, you can’t imagine being without, that means more to you than your own life. You came into my world and managed to erase all the pain of my past. I wasn’t worried about losing you until that day and then I was so worried about losing you. Does that make sense?”
“It does, very much so,” Cassie said, sitting up to look into Rachel’s eyes. “I promise you, you can’t lose me, okay? We can’t control all the bad stuff in the world that could happen, but you can’t lose me. I’m confident. I don’t want to lose you either. I want us to be together, from now on. I want us to buy groceries together and go on vacations and complain about our jobs. I want that land in the country with the animals, with the porch swing, with your hand in mine.”
“That’s what you want? Groceries and vacations and work?” Rachel laughed. If this was Cassie’s wish list for their future, she could make it happen. “It sounds like you want to get married.”
“I do.”
TWENTY
She sat up with a start, a cold sweat dappling her forehead. Jessica Taylor was in her bedroom—the dark of night surrounding her, covers tossed to the foot of the bed—but she felt completely misplaced. It didn’t feel like her room, her bed. It felt like she was in someone else’s room—someone else’s life.
She’d been dreaming, and the details of her dream were coming into focus slowly, surely. She wasn’t falling, wasn’t running away from anything, wasn’t drowning or enacting any of the more common dream scenarios.
This wasn’t a common dream.
In this dream, she was with Cassie. They’d been at a concert, nothing too unusual there. They loved to see live music and had been to dozens of concerts together. They’d seen small, intimate shows at the bars on 6th Street, larger concerts at the stadium, and had even been to music festivals in the hill country outside of town.
They’d been at a bar and had walked back to Cassie’s apartment; she was still living in the high-rise. They were standing around the kitchen counter, drinking a little more and laughing, recapping the show, discussing the band and the crowd, and for some unknown reason, Jessica moved close to Cassie. She’d taken her hand, stepped closer again, looked straight into her friend’s coffee-colored eyes, and kissed her. They were so close, she could feel Cassie’s chest rising and falling with every breath, could smell the grapefruit scent of her body wash, could taste the alcohol from the beer she’d just been drinking.
It was then—when she swore she tasted beer—that Jessica sat up, dazed and confused, half awake, half asleep.
What the hell was that about? she wondered, and leaned back in her bed, plopping her head back on the pillow in one swift motion. Go back to sleep.
Finding sleep again was difficult. Jess tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, trying to erase the confusing thoughts she was having about her best friend. She didn’t know how long it took—it seemed like hours—before she finally drifted back off. She had the next day off from work, so she told herself she’d just sleep in to make up for the bizarre interruption.
+ + +
The doorbell rang in the distance, its chime alerting Cassie that Jess was there. She’d called earlier that day and asked to come over and get directions, and Cassie was looking forward to the visitor. She hadn’t been out of the house since the accident, except to go for a single check-up at the orthopedist’s office, so guests were very welcome. She leaned into her crutches that were waiting on the edge of the couch, and then, slowly, made her way to the front door. She was ready to be done with the cast, the crutches, and the crippling feeling that reminded her she had a long road ahead in rehab.
When she finally made it to the door, Jessica was standing there, waiting patiently, hands stuffed into the pockets of a khaki-colored overcoat, red hair swept out of her face and pulled up. Jess looked stunning, Cassie noted silently. She’d moved on, she was over her infatuation with her friend, but she still thought she was attractive and always would.
“Hi,” Cassie said with a smile, motioning for her friend to come inside with a tilt of her head. She needed her hands to hold her up on the crutches—it was a delicate balancing act.
“Oh, thanks,” Jess started, taking a big step inside and dropping her purse and coat on the bench by the door. “How are you?”
“Here, let’s go sit down, if that’s okay? Balancing in this contraption is still annoying.” Cassie led them to the couch, which she’d vacated completely a couple days before, and eased herself onto a comfortable cushion. “Anyway . . . how am I doing?”
“Yeah, I know you don’t like to sit still, and . . . this must be driving you nuts.”
“It is. It really, really is. But, I’m okay. Every day is a little better. I’m going next week to get this cast off, and then the h
ard work starts. I think I have months of PT coming my way . . . but, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s old news. How are you?” Cassie was desperate to talk about a topic other than her injuries. She needed something, anything, from the outside world to occupy her mind. Her new blog was keeping her somewhat busy, but it was a one-way communication channel. Talking with a friend like old times was just what she needed right now.
Jessica smiled awkwardly, fidgeting in her seat, her eyes focused straight ahead on the backyard. That oak tree sure was getting a lot of attention lately. She seemed nervous. Why was she nervous? Cassie had no clue.
“Oh, I’m okay, you know. I’ve been so busy at work getting ready for this case in January. It’s crappy timing, to have to spend the holidays prepping for a big case, but it is what it is.”
“So is that all you’ve been doing? Working?” Cassie asked, curious. Work alone wouldn’t be enough to upset Jessica’s normally calm demeanor. There was something brewing beneath the surface.
“Yep, pretty much . . . and worrying about you,” Jess said, still looking dead ahead.
“Why are you worrying about me? I’m okay, really. Everything’s going to be okay, soon, anyway.” Cassie shifted slightly in her seat, turning so she could see her friend better. The way they were sitting was awkward—side-by-side made it difficult to have a conversation, and Jess seemed distracted.
“Cass . . .” Jessica’s voice trailed off as she started her thought and then reconsidered. “It’s just, when Claire called and told me that you were hit, when I saw you in that hospital bed all battered, leg in the sling and a helpless look on your face . . . I just . . .”
