The Big Bang
The ride home from the bookstore seemed to take forever. Traffic was awful as a result of the rain, and cars were jockeying from lane to lane in the hopes of being one of the lucky three to make the next light in the backup.
The bus was packed – they tend to be on rainy days because no one wants to walk – and the combination of overly-refrigerated bus, body heat and humidity had left the windows fogged. In spite of the fact that it was midday, it was so dark outside from the storm that I could barely see anything but my own reflection as I looked across the old woman in the window seat. She took this as an invitation to begin talking, something I did not want to do.
It took six light cycles to make it through the next intersection, and in that time I had heard all about her grandchildren – they never call or write – her ungrateful daughter, her arthritis and her friend’s recent diagnosis of colon cancer. The mention of cancer made me squirm in my seat; she took no notice of my discomfort and continued to talk in great detail about chemotherapy and her friend’s symptoms and side effects. The bus suddenly became smaller and smaller and I thought I would die from the claustrophobia if I didn’t get out at the next stop. I leaped up from my seat, pulled the signal cord, and as I made my way into the aisle, it happened.
BANG!
The bus lurched forward and I, unattached to anything, went flying down the aisle, barely slowing my fall by trying to grab onto someone’s denim-jacketed shoulder with my right hand. I hit the floor hard on my left arm, and the distinct cracking sound that echoed through the bus left no doubt in anyone’s mind that my arm was broken.
I lay on the floor in agony, partly from pain and partly from the horror of being on the unclean floor. I really needed to wash my hands. A large black man helped to sit me upright and as the bus driver radioed for help, he removed my wet cardigan, pulled back my oversized polo sleeve, and built me a makeshift splint with a magazine and his gray scarf. My arm hurt like hell, and was beginning to swell, but the stabilizing pressure of the splint seemed to take the edge off momentarily. For such a big man, he had such gentle hands.
The entire bus was watching me. I self-consciously sat cross-legged on the floor with my new buddy and medic, tears leaking down my cheeks for the second time today. I could hear the sirens in the distance as the police and ambulance wove in and out of the traffic to reach us. A man in the back of the bus complained about the fact that we had stopped while the bus driver did battle with the SUV that rear-ended us. Who would have guessed that anything so comparatively small could have that kind of effect on something as large as a bus? But then I realized that the bus probably wasn't even damaged, and if I'd had the good sense to remain seated, I wouldn't be in this position.
The police finally arrived and the bus was filled with the strobe of the lights on the cruiser: red, blue, red, blue. The officer spent his time outside the bus filling out the accident report. I sat silently crying, wondering how on earth I was going to pay for the visit to the hospital that was invariably going to occur. I couldn't even call my doctor, since I neglected to pay the bill the last time and they'd turned over my account to a collection agency. Damn it. Why do these things happen to me?
The red and blue lights were joined by an array of amber. The ambulance had arrived. Through the front door walked the most beautiful man I had ever seen, tall and strong, dressed head-to-toe in the navy blue uniform of the local EMT service. He was followed by a butch-looking woman with a crew cut that the Marines would have adored.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, crouching down to join me.
I pointed to my arm. “I picked the wrong time to stand up, I think.”
He chuckled, and began to unwrap my splinted arm. “Let’s give this man his stuff back, shall we?” I nodded, and he handed the man his Car and Driver magazine. “Good work, man. Way to keep the arm stable.”
“I was a boy scout,” said my medic buddy. “They taught us that when I was a kid.”
The EMT nodded. “I wasn’t in the scouts for long, but I learned a lot of handy lessons like that, too,” he said, applying a more official-looking splint and sling to my swollen arm. This one didn’t have the hard edges like the magazine, and I was happy for the change, even though moving the arm hurt like hell.
“Ready to go for a ride in my chariot?” the EMT asked me?
I shook my head. “I think I’d better walk. I don’t think I can afford the ride. In fact, I think I should just skip the hospital altogether.” I rose to leave the bus, and he stood in my path.
“Nope. Sorry, doesn’t work that way.” He smiled to reassure me. “I have no choice but to take you to the hospital. And don’t worry about paying. I suspect that our friend in the Escalade will be taking care of that.” He pointed to the activity that was visible through the side door of the bus, and the cop’s conversation with the driver that rear-ended us didn’t seem to be going well for the driver.
We exited the bus to the sound of a standing ovation. I smiled. “Hey, if I knew that this was what it took to be popular….”
He laughed. “I like your sense of humor.”
We climbed into the back of the ambulance, and he took out his clipboard to start jotting notes. “Name?”
“Angela Farber.”
“Angela. The angel. Very nice name. Address?”
“714 East 35th Street, apartment 14B.
“Person to contact in case of an emergency.”
“It’s a silly question to ask at this point. Haven’t most people already had the emergency by the time they get here?”
He laughed again, a clear, loud laugh. “I suppose you’re right, but I need this information for the hospital. Who should we call?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really have anyone, I guess.”
He looked surprised. “No boyfriend?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I broke up with my last boyfriend a few weeks ago. Not that it was much of a relationship.” He didn't really need to know that it was nothing more than a one night stand with a guy I met at the bar. Uninspiring sex. Hardly worth getting undressed for.
He nodded and moved on. “Family?”
I shrugged again. “I guess you could use my sister as a contact. She’s not local, though. And we don’t really speak.”
The butch-looking driver appeared at the door. “I checked out the rest of the passengers. No other injuries. Are you ready to roll?”
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching for the door. He looked at me with a glint in his eye. “You might want to belt yourself in, just in case we get rear-ended.” The last word was partially obscured by his laughter.
I lightly punched his leg with my good arm. “Nice bedside manner! Are you always this nice with your patients?”
“Only the funny ones,” he said, still chuckling.
The siren began to wail and we pulled out into traffic, slowly making our way to the county emergency room. It was going to be a slow ride through the rain and traffic, but I didn't mind. I was having the best time I'd had in ages.
The bus was packed – they tend to be on rainy days because no one wants to walk – and the combination of overly-refrigerated bus, body heat and humidity had left the windows fogged. In spite of the fact that it was midday, it was so dark outside from the storm that I could barely see anything but my own reflection as I looked across the old woman in the window seat. She took this as an invitation to begin talking, something I did not want to do.
It took six light cycles to make it through the next intersection, and in that time I had heard all about her grandchildren – they never call or write – her ungrateful daughter, her arthritis and her friend’s recent diagnosis of colon cancer. The mention of cancer made me squirm in my seat; she took no notice of my discomfort and continued to talk in great detail about chemotherapy and her friend’s symptoms and side effects. The bus suddenly became smaller and smaller and I thought I would die from the claustrophobia if I didn’t get out at the next stop. I leaped up from my seat, pulled the signal cord, and as I made my way into the aisle, it happened.
BANG!
The bus lurched forward and I, unattached to anything, went flying down the aisle, barely slowing my fall by trying to grab onto someone’s denim-jacketed shoulder with my right hand. I hit the floor hard on my left arm, and the distinct cracking sound that echoed through the bus left no doubt in anyone’s mind that my arm was broken.
I lay on the floor in agony, partly from pain and partly from the horror of being on the unclean floor. I really needed to wash my hands. A large black man helped to sit me upright and as the bus driver radioed for help, he removed my wet cardigan, pulled back my oversized polo sleeve, and built me a makeshift splint with a magazine and his gray scarf. My arm hurt like hell, and was beginning to swell, but the stabilizing pressure of the splint seemed to take the edge off momentarily. For such a big man, he had such gentle hands.
The entire bus was watching me. I self-consciously sat cross-legged on the floor with my new buddy and medic, tears leaking down my cheeks for the second time today. I could hear the sirens in the distance as the police and ambulance wove in and out of the traffic to reach us. A man in the back of the bus complained about the fact that we had stopped while the bus driver did battle with the SUV that rear-ended us. Who would have guessed that anything so comparatively small could have that kind of effect on something as large as a bus? But then I realized that the bus probably wasn't even damaged, and if I'd had the good sense to remain seated, I wouldn't be in this position.
The police finally arrived and the bus was filled with the strobe of the lights on the cruiser: red, blue, red, blue. The officer spent his time outside the bus filling out the accident report. I sat silently crying, wondering how on earth I was going to pay for the visit to the hospital that was invariably going to occur. I couldn't even call my doctor, since I neglected to pay the bill the last time and they'd turned over my account to a collection agency. Damn it. Why do these things happen to me?
The red and blue lights were joined by an array of amber. The ambulance had arrived. Through the front door walked the most beautiful man I had ever seen, tall and strong, dressed head-to-toe in the navy blue uniform of the local EMT service. He was followed by a butch-looking woman with a crew cut that the Marines would have adored.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked, crouching down to join me.
I pointed to my arm. “I picked the wrong time to stand up, I think.”
He chuckled, and began to unwrap my splinted arm. “Let’s give this man his stuff back, shall we?” I nodded, and he handed the man his Car and Driver magazine. “Good work, man. Way to keep the arm stable.”
“I was a boy scout,” said my medic buddy. “They taught us that when I was a kid.”
The EMT nodded. “I wasn’t in the scouts for long, but I learned a lot of handy lessons like that, too,” he said, applying a more official-looking splint and sling to my swollen arm. This one didn’t have the hard edges like the magazine, and I was happy for the change, even though moving the arm hurt like hell.
“Ready to go for a ride in my chariot?” the EMT asked me?
I shook my head. “I think I’d better walk. I don’t think I can afford the ride. In fact, I think I should just skip the hospital altogether.” I rose to leave the bus, and he stood in my path.
“Nope. Sorry, doesn’t work that way.” He smiled to reassure me. “I have no choice but to take you to the hospital. And don’t worry about paying. I suspect that our friend in the Escalade will be taking care of that.” He pointed to the activity that was visible through the side door of the bus, and the cop’s conversation with the driver that rear-ended us didn’t seem to be going well for the driver.
We exited the bus to the sound of a standing ovation. I smiled. “Hey, if I knew that this was what it took to be popular….”
He laughed. “I like your sense of humor.”
We climbed into the back of the ambulance, and he took out his clipboard to start jotting notes. “Name?”
“Angela Farber.”
“Angela. The angel. Very nice name. Address?”
“714 East 35th Street, apartment 14B.
“Person to contact in case of an emergency.”
“It’s a silly question to ask at this point. Haven’t most people already had the emergency by the time they get here?”
He laughed again, a clear, loud laugh. “I suppose you’re right, but I need this information for the hospital. Who should we call?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really have anyone, I guess.”
He looked surprised. “No boyfriend?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I broke up with my last boyfriend a few weeks ago. Not that it was much of a relationship.” He didn't really need to know that it was nothing more than a one night stand with a guy I met at the bar. Uninspiring sex. Hardly worth getting undressed for.
He nodded and moved on. “Family?”
I shrugged again. “I guess you could use my sister as a contact. She’s not local, though. And we don’t really speak.”
The butch-looking driver appeared at the door. “I checked out the rest of the passengers. No other injuries. Are you ready to roll?”
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching for the door. He looked at me with a glint in his eye. “You might want to belt yourself in, just in case we get rear-ended.” The last word was partially obscured by his laughter.
I lightly punched his leg with my good arm. “Nice bedside manner! Are you always this nice with your patients?”
“Only the funny ones,” he said, still chuckling.
The siren began to wail and we pulled out into traffic, slowly making our way to the county emergency room. It was going to be a slow ride through the rain and traffic, but I didn't mind. I was having the best time I'd had in ages.
posted by Ali at 3:11 PM
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