|
the awful truth
|
It took about five minutes for the line to weaken and snap, but only ten seconds for me to realize, register and recover from the quick slam to the ground. Looking back, I found myself wondering at whom to be the most angry – myself, for not taking care to double- and triple-check my rope’s security with each extension and retraction of leg or limb; my companion, who was responsible for tying the rope and dangling it over the edge of a particularly jagged rock and failing to warn me; or Lord our God, my ‘savior,’ whom I’m not even sure I believe in. Was that it? Was this a punishment? If I survive, I prayed, I promise to convert, confess, worship thee every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and build several churches in thy honor.
As I was falling, I had a feeling of stop-motion action. My stomach jumped into my throat as I saw the ground rushing up towards me. I had never been this close to flying – if only I were going upwards. I used to dream of flying. I wondered what the sun tastes like. Now I sit and stare at the earth and wish only to live beneath its surface, without any room for slipping.
I flailed my arms, managed to look down and saw the opened-mouth gaping faces of my companions, struck stock-still, unable to move and unaware of how to help. I looked upwards at the summit of the rock face to which I had been so close. So damn close. As I hit the ground, as my legs snapped band buckled beneath me, all I could do was curse the goddamned rocks, responsible for slicing my lifeline and breaking my legs.
It didn’t hurt much at first. I suppose I must have been in shock. My companion rushed over, flushed, wide-eyed. He made as if to prop me up but couldn’t seem to bring himself to touch me.
“Dude,” he breathed. “Are you, like, all right?”
I looked down at my legs. They were both jerked in horribly wrong directions. I could see bone. I opened my mouth to ridicule him, but I couldn’t get a sentence out. He followed my eyes, though, and got the picture.
“I have a cell phone,” he screamed, frantic. “Where’s my fucking cell phone?” Jesus, I thought. What the hell just happened? My companion produced a miniscule cell phone from his backpack. It looked like a toy. I prayed he didn’t squeeze to hard and crush it.
I think I passed out. Didn’t I? I’m not sure. Everything seemed to be floating around in shades of gray. Where was all this blood coming from? Was this my blood? I was hoisted onto a shoulder, inflicting upon me several shades of new, previously undiscovered pain.
“Sorry, brother,” he said, flinching at my scream. “Unless you want to sleep out here until your leg rots off, this is the only way.” Being carried down the mountain, both my legs hanging limply, pins and needles creeping up my thighs, was, besides painful, terrifying, and somewhat unbelievable, humiliating. I felt like a sack of sand: heavy, dopey, and unable to do anything to assist my own situation.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Why was I apologizing?
It took about twenty minutes for the ambulance to come. I was propped up against a tree, and I looked out over the highway into the valley below. There were hundreds of green trees that looked like little shrubs from our altitude, sprawling little cubes that were houses. Stucco and shingles, swimming pools and tennis courts. Everyone was so goddamned rich. All the fucking movie stars live in one city.
I had a headache in the ambulance. I could see the lights flashing through windows and hear the wail of the siren. I had seen ambulances race by me on the street before. I had always wondered what the people were in them for. What were they thinking? Who was in the ambulance with them? Parents? Spouses? Friends? Was someone holding their hand while they quietly bled, or screamed in agony? Were they even conscious?
Would they make it?
I was terrified.
Despite the name, there were several people waiting in the Emergency Room. Wasn’t their condition an emergency? How was it humane to keep them waiting for medical attention?
They all looked terrible. One greenish man white-knuckled a brown bag, of whose contents I was sure. I hoped the bag didn’t burst. A woman with gray hair and fleshy arms was clutching a blood-soaked t-shirt over her fingers. She was alone.
How had she gotten here? Had she driven, with bleeding fingers? Were there bloodstained handprints on her steering wheel? Was her car door tainted red? This was the most sickening and depressing place I had ever been in. I wondered if they were thinking about me: what the fuck happened to that guy?
And there in the emergency room, watching the news on the TV and the sickness around me, I marveled at how, when I awoke that morning it had seemed like a beautiful day.
|
060621
|
