Sharp pain blazes through my jaw as I wake, my mouth half-open and full of cold sand. Nothing looks or smells familiar as I breathe deeply and spit. The grit that rubs against my teeth makes me wonder if I’ve swallowed a brick. I wipe my bottom lip and wince at the oozing gash on my chin. The sound of flowing water presses into my consciousness. A seeping dread comes over me as my faculties start to return.
I’ve checked out again.
“My name is Daniel James Pierce,” I begin to recite aloud, grasping for the few brain cells that seem to be working. “I live at 312 Baxter Court. I’m married to my wife Grace, and...” Grace!
The sudden pounding in my chest shoots up painfully through my chin as I scramble to my feet and look around frantically for my wife. I recognize that I’m under an overpass along the North Elkhorn River, but I have no idea how I got here.
Think! THINK!! When did I see her last? Early dinner. Pasta. Luigi’s. We drove separately. Why can’t I remember the end of dinner?
I look for the late afternoon sun to be to my right in the western sky. It’s not visible on the horizon.
Why is that side of the sky so dark?
It looks like it’s... Trembling, I glance at my watch. This can’t be right. It’s seven-thirty... in the morning?!
Stop. Breathe. Ground. Looking around, a stone bench comes into view. I stumble toward it as an icy gust of wind swirls the dead leaves around me. Recognizing my surroundings, I fight to understand how I’m at the edge of the Riverwalk Park.
Starting to hyperventilate, I collapse on the bench. Tap the vagus nerve. My hands cupped over my face, I inhale slowly through my nose. Count backward. Tap eyebrows. Breathe. Tap temples. Breathe. Tap chin. My panic begins to dissipate with the ritual performance of the steps I’ve learned from self-help gurus on social media. It eases the trembling somewhat, but it doesn’t help the fear.
I hold a long breath, then release it slowly. I need to get home. Patting all of my pockets, my frustration mounts as I realize my cell phone is missing. I limp around in a widening circle, hunting for my cell phone with no luck. As I walk, the dirt on my clothes becomes more evident, and I wipe in disgust at the leaves and mud. Is that a cigarette burn on my pants? Shame washes over me at how awful I must look.
Glancing around, I see a crumpled beer can and several cigarette butts on the ground near where I woke up, but no phone. I start scrambling up the overpass embankment as the sun starts to crest over the trees across the river behind me. Still unsure how I ended up here, the sound of increasing rush-hour traffic greets my ears from the roadway above. Every step hurts, the chilly winter wind adding to the pain. My head is pounding, and nausea tries to creep up from my gut.
A slight sense of relief welcomes me as the outline of my car comes into view. It’s parked in the gravel turnaround just before the overpass. I cannot help but wonder what the passing drivers must be thinking as they see me on all fours in the grass by the road.
I reach the back bumper of the car. A small punch hits my stomach as I realize that the front end of the car is resting against a guardrail post. I have clearly hit the railing. Checking the damage to the front end, I shake my head. Great. One headlight is smashed, and there’s a small dent in the front quarter panel. Still, it should be drivable.
My front door is slightly ajar, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone inside. Taking a long, steadying breath, I open the door fully and slide in. The keys are still in the ignition. “Thank You, God,” I whisper out of habit.
The air inside reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Who has been in my car smoking and drinking?! A sudden need to puke surges from my stomach, but I swallow hard and will it away. A glint catches my eye. I lean over to the passenger floorboard and grab my phone. The low battery light flashes red as I tap the screen. There are seventeen missed calls from Grace. Just as my finger taps the phone icon to call her back, the display goes black as the phone dies completely.
The rising sun blinds me, so I reach into my shirt pocket expecting my sunglasses. My fingers find a crumpled piece of paper instead. Opening it up, I cock my head to one side, my brow furrowed. It’s a receipt for a twelve-pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes.
A sweaty chill creeps over my body as I look around inside my car. Crumpled beer cans litter the back seat and floorboard, and I see cigarette butts protruding from several of the cans. There’s one beer can in the front cupholder. Picking it up and giving it a shake, I peer down into the open, mostly empty can. The stale smell of ash and beer violently assaults my senses, and I barely manage to turn back toward my open door before my stomach erupts onto the gravel.
My body spent from heaving, my temples pounding, I have trouble accepting the obvious conclusion of what has happened. I, Danny Pierce, the caring school counselor and good Christian father who never, ever touches alcoholic beverages, am embarrassingly hung over.
Tiny Tot climbs from the back seat to sit up front beside me. A painful, wailing scream surges out of my lungs, and tears begin to blur my vision. How did I?! How could I?! THIS ISN’T WHO I AM!!!
My thoughts are so scrambled, I don’t notice the flashing blue lights atop the police car that pulls up behind me. Tiny Tot scrambles into the back seat as a stern voice interrupts my confused wailing.
“Sir, I’m gonna need for you to step out of the vehicle for me, please.”
“Y..y..yes, sir,” I stammer like a ten-year-old caught with stolen candy. Stepping around the mess on the ground, I lean against the side of the car.
I AM A GROWN CHRISTIAN MAN WITH A JOB AND CHILDREN! How is this my life right now?
The officer’s words are muffled in my ears as I realize the scene in front of him—a car full of empty beer cans wrecked into a guardrail, and a mud-covered wacko screaming like a little girl with the keys still in the ignition.
His voice cuts through my despair. “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”
My eyes are fixed on the dirt. “Yes, sir.”
“Sir, can you tell me what happened here?”
Looking around and into the car, I can taste the shame as I answer meekly. “I really don’t know, officer.”
He points to my car. “Is this your vehicle?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble.
“Were you driving this vehicle when it hit the guardrail?”
“I honestly don’t remember, sir. I woke up on the ground down the embankment near the water, and I just climbed back up here.”
He straightens. “Do you have any sort of identification, sir?”
I feel my back pocket where my wallet should be. Nothing. “I’m not sure, officer. It may be in the car somewhere. Is it okay if I look around for it?” My gaze is still fixed on the ground.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“My name is Daniel James Pierce. I live at 312 Baxter Court. I’m married to my wife Grace, and...” Shifting my weight, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots down from my knee. I stifle a yelp.
“Sir, are you injured? Do you need medical attention?”
My cheeks flush. “I think I’m okay. I guess I’m just banged up a little.”
The officer flips open a notepad. “Sir, can you tell me when this happened?”
Tears of helplessness threaten to erupt.
Why am I being such a baby?
“I don’t know, officer. Last thing I can remember, I was having an early dinner with my wife. We met at Luigi’s after work, but I’m drawing a blank after that.”
Wait… Luigi’s, Grace… oh yeah, I was suspended from work with only partial pay.
“How much alcohol did you have at dinner, sir?”
I look him in the face. “None!” I sound more defensive than I mean to. “I actually don’t drink at all. I had sweet tea and she had a diet soda.”
The officer’s gaze goes from my face to the mess in my car and back again.
My heart races. “I know what it looks like, sir. But as God is my witness, I have no idea how all of that got into my car.”
“Sir, do I have your consent to conduct a breathalyzer test?” He doesn’t sound like he’s giving me a choice.
Helplessness threatens to push tears from my eyes as I slump down into a squat. “Sure,” I mumble. With my eyes closed to quell the sharp pain in my head, the next moments rush past in a blur. The officer’s hand lifting me by my triceps shakes me back to reality.
“Mr. Pierce, you are under arrest for driving under the influence, for public intoxication, for having open alcoholic containers in your vehicle, and for leaving the scene of an accident.” Cold steel closes around my wrist. How is this really happening?!
My shame will not be contained any longer, and I erupt into tears.
God? Are You there?! Oh God, what have I done? I can’t handle this without You!
As the officer guides me into the back seat of his police cruiser, while completing his required speech about my Miranda rights, Garrison is already inside waiting for me. His arms crossed, his jaw set, he stares ahead with Tiny Tot sitting in his lap. Kendra is in the front seat. She’s turned around facing me with a judgmental smirk, clipboard in hand.
I slump forward against the plexiglass partition in front of me, sobbing. “My life is over,” I mumble.
Kendra badgers me. “What will the teachers at work think, Daniel? What about the people at church? At Grace’s Bible study? What will Josiah and Abigail think about their sorry excuse of a father? What are the dads at the soccer field going to say about you?”
Her accusations bring a temporary halt to my blubbering.
What will people think?! GOD, I NEED YOU!!
The officer slides into the front seat, buckles up, starts the car, and pulls into traffic. Garrison speaks, still staring straight ahead. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The world fades from gray to black as I check out into the void.