Today Only

by D. Love

  My head feels like it’s in a vise, and the pressure in my side is crushing me. The ringing in my ears gets louder. In the distance, I hear sirens wailing. I can’t see her anymore. I’m not even sure my eyes are open. Everything is … sliding away.

  "Hang in there. Please hang in there." The soft whisper penetrates my mind and then is swallowed up, like everything else. I’m wondering whose voice is it – mine? Emily’s? a medic’s? – when the darkness takes me.

  Chapter Four: Jett

  I’m on my way to work, when I decide to take the long way there. For some reason, I want to drive past the café where I had lunch with Rye and Em. I’m not sure what I’m looking for; maybe her car in the lot, so I can drop in and say hello. She sounded different on the phone last night. It was as if she didn’t want to talk to me, even though I thought we both had fun yesterday.

  I managed to avoid talking about missions, weapons and car bombs yesterday, but I wasn’t exactly a ladies man when I went into the Army. I outgrew my shyness and learned how to be confident in the military. Of course, that means nothing when it comes to figuring out what’s going through a woman’s mind, and the four years I spent surrounded by men in Iraq makes it harder for me to relate to the opposite sex. I’m just hoping I didn’t say something wrong or come across as too forward by calling her.

  Passing the café, I don’t expect to come across a car accident. My military and medical training kicks in, even before it registers that this isn’t any car. It’s her car. And it’s smashed.

  I slam on the brakes of my truck and launch out of the cab, at a run before I hit the ground. My horror grows as I near. All I can see is blood and glass everywhere. The SUV that hit her struck the driver’s side hard enough to bounce off and put a good two meters of space between them. The driver of the SUV is leaning against the outside of his vehicle, holding his head.

  The paramedics from my hospital pull into the scene, a few steps behind me.

  There’s no movement from Rye’s car. I reach the vehicle and bend down to look into the driver’s side window. I suck in a sharp breath. For a moment, I can’t think. The sight of her – and Em – covered in blood and unconscious scares me more than anything I saw during my time in Iraq.

  "Oh, Rye! Hang in there. Please hang in there," I breathe.

  "Jett, you have to move back!" someone says, grabbing my shoulder.

  "What? No."

  "Jett, back off, man. We have to pull her out."

  My mind lurches back into motion, and logic returns. I step away from the car, albeit reluctantly.

  "We’ve got this," Jim, one of the paramedics from my hospital tells me.

  "I’m not leaving until I know they’re safe!" I snap in return.

  He glances at me, as if wanting to ask me how I know them. The sound of a phone ringing in the car distracts us both. I spot Rye’s purse through the shattered glass.

  "Hey, Jim, grab her purse for me. I need to call her mom," I tell him.

  He does and tosses it to me. I step out of the way. Jim and his partner are trying to wrench one of the doors open. They need the space, even though I can’t take my eyes off of Rye’s pale features. My hands shake as I reach into the purse.

  The ringing stops. I’m not sure who tried to call, but I know from lunch yesterday that Rye lives with her mom. I scroll through her phone and find the number labeled Mom then dial it.

  "Hello, Rye, what's wrong? Surely you’re not out of the doctor’s yet," answers a woman I assume is her mother.

  "Hello, is the Rye's mother?" I ask.

  "Yes," she replies. A note of wariness creeps into her tone. "Who is this, and why would you have my daughter’s phone?"

  "This is Jett, a friend of your daughter’s," I explain. "I was driving down Western Avenue, past the café, when I came across your daughter’s car."

  "Where are my daughter and granddaughter?" she asks in a hushed voice.

  "Ma'am there has been in an accident. Rye and -" Before I can continue, she panics.

  "No, no, no!" she screams. "Not my girls! No, please, tell me! Not my girls!"

  "Ma’am, I’ll be right over to pick you up," I tell her calmly. "They’re hurt but alive."

  She’s crying, a sound that breaks my heart to hear.

  "Grab whatever you think they’ll need at the hospital, and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Okay?" I ask. "I’ll be right there."

  She gives a watery response I can’t quite understand but which I take for agreement. I hang up and move closer to the scene. The paramedics have pulled Em out of the car and are strapping her onto a portable gurney. Rye is still trapped in the twisted metal that remains of her side of the car. One of the paramedics is leaning through the window, trying to bandage what he can and ensure she’s still breathing.

  "Jim," I call. "Status?"

  "We’ll have to cut her out. Waiting on the fire department to bring the equipment."

  That’s never good. Having worked a few crash scenes, I know that the chances of survival decrease rapidly with the amount of time it takes to bring someone into the hospital. I’ve only known Rye a day, and I feel like it’s my best friend in the car, dying, while we stand around waiting for the right damn equipment.

  Restless, I walk to the opposite side of the car to check on Em. She is conscience and coherent, answering the questions the paramedic is asking her without hesitation. I look down at her and give her a smile. Her little face has so much blood all over it.

  I can’t stand to see her this way. I crouch down beside her. She reaches up and wraps her arms around me tightly.

  "I'm scared Mama is hurt. Please help my mama," she whispers.

  "Your mama will be fine, honey," I reply. "I’m on my way to pick up your grandmother."

  "Boy, my nana better not hear you call her that!"

  I smile.

  "Jett, we gotta get her to the hospital," Jim tells me.

  "Alright." I release her slowly. "We’ll be right behind you, Em, okay?"

  She nods.

  Another car stops near the scene, and two women run up to us. I see them from the corner of my eye but don’t pay attention. My eyes are on Em, and I’m trying to assess how bad her head wound is. Even superficial head wounds bleed profusely. I’m praying her injury is one of those: Shallow but messy.

  "Oh, Em, sweet Jesus, tell me what happen?" one of the women asks. "Are you ok? Where is your mom?"

  "Nana, it’s bad." Em’s eyes water. "Mama is really hurt. She told me before they pulled me … out of the … car to … tell you." Before she could finish, she starts crying too hard to talk.

  "Shhh, now there, baby. Everything is going to be okay." Nana hugs her quickly before the paramedics place Em in the back of an ambulance. "Sheila, will you go with her?"

  The woman beside Nana nods and steps forward quickly.

  The doors close. It’s not until the ambulance is merging onto the road that the woman called Nana turns away.

  "Are you Jett?" she asks, a little uncertainly.

  "Yes ma'am," I reply.

  "Take me to my daughter."

  I walk with Rye's mother over to the mangled car, where they are still trying to get Rye out. The car is crushed in on the driver’s side. Blood is splattered over the door and trickles down the side. Unconscious, Rye’s head is resting where there used to be a glass window.

  Ms. Silcox tries to move closer. I wrap my arm around her to hold her back.

  "Please, Jett. Let me touch my baby. Just once! Please!" The words are broken, like her heart is speaking instead of her mouth.

  Jim is standing off to the side of the car, appearing as frustrated by the wait as I feel.

  "Ms. Silcox, please calm down," I tell Rye’s mother. "I’m going to ask if it’s okay. But I need you to be calm."

  She stops struggling. She’s listening, and I let her go tentatively, waiting for her to bolt. She doesn’t. I run over to Jim and motion towards the car.

  He shakes his head.

 
As I turn to go back to her, my heart leaps into my throat.

  She’s crawling into the passenger side of the car, pushing and smacking the paramedics trying to stop her. With every breath, she’s sobbing for her daughter. The medics at bay, she reaches over and lays her hand on Rye’s cheek tenderly, like her cheek is a fragile piece of glass that will break if she touches it wrong. Nana is speaking to Rye like a baby, tears running down her face.

  "Rye, you are strong. Hold on, baby. These men are going to get you out of here. You hear me? Baby, be strong for Em and me. She’s graduating soon. You have to be there to help her find a dress. No one else can do that, Rye." Nana retrieves an electronic reader from her purse with shaking hands. "I’ll just read to you, until you’re out of here. It’ll be soon, baby."

  Overwhelmed by the scene, I drop to my knees, praying to anyone who will listen to help Rye. I remember my father telling me circumstances bring hearts together. Yesterday, I felt the connection to Rye when we started walking along the river. It was as if our paths crossed for a reason, one that makes me wants to be involved in the lives of her and her daughter. Today, I’m even more certain of that. The strength of my feelings baffle me; they’re unexpected yet somehow natural. I was meant to meet Rye yesterday at the river. I was meant to be here today.

  Gazing at the vehicle in front of me, I can’t help thinking of the families I see in the hospital from time-to-time, waiting and praying for their loved ones.

  The fire department arrives with the heavy-duty saw, widely known as the Jaws of Life. They set up quickly, though I don’t know if it’s fast enough. They begin, the scene affecting me even more. These grown men have tears seeping from their eyes as they try to rescue the woman trapped in the mangled car. I’ve been a first responder on gruesome car-bomb scenes in Iraq, where we used similar equipment to rescue other members of the military. I know how careful they are about not hurting anyone when trying to cut them free.

  Still, this time is different. The sounds of the saw shredding metal make me flinch and worry.

  A few, long, torturous minutes pass. I’m so tense, my chest hurts. I can’t seem to draw a deep breath. A shout goes up over the sounds of the saw; it’s an excited one that leads me to believe they’ve succeeded. Sure enough, the screeching stops, and the equipment is quickly moved away from the vehicle.

  They finally pry Rye’s motionless body out and rush her away in the ambulance. Rye's mother and I follow all the way to the hospital. The silence between us is that of two people praying as hard as they can that Rye will make it. I can see Rye’s earthy beauty in her mother’s features, and for some reason, the familiarity comforts me. She’s too distraught to find any peace right now, and I wish there was something I can say to her.

  Once we arrive, I park, and we hurry inside. A nurse at the information desk tells us where the correct waiting room is. This is my hospital, so I know how to get us there quickly.

  And then we wait. Not knowing is almost worse than being at the scene of the accident. I can’t bring myself to sit. I stand there with my blood-covered shirt, waiting for news about a girl I haven’t known more than two days. Waiting as if my heart and happiness depend upon her surviving. I’m struck again by the accuracy of my father’s words. I’ve had girlfriends, yes, but I’ve never felt this tug towards anyone. Like we are meant to be?

  I can’t even consider that now, not when I don’t even know if she’s alive. I do know that – if she survives – I’m not letting her go again. I’m going to be a part of her life, if she’ll have me.

  Soon after we arrive, Rye's sister and husband appear with their daughter in his arms. Nana hugs them close. Em told me yesterday at lunch about her cousin Angie, who’s a few years younger than she is, and her aunt Katy. The little girl is crying and scared, her eyes wildly taking in the waiting area. I wonder if she’s looking for Em somewhere in the room.

  "Will someone tell me how this happened?" Katy – Rye’s sister – demands. She starts crying, and her mom wraps her arms around her.

  I’m not used to feeling helpless. Normally, I’m one of those behind the closed doors, helping take care of someone injured.

  "Ms. Silcox, can I get you something to drink?" I ask, needing something to do.

  She looks at me, as if remembering I’m there. She almost appears as though she’s close to breaking down again.

  "No, thank you, Jett," she replies. "Please, call me Dee."

  "Ms. Silcox?" The new voice ensnares all of our attentions, as a doctor in a long white coat steps into the room.

  "Yes," Dee says, jumping up from her chair. "How is Em? How is Rye?"

  I stand beside her, holding my breath, not daring to hope for good news but afraid to let my thoughts linger on the worst-case scenario.

  "Emily is fine and is ready to go home," the doctor says with a smile. "She’s a trooper. She has a lesion on her forehead that we stitched up. Other than that, no broken bones. She can be released." His face turned grave. "As for Rye … at this point, we have to wait and see. Ms. Silcox, you know her body is already weak. The accident and trauma have weakened it more. We’re doing everything we can. Her neurologist is with her now."

  "When can we see her?" I ask. I don’t understand why Rye has a neurologist or why she’s weak. Right now, none of that matters. I just need to know she’s alive.

  "When she’s stable, we’ll come for you," the doctor replies.

  Fortunately for all of us, the wait isn’t long. I barely hear what the doctors say about her condition, except that she’ll be sedated for a while and will recover. I’m anxious to see her to the point of impatience. Something the doctor says penetrates the whirlwind of my mind.

  "Could you say that again?" I ask, interrupting.

  Dee glances at me. I can’t read her look.

  "I said, considering the brain tumor, she’s fighting hard," the doctor repeats.

  Brain tumor.

  This isn’t news to Dee or Rye’s sister, like it is to me. I’m not sure what to think. The lines of Dee’s face grow deep at the reminder. I recognize the fleeting look on her face; it’s the same one that the loved ones of the patients in the hospice wing wear.

  I don’t have to ask if Rye’s tumor is operable. I see the answer on Dee’s face. I’m trying to interpret what I feel – and wishing there was a training manual for the heart, like there is for everything else in the military – when the doctor starts walking away, followed by Dee.

  I go with them. I need to see Rye and confirm she’s okay. The fragility I sensed in her yesterday makes sense now, and my instinct to take care of her is stronger upon discovering the news of her tumor.

  Despite my inner turmoil, I make a decision, as I walk through the brightly lit hallways of the hospital. I’m going to do whatever it takes to help her.

  Chapter Five: Rye

  I can hear people talking around me. I’m listening to the chatter, almost like I’m watching TV. There’s a show on about … vampires? Am I dreaming? My body is filled with the heaviness of sleep, but the voices sound too real not to be.

  "Rye, do you think it’s a vampire or werewolf?"

  My mom is reading to me. I’m laughing in the dream. My mom loves the paranormal stuff, especially if it involves hunky men.

  I lay there for a minute, feeling my chest expand and release, almost as if it is breathing on its own. The dream is starting to become more real. I need to move but am unable to. What is happening to me? What’s going on?

  The voices grow clearer. They belong to two females and a male.

  Wait, who is that? I listen harder, and the words come into focus.

  "Well, I was stationed in Iraq for a few years. I just came home about six months ago," the man says.

  "How much longer do you think Rye will be out? It’s been 4 days." The second woman’s voice is my sister’s.

  "Her body just needs to rest a while longer."

  This time, I recognize his voice.

  "What do you do now, Jett?
" asks my mom.

  Mom? Jett?

  It’s not a dream. They’re here, but where am I? My body is wiggling, struggling against the heaviness.

  Mom? I’m not sure if I manage to say the word out loud or not. I can’t figure out what’s going on, why my body isn’t working right.

  "Oh, my goodness, honey. Rye? Rye!" Mom cries. "Open your eyes, baby! It’s Mama. I’m here with you. Please, honey, open your eyes!"

  There’s a pause.

  "Jett, get the doctor!" Mom orders.

  My eyes flutter open. Mom’s face hangs over mine, and I focus hard on her. She smiles with such joy, she could light up the night.

  "Mom?" I ask. This time, I hear my voice. It’s gravelly and faint.

  "Yes, love, it’s me. Please talk to me, Rye." Tears from my mom’s eyes are falling on my cheek. I can see every detail of her features. She has dark circles beneath her eyes.

  Suddenly, it hits me. I’m in the hospital. Images from the accident flash through my mind. The crunch of metal, shattering glass. Blood, all over Em and me.

  Em!

  "Mom, where is Em?" I demand, starting to panic. "Is she okay?"

  Before Mom can reply, my little Emily makes her way to the bed. The face of my angel replaces my mom’s over me.

  "Mama!" She’s crying huge, messy tears. "I was so worried!" She lays her head on my chest and sobs. My body awakens further. The warmth of her soft, silky skin assures me she’s okay, and I swallow hard to keep from crying. Accustomed to the thought of dying soon, I’m surprised at how grateful I am to be alive still.

  It makes me want to hold Em every minute of every day, to dedicate myself anew to living as richly as possible for the days I have left. I gaze at my mother and realize how beautiful she is then look at my sister and her daughter, Angie. It’s like today is the first time I’ve ever seen them. Have I told them enough how much I love them? I’m hurting for more than one reason, and I think it’s because I let myself go numb there for a while. I wanted to help them make their lives better and maybe, I forgot to keep living mine as fully as I could.