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I PULLED THE BLANKET tighter around my shoulders. I shivered and winced as the paramedic applied a foul-smelling rag tenderly to wipe the blood on the side of my face.
“You shouldn’t need stitches,” the female responder said to me, “so that’s lucky.” I tried to focus on her nametag. Becci, it said. What a strange way to spell it, I thought. My head was so jumbled, I couldn’t get the words out right. I managed a thank you in French and she eyed me, but smiled slightly anyway.
I heard the woosh as the firefighters controlled the blaze from the plane, about 50 yards away, where we’d tumbled to the side of the runway.
We missed the trees, thank God, Michael had said just after the nose plummeted to the ground. We missed them, Elise.
I had nodded from my tangled position, trying to stay awake but shaking terribly from the shock.
The blood... Michael’s blood had been everywhere. When the windshield had shattered from the impact, he threw himself across me and didn’t have time to shield his face. His normally pale cheeks had been replaced with crimson and bits of shimmering glass.
I had heard sirens in the distance, as I cradled his head in my lap. “Stay with me,” I had pleaded him, but he had passed out just as three yellow fire trucks and an ambulance rolled up. The rain had been pelting heavily, soaking us to the bone.
Now, with the fire out and Michael’s plane covered in the remnants of fluffy white foam, the rain had eased to a drizzle, and the wind calmed its torment. I glanced at the back of the fire truck, where Michael sat with his legs dangling. He hadn’t been so lucky. The white sling stood out against his torn black jacket, and a paramedic was stitching his cheek. I couldn’t hear them from where I sat, but I knew he’d always have a scar from when the window had shattered in the crash. His face was marred with bits of glass, as a red-haired paramedic stood on his other side, picking the pieces out with a pair of long silver tweezers. Michael’s left leg swung slowly, lazily, under his perch on the bumper.
He didn’t look like Michael anymore. He smiled sideways and waved with his good arm. His eyes were wide and sad.
I turned away.
My heart swelled, and my eyes threatened a flood. I wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to hold him, tell him it was okay, that I didn’t hurt him. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, maybe we wouldn’t have gone on this doomed flight.
I bit my lip, feeling the storm swirl inside me. I couldn’t forget Jon. It was too soon to love someone else. Michael had said he loved me, his last words before we crashed. I meant what I’d said at 2500 feet. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mother. I’d never felt so alone than I had since Jon’s death. I was a ghost, wandering the halls, with nothing to anchor me down. Paris or Bay City, it didn’t matter. I was alone wherever I went.
“Okay, all done,” Becci, the paramedic, said to me, snapping off her sky-blue gloves. “Officer Randall told me he’s called your dad; he should be here soon.”
“Oh great—” Before I could protest, my father’s red sports car rolled up between Michael and me, the soft black top snuggly pulled up to avoid the drizzle. It rolled a little as he hastily threw on the parking brake and jumped out.
“Elise!” he yelled, avoiding an officer that tried to stop him. He pushed him aside and shouted, “That’s my daughter!”
I hopped down from the ambulance and handed back the blanket to the paramedic. My father scooped me up into his arms, and I winced.
“Dad, I’m okay, really,” I said. “I’m not five years old, put me down.”
He set me on my feet, and I winced. I’d lost one shoe in the crash, and the ground was quickly turning to mush. “You can tell me in the car, we need to get you out of the rain,” He said hastily.
I nodded and walked towards the still running hot rod.
From behind me, I could hear my father’s scolding voice: “Just get in the car, Michael, we’ll talk about it later.”
I had no sooner closed the door and soaked up the blaring heat than it was opened again. Without a small grunt as his arm bumped the leather seat, Michael climbed in the crunched back seat that barely fit his frame.
“Elise, I’m sorry,” he said, and I shook my wet hair without even looking at him. “Not about the crash, but I’m sorry I never told you...”
“Michael, not here, not with your uncle right outside.” I rubbed my arms, and shivered, hoping he would get the reference.
I watched as my father talked to a few police officers, a man with a soggy clipboard that I assumed was from the airport, and then finally a fireman. He talked avidly with hands waving in the air and was clearly agitated. Then he ducked under the rain and dashed back to the car.
The hot rod sped down the runway, eventually turning into the parking lot of the airport. “Home, bed, talk about it in the morning,” my father eventually spoke.
“I’m sorry about the plane, Uncle,” was all Michael said.
My father nodded. “I am too; I know you loved her.”
Michael sighed.
“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” he continued. “After all, planes are just things, ya know? You’re more important to me than anything else,” he glanced sideways at me. “Both of you.”
It was over an hour later when we finally pulled into the driveway. The rain had stopped, but the sun was setting, and the pavement radiated like diamonds with the remnants of the rain. I got out and went in the house, leaving my father to help Michael from the car. I went to my room and closed the door. My head was throbbing, and all I wanted was to do was escape.
Later that night, I lay awake in bed. I was tucked under purple blankets, wearing tight socks and short velvet pants. My tank top felt like it was strangling me. Every time I gave in to the sandman, my vision was clouded with red, and all I could hear was screaming over the sound of the whirring blades. Was it my own, or Michael’s? I started awake for the tenth time and flung my feet over the bed. I needed water. And maybe a valium, I decided. I wondered if Father had any.
The house was dark, as I realized I’d been lying in bed for hours. I tip toed out to the kitchen, the light from the fridge blinding me as I flipped my cup under the automatic dispenser. I yawned, and opened the fridge idly, knowing I couldn’t eat, though my stomach thought differently.
As I shut the fridge door, I heard a moan floating up from downstairs. Michael’s room. I took a step towards the stairs to investigate and took two steps back. Maybe he was having the same nightmares I was? I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he just needed someone.
Maybe I just needed him.
I love you; I always did, he had said in those final moments as the ground came crashing towards us.
I couldn’t love anyone just yet. My heart still hurt for Jon. I wished he was here; he’d only be a phone call away. He’d know what to do.
But he wasn’t here, and it was up to me to fix it.
My water was forgotten as I sat it on table on my way to the stairs.
I inched down them silently, afraid every creak would send my father to investigate. I made it to the bottom, carefully glancing back to see if any lights were flipped on.
The house was still as quiet as death.
Michael thrashed on his bed, the blanket bunched up around his waist. His grandmother’s bright blue and orange afghan was thrown to the floor. Pillows scattered the room like forgotten garbage. The light from his computer shown onto his bed, highlighting his red, scarred, and bandaged face in an eerie blue light. His sling had fallen to the floor near the TV at the foot of the bed.
He was wincing in agony as I approached the bed, his eyes squeezed shut. The back of my hand on his forehead told me he was sweating profusely. I gently shook his good shoulder.
“Michael,” I whispered, “Michael, wake up!”
One eye opened lazily but shut soon after. He grasped my hand. “Elise,” he murmured. “Don’t go.”
I sighed. Knowing his alarm would go off before my father’s, I threw the blanket down and crawled in next to him, hoping to calm to the storm.
Our bodies blended together, and his tossing stopped. His good arm wrapped around my waist, and he breathed softly in my ear. I sighed again, but a smile touched my lips. I had ceased those raging seas. Could I fix it? I didn’t know. A tear dripped from my eye onto his shoulder. This one time.