Simple efficiency is so easily screwed up. And the alarm clock isn't always so effective, especially when you forget to set it. This is how I find myself standing in line at the local bookstore coffee shop for a breakfast of espresso and a blueberry cream cheese muffin. There's something I resent about this, but I can't figure out exactly what it is. Maybe I'm mad because I know I'm going to crash hard about thirty minutes after wolfing this down. Or maybe it's just that the girl behind the counter doesn't seem to realize that people have to get to work at this hour of the morning.
Ten aggravating minutes later, I step out of the bookstore, artery-clogging, heart-hasting breakfast in-hand. Immediately, I am accosted by a man who has obviously seen better days. His tattered jeans and filthy winter jacket worn in the toasty mid-summer morning seem to do nothing to draw attention from his few splayed brown teeth or the way the dirt on his face transitions evenly into his patchy brown stubble. He's carrying what looks like a big black blanket under his arm.
"Hey, listen, man," he says to me, his slurred speech propelling his sour, alcohol-laden breath toward my unprepared nose. "Listen, I got my wife and kid in the car two miles up the road. We ran outta gas last night and I been tryin' to get some help. If you could just spare five bucks, it would really help me out."
I can't help but raise a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm sorry, man, I never carry cash," I lie.
He eyes the bag containing my muffin hungrily. "Well, if you could just spare some change, maybe. We're tryin' to get to the hospital. See, I broke my thumb and the veteran's hospital won't see me 'cause they lost my paperwork. Gave ten years of my life for this country and got an honorable discharge and now they won't even help."
I grit my teeth impatiently. "Hey, man, I really am sorry. I don't have any change. I wish you the best of luck," I tell him, turning to hurry back to the car.
"I'm awfully hungry, walking up and down all night," he calls after me. "Gotta get to the hospital and see Dr. Spector. He'll help."
I freeze. Looking back slowly, I ask, "What did you just say?"
"I said I gotta get to the hospital and get my thumb looked at," he says, holding up the grimy digit.
"What was the doctor's name?" I clarify insistently.
His thick eyebrows come together. "I don't know, man, I ain't been there yet."
For the first time, I'm really looking at him. Now that I'm taking the time to study his features, there's something eerily familiar about him. I narrow my eyes. "Who are you?" I ask.
"I'm, uh..." he says uncertainly.
"What's your name?" I demand loudly. Bookstore patrons coming through the parking lot look over curiously.
"I...I don't remember," he stammers.
"You're lying!" I shout. "Tell me your name!"
He flinches and recoils a bit, starting to step backwards. "Listen, man, I don't know who you are, but you're starting to freak me out."
"Is there a problem here?" a stern voice calls out from nearby.
I look at the source of the voice. A police officer is walking up, hand on the gun by his hip.
"Oh...no, officer, it's fine. I was just..." I look back to indicate the strange homeless guy, but he's gone. I look around in confusion.
"Are you feeling all right, sir?" the policeman asks me with a tone of suspicion.
I nod slowly, staring at the spot where that guy was just standing. "I'm fine, officer. Sorry for the disturbance." I look over at him and force a smile. "It's early," I explain weakly.
The cop nods back, still eyeing me with uncertainty.
"I'll just be...heading to work now," I tell him with a questioning tone.
"Maybe you had better do that," he suggests.
I take the hint, and my leave. As I weave my way through traffic and sip my coffee, the whole incident fades in my memory until it seems almost like a strange dream. Could I really have just randomly started yelling at a homeless guy? All he did was ask me for change. And he said something else...what was it? And where did he go when the cop came up?
It's too early for this. I just shake it off and continue sipping my coffee as I hurtle down the highway at 80 mph. My muffin is calling to me through the bag. I glance over at it, my mouth watering. Setting my cup in the holder, I reach for my breakfast.
The sudden blare of a horn snaps my attention back to the road. I've drifted dangerously close to a car in the next lane. I swerve to get back into my lane. For a sickening moment, I feel the tires lose traction. I spin the wheel in the opposite direction. Rubber catches asphalt and there's a screech as the back end of my car swings around in an arc. For an instant, I see the terrified face of the guy passing me as my car spins to face his. He accelerates and the last thing I see before the world flips upside down is his receding rear bumper.
Hot coffee splashes onto my right hand, but my scream is drowned out by the breaking of glass and the groaning din of metal hitting the asphalt at high velocity. Though I try to regain my bearings in the rotating crash, my limbs flop around limply, smashing into various surfaces and breaking or bruising more than I care to think about. The seatbelt suddenly strains against my hips as my roof smacks once more into the ground. I close my eyes and try to cover myself while glass, metal and plastic bombard me from all angles. Over the noise of my vehicle succumbing inevitably to the laws of physics, I can hear tires squealing and horns sounding from various directions.
After what seems like an hour, the car stops rolling and comes to a rocking halt in the middle of the road. It smells like burnt motor oil and coffee. Somehow, I lived through it. I can't help but wonder if the muffin was really worth all this. I open my eyes and look over. The bag with the muffin is sitting on the roof next to me. The odd placement of it and the building pressure in my head helps me realize that I'm upside down. Trying to place myself in a position that won't leave me falling on my head, I undo my seatbelt. I guess those things really do save lives.
I squirm out of my seat and start crawling toward the opening where there used to be a windshield. The distant sound of sirens drifts over the hum of a freshly made traffic jam. As broken glass crunches under me, I realize how much pain I'm in. I'm sure I have a few broken bones, not to mention several cuts, scrapes and bruises.
"Hey, you okay, buddy?" a voice calls out to me. There's a guy kneeling in front of my overturned car reaching for me. "Gimme your hand."
I reach over and he helps pull me out from under the wreckage. I nod to him gratefully and turn to survey the damage. It's pretty bad. The sound of sirens gets closer. An intense feeling of déjà vu washes over me. I'm pretty sure I've never been in an accident like this, but there's something about it that seems really familiar.
"Let's move away," the helpful guy tells me, nodding toward the smoke beginning to rise from the engine.
With his help, I limp away from the mess, eying it as though it were a ticking bomb. The volume of the sirens increases significantly. I can see the fire rescue speeding toward us on the shoulder. I look back toward the wreck. A prickly chill runs all through my body...there's a woman in my car.
Hanging upside down from the driver's seat is a blonde woman, her eyes closed, scratches and bruises all over her face. "Oh my god," I say, starting to walk back toward the vehicle.
"Whoa! Whoa, hey buddy. You should stay here," the guy who helped me says.
I look back at him incredulously. "But, we have to save that woman," I explain.
He looks over to the wreckage. "What woman?"
"That wom-" I start to point out to him, but when I turn back to the car, she's gone.
"It's okay, man," the guy reassures me. "Listen, the paramedics are here. Let's get them to take a look at you."
I nod slowly and let him guide me to the approaching help. Maybe I'm in shock. I can do little else besides stare blankly as the paramedics look me over. They decide I need a hospital visit and close me into the ambulance and take off. Through the back window, I can see the smoke from my wreck rising into the sky. What the hell is going on with this morning?
The ride to the hospital seems to go by in a flash, though that might be because I was spacing out the whole time. They bring me in on a stretcher. It feels good to lie down. I'm feeling pretty tired at this point, but one of the paramedics warns me about going to sleep. He says I might have a concussion. They wheel me into a hospital room and a nurse comes in and hands them some paperwork and starts checking me over.
"Richard, it's me...Loretta," she says.
I sit up quickly. "What?" I shout.
"Sir, please lie down and remain calm," the nurse urges. She looks slightly different than she did just a moment ago.
"B-but..." I stammer in confusion.
"Loretta, Richard. C'mon, remember," the nurse's mouth moves as she appears to go about her business.
"My name isn't Richard, it's..." I start to explain to her, but for some reason, I just can't remember my name.
The nurse looks concerned. "Okay, sir. I'm going to go get the doctor," she says to me, then to one of the paramedics, "Keep an eye on him."
I watch her go. My head starts to hurt. Everything's swimming. I hear the paramedic start to say something to me. His voice sounds muffled. He's shaking me. It's no use, buddy. I'm going down. The darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. Ah, blissful unconsciousness.
***
