EVERYTHING HAPPENS AT a moment when I want nothing. I want to stand by my car and scream some more. I want to run through the burning debris and find Jeremy. I don’t want to be wrapped in blankets and coddled like a victim when I am the one responsible. I don’t want valuable personnel helping me when they should be looking for him.
But shock victims are treated with warmth and reassurance, and I am lumped into that prognosis. Warmth and reassurance. I do appreciate the blankets, the ambulance way too cold, no one else seemingly mindful of the frigid air. My teeth chatter, the blanket not enough, the second and third one helping slightly. They get moved, the blankets. They get lifted and adjusted as different parts of my body are examined. I feel the sharp prick of glass being pulled out, the wet flow of blood that is promptly stemmed.
Glass. I now remember the glass. It felt like a blast of desert air, shards instead of sand, a wall of getthehellouttatheway coming too fast, too soon, my shock at the explosion leaving me vulnerable for a moment too long before reflexes kicked in and I ducked, covering my face, turning my body away from the blast. My eyes had been closed, my mouth moving in silent prayer, the sound of the explosion confusing me, a moment of absolute quiet before insanity boomed. In the brief pause of life, I had opened my eyes. Even though it exposed the most vulnerable piece of my body. But, I had to know, my curiosity sharing space with my fear.
I should have kept them closed. Now I have that image branded in my mind. The second ending of my life.
Warmth and reassurance. My body temperature is finally starting to rise. I blink, looking into the face of the too-calm paramedic, and will her to shut the hell up. I don’t want her words. I don’t want her words unless they speak the impossible. I want her to shut up, to stop talking before I roll my broken body off of this bed and silence her myself.
“Jeremy,” I whisper.
But she doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look up. Continues moving her mouth and saying words that don’t help. Words that don’t say what I want to hear.
“Jeremy?” I speak louder, asking it as more of a question, then repeating myself. Louder, because she is raising her brow as if she doesn’t understand.
Then the woman yells, her voice too loud, not calm, and I look at her in confusion, the sound piercing through me, the combination between it and my chattering teeth too loud for reasonable thought to occur. Then more faces appear, dotting the landscape, firm hands shoving incessantly on my torso, unnecessary as I am already lying down, and a mask appears, covers my nose and mouth, stale air pushing incessantly, too cold. My entire world is too cold, too dark. I fight my eyes but they close and the last thought I hold on to is one that doesn’t make sense. Jeremy.