Blue Stitches

One

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

I swung my backpack off my shoulders and knelt in front of my apartment door. I sifted through education notebooks, overflowing folders, gum wrappers, and pamphlets until my hands finally made contact. The empty key-card holder stared solemnly back at me. Its counterpart was sitting on the kitchen table where I left it this morning.

I leaned against the wall and pulled out my phone. Praying that my roommate might have skipped class today, I dialed her number.

“I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but please-” What’s the point of having a roommate if she can’t get me into my room? I hit the red button.

Grabbing my car keys, I decided to wait in my car. If I lay real low, no one will notice the pathetic college senior who locked herself out of her apartment again, I thought as I sprawled across the backseat.

I loved my 2008 Chevy Impala that I saved for years to purchase. I pleaded with my parents that my social life was in dire need of assistance, preferably one with wheels. As the first of six children, I was the one who set the precedent for these childhood milestones. Cell phone at age 14. Boyfriend at age 16. Car at age 18. I certainly had power in the birth order.

Bzzz. A text from my cousin: Are you coming to Chelsea's birthday party? I could sense his impatience, probably because I never gave him a clear answer. I weighed the options in my head:

1.) Wait for my roommate to rescue me so that I can collapse on my bed and binge-watch The Office.

2.) Drive thirty minutes to force myself to socialize on a Friday night.

3.) Become an online student and live in the backseat of my car (I had enough gluten-free pretzels to last a few days).

I belly-crawled into the front seat, legs sprawled behind me. My extroverted nature kicked in as I turned the key.

--

I yawned, wide enough to bring tears to my eyes and catch Chelsea’s attention.

“Teaching and college don’t mix, do they Ruby?” she asked knowingly. Education majors have their own language: One of exhilaration and exhaustion.

“I don’t know. I feel like my college days ended when student teaching started.” I swirled the ice around in my cup. “I mean look at me, I’m drinking water out of a red solo cup on a Friday night.”

Chelsea laughed, tapping her cup to mine. “I’ll cheers to that,” she replied. “But really, you should go home if you’re tired. You know what your mom would say.”

Immediately, the questions sprang up: Are you sure you’re able to drive? Roll down the window if you feel tired. Text me as soon as you get there. She often said that in one breath as I scurried out the door with an impatient wave. I once asked why she labeled this a “driving anxiety.” Did she have a traumatic experience as a child? A car accident? A parking ticket? Nothing. I’ve come to realize that anxiety cannot always be traced back to childhood. Sometimes the body and mind are completely out of sync, and you’re trapped in the middle.

“Twenty-two years old and I can still hear her voice in my head,” I complained as I rummaged through my purse for my keys. “Is that normal?”

“You bet,” she replied, giving me a quick hug. “And it only gets louder.”

I smiled and squeezed her hand in appreciation. I glanced out the dusty window as light snowflakes drifted in no particular direction. Only in upstate New York would it snow in late March.

“Don’t forget to text me when you get home,” Chelsea added.

I’ve always regarded that phrase as a formality. Text me when you get home meant If you didn’t text me, there’s a 50% chance that you forgot anyway. The only person I never failed to text was my mother.

“I will.”

Two

Snow pounded on the dirty windshield; the rhythm matched a quickening heartbeat. The wipers briskly brushed the white sparks of moonlight bouncing off the brights. With every swipe, my eyes refocused on the road.

Thu-thump. Swish. Thu-thump. Swish.

I turned the radio two notches higher. When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer. I snapped cruise control into place as my mind drifted to a cold November years ago…

The snow piled nine feet high, completely obstructing the view from the window.

“NO SCHOOL! NO SCHOOL!” my sister and I chanted in our matching striped pajamas. Our blue eyes reflected the dimly-lit room as we paraded around triumphantly. In the background, the radio sang softly: In the midnight hour, I can feel your power.

“Whoa there, hang on a minute,” dad laughed, scooping us into a bear hug. “Just because there’s a few feet of snow doesn’t mean class is canceled. Now grab a shovel and help me dig out the front sidewalk.”

“Da-ad,” I groaned, with a haughty glare. “Why can’t you cancel chores instead?”

“You might be able to escape schoolwork, but not work at home,” he replied with a gentle push toward the coatrack. We put on our oversized coats with great difficulty to slow the process.

“Tell you what, if you work hard, I’ll see what we can do about cross-country skiing to NOCO,” he bargained as we squeezed into our furry snow boots. “We’ll probably run out of food if we’re trapped here long enough.”

The two of us grinned. We knew what a trip to the gas station meant: A whole lot of snacks for dinner.

“This snow is really something isn’t it?” My mom watched us meander out the door from the kitchen window. “Thank God these girls won’t be driving for a long time,” she whispered.

Thu-thump. Swish. Bump.

I snapped back into place and tightened my grip reflexively. What was that? Clutching the wheel with two hands in the proper 10:00 and 2:00 positions, I heard mom’s anxious voice bubble up on the surface: Are you sure you’re able to drive?

Thu-thump. Swish. BANG!

My backside jerked against the window, slammed by an invisible wall. The Chevy had a mind of its own as it reeled, spun, and sputtered across two lanes.

BAM

I heard the crunch of a window colliding against a pole. My body was in the hands of inertia as the car ricocheted into the other side of the road. Help me, I internally cried to no one, my hands helplessly spinning the wheel to stop the inevitable. The windshield wipers waved frantically in alarm.

Thu-thumpswish Thu-thumpswish. Crunch.

My head banged against the wheel, causing momentary blindness. The car had reared its head into the railing on the side of the road, stubbornly awaiting its owner’s reaction. The heart of the radio continued to play as if the outer shell wasn’t completely shredded:

Just like a prayer.

My hand immediately flew to my forehead. I drew it away, expecting residue. Instead, I saw shaking, white fingers.

You know I’ll take you-

I snapped the radio off, craving silence. My thoughts were spit-firing. I tentatively examined the damage around me. Out of the broken windshield, the snow fell steadily, haunting me. Each flake fell onto the yellow line dividing the edge of the road from the grass.

Am I still on the highway? I panicked. I tried to pry my door open with no avail. My hand flew to the reverse shift to get off of the highway. Rrrrr. The engine roared but refused to cooperate. I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing.

Crack

I whipped forward to see the flash of an SUV brush past the front of my car. I have to get out of here before a car actually hits me, I thought.

Leaving the keys in the ignition, I crawled toward the passenger side to make my escape. My wobbly legs barely supported me as I stepped into the frigid air. From the side of the road, I crouched down to examine the front of the car completely caved in. The cracked headlights revealed the impact from the side railing.

My breathing became shallow and rapid. I tried to think back to Driver’s Ed.

“If you hit an ice patch while speeding down the highway and spin out of control, but the car is still halfway on the road when you stop and won’t move an inch, here’s what you do...”

Unfortunately, I never took Driver’s Ed.

I looked up at the sound of squealing tires. A white semi-truck pulled in front of me with flashers blinking wildly in the wind. Swinging my purse over the shoulder, I cautiously approached the left side of the truck.

My guardian angel was a large man with a brown beard and a flannel top. He was talking on the phone, oblivious to the young woman standing in the snow outside his rearview mirror. My rapid breaths became sharp intakes as I choked back the saliva forming at my throat. The wind pushed me toward the door, guiding my hand as I desperately knocked on the window above me.

The man turned and rolled the window down. He placed his hand over the phone’s speaker and reassured me: “I’m calling the police for you.”

The police! Why didn’t I think of that before?

I nodded and pulled my thin coat closer to combat the sharp lake-effect wind. Turning away from the truck, I directed my shaky steps toward my disabled vehicle.

If I lay real low in the back seat, no one will notice the pathetic college senior who spun out on the highway --

Blackout.

Three

“Ma’am, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

My dream was vivid and alive. I was sprawled across the passenger seat of a semi truck. Hey, this is neat. I’ve never been in a semi-truck before… I frowned. Strange. Why wouldn’t I be able to hear him? The dream shifted as my vision became clearer. The wipers waved wildly. Thu-thumpswish Thu-thumpswish. Reeling, spinning, sputtering. Help me.

I responded: “Yesh?”

My lips were pressed together against my will. I could see the outline of a worried face now. An angel? Call my name. The crunch of a window colliding against a pole. Cracked headlights.

“Wheremami?” I asked, frustrated with my inability to talk in this dream. I blinked away the haze around the man's face. He was holding up a cell phone. Three knocks. Why didn’t I think of…

Electric jolts ran through my jaw. I maneuvered my tongue to pry my lips open but there was an internal block. My teeth. My hands flew to my lips and touched the spot that my brain couldn’t process: Two front teeth jammed straight through the lower lip. My stomach turned inside out.

My peripheral vision widened as I found the driver’s arm. Each snow pellet hitting the windshield was a puncture wound in my jaw, my leg, my entire body.

There were voices now. Two shadow figures outlined by flashing lights. A door pried open, cold air rushing in. This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

“Can you lift yourself?” a muffled voice asked.

I channeled my energy into lifting the lower half of my body, but it refused to listen. I was completely immobile. Paralyzed. I choked back a sob in response.

Two strong arms gently lifted me from the safety of the warm truck. My body screamed back. Every touch was a hand pressed against a burning stove. Hot tears misted in the frigid air. In a moment of suspension, I felt the cool platform rise to meet me.

I stared at the black sky.

---

“ -- can call?”

I blinked. A man in uniform peered above me, concerned. Is he talking to me? My head spun as I tried to take in my new surroundings.

“Huh?”

“I said, is there anyone I can call for you?” He held out my phone, unscratched. Sirens blared in surround sound.

An ambulance. I’m in an ambulance.

I took a deep breath, white spots blurring my vision. I hit speed-dial on “Aahome.” Two rings. Three rings.

Come on come on come on.

“Parental Units” was the next call. My mom never wanted to pay for another line, so my parents shared a phone number. It didn’t matter how many phones they had, they were all ringing indefinitely.

“Mwust be veeping” I attempted a joke, but the teeth forced into my lip reminded me that I was supposed to be in immense pain. Another wave of spots blotted my view.

The ambulance came to a halt which set my eyes back into my forehead. Whoosh. My mobile bed tipped backwards and surrendered to artificial brightness.

I was whisked into the longest stretch of hallway I’ve ever seen. Urgent voices surrounded me on either side. Each beam that passed overhead was a countdown to my fate. Twenty seven. Twenty six. Twenty five.

At beam twelve my carrier took a sharp turn into a small room. A young woman in blue was waiting for me, needle in hand. I jerked away naturally to avert the expected pain.

“It’s okay,” she reassured me. “Let’s open your mouth up and you’ll feel much better.”

With a swift yank she pried my teeth out of my swollen lip. Fast stitch work followed under a bright white light. Closing my eyes, I could feel each string tug like a missing button poked through a thick coat. I was prodded, stitched, and mended.

When I opened my eyes, I was alone. The only sounds were the beep of the IV machine and my tumbling thoughts.

I don’t get it. How did I end up here? I have to pee so freaking bad. Was I in the car? Oh my gosh, what if I have memory loss? My leg oh--

I tested each part of the body, shaking.

My right hand. Open close. Left hand. Open close.

Left leg. Up, up, flex. Okay.

Right leg.

Right leg...

Paralyzed, it came back. No, I couldn’t afford to think this. Demons buzzed around me. You’ll never be able to walk again. You’ll be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.

Tears blurred my vision. I tried to wipe them away, but the blood that appeared on my hand let the cannon loose. I could taste salt and water and blood and dirt and --

“Ruby.” My name. A gentle touch on the arm. I looked up.

“It’s time.”

Four

As the nurse fiddled with the IV machine, she informed me that the doctors were going to put me through an MRI scan to assess the damage.

Permanent damage? My thoughts teetered back and forth. This is it. This is where they tell me that I will be immobile. That I have internal bleeding in my brain. Memory Loss. Why can’t I remember what happened to me?

As she carted me to my next destination, I became hysterical.

“Just tell me I’m going to be okay!” I cried through heavy breaths. No response. I was a train heading off the tracks. “Am I going to paralyzed!? JUST TELL ME!”

“I’m not allowed to say that sweetheart,” her voice was full of pity. Somehow, that was worse. “We’ll have to see what the results tell us.”

To move to the MRI table, I was instructed to roll myself over from my stretcher that was pulled next to it. Simple.

I first had to use my arms as leverage to sit up. Good. Then, digging my nails into the sheet, I used my core to turn my body onto its side. Immediately, the lower half of my body was engulfed in a consuming fire of pain. I screamed.

The nurse rushed over to assist me, but her touch was lighter fluid on the blazing fire.

“DON’T.” I couldn’t breathe. “TOUCH. ME.” I collapsed and started to sob. There were no tears this time. “I can’t do this,” I murmured.

But somehow I would have to. If I couldn’t complete this task, then I already admitted defeat. The injury had won.

I glanced around the room. The nurse had taken a few steps back, head tilted, curious to see what her hysterical patient would try next.

I exerted my newfound energy to prop myself back on my elbows. Instead of trying to move my inadequate legs; however, I focused on my strength. Reaching my left arm across my chest, I grabbed the bar on the bed next to me. With my right hand I pushed off my side and twisted my body so that I was in position to make the move. The nurse, who had finally broken from her trance, recognized my strategy and picked up my legs.

This time, the screaming was in my head.

I was a phoenix erupting into flames. Every nerve in my body sent sharp stabs up my spine. I felt the artificial light leaving my eyes. Red spots obstructed my view as I hit the pillow. Then, everything was white.

I was starting from the ashes: A new growth, a new body.

Five

A short police officer with a notepad and pencil was next. His questions were gentle, but I was exhausted from the roll-over episode and could only manage one-word responses. Yes, I must have hit an ice patch and spun out of the road. No, the truck driver did not run me over. Yes, he called the police.

“So what happened between walking back to your car and waking up in the tow truck?” he asked.

The moment of truth. I racked my brain for a memory that I might have blocked out. I tattered across a deep valley in the subconscious, a black and bottomless cavern that held nothing but fear.

My response: “I was hoping you could tell me.”

The officer jotted down notes like he was solving a Nancy Drew case: The Mystery of the Broken Girl and Her Chevy. I used to inhale those books so fast that mom would have to visit the library twice a week. The aspect of mystery was haunting and enthralling. How can you explain the unexplainable? But now, I just wanted answers.

“I just have a few more questions,” he said conversationally. “When you were in the ambulance-”

“I think that’s enough for now,” a male voice interrupted and my head spun in the direction of the two people I loved most standing in the doorway: My parents. The officer nodded and saw his way out.

A mixture of relief, exhaustion, and anxiety rose to the surface.

“It was snowing really hard and then my car hit an ice patch and spun out and I was okay but when I tried to get out the door was jammed and then this truck pulled in front of me and the guy was calling on the phone,” I jabbered through uncontrollable sobbing. “But I don’t know what happened after that and I think… My leg…”

My mother enclosed me into a tight embrace. To the world I am headstrong, but with her I am breakable.

“Oh honey,” her voice was soothing. “It’s not your fault. You’re going to be okay.”

And for the first time that night, I felt that I was.

“So what took you guys so long?” I joked as we broke apart. Humor: Always a mask for me.

My mother squeezed my hand as my father launched into the events of the night. My youngest sister heard the phone ring multiple times. Since it was the middle of the night, he said, she was scared that it was an intruder. Everyone else was in a deep sleep.

“Wait… why would a robber call the phone before entering?” I smiled at her ridiculous train of thought.

My father waved aside my interjection and continued, “That’s not important. We’re here now.”

My eyelids were heavy as the events of the past few hours caught up to me. I was no longer running on fight-or-flight adrenaline. The sharp pain in my leg had become a dull, throbbing beat to the rhythm of the IV machine.

“Get some rest,” was the last gentle voice I heard while transporting to another world. I dreamt of shooting stars.

Six

The policeman came back a few hours later to announce his solution to the Nancy Drew case. My parents sat beside me.

After I talked to the truck driver and turned to walk toward my car, another car lost control on the road. Whether it was from black ice or distracted driving was unknown. The driver of the vehicle crashed into the tow truck that I was standing next to. In a split second, I was slammed by the side of the truck and my body flew underneath it. The man in flannel pulled me out and propped me up in the passenger’s seat until I regained consciousness.

You can’t make this up, I thought.

“So it wasn’t memory loss… I just blacked out,” I said after a few moments. It wasn’t until I exhaled that I realized that I was holding my breath.

The nurse who crept in to check on my vitals added, “It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash or a serious concussion seeing that you were hit by a car.” A miracle.

“We also got your test results back,” the nurse added. So much for breathing. “The good news is that you have no broken bones, but both the nerves and blood vessels in your leg were damaged upon impact. The swelling is from the blood and water fluid which will make your leg immobile for some time.”

I dared to peek under the bedsheets to assess this new diagnosis. Swelling was an understatement. Someone had stuck a needle in my calf and filled up for the next water balloon toss. Not to mention the giant scar running down the side.

“We’re hoping that your body will heal itself over time,” she continued. “But it’s best to do that at home. If you can make it to the exit using crutches, we can officially release you.”

The nurse called my parents aside to discuss the 40 medication supplements I was to take in the upcoming months. I stared at a hole in the ceiling, dreading the physical feat I was asked to perform. Who do they think I am, Tony Stark? I thought. I can’t even lift my leg, much less walk.

Apparently I didn’t have a say in this arrangement, because I was left alone with the crutches leaning against my bedside. Leaving the sanctuary that I had stayed in those 12 hours was painstaking. I hobbled on three legs out of the room, swinging my immobile leg behind me. Slow, steady, fragile. My chaotic way of life uprooted.

My reflection peered back at me as I approached the sliding glass door. The inflated lip with blue stitches underneath and red scar over my eye did not resemble the next cover of a Vogue magazine, but my face was distinguishable nonetheless. Two figures appeared behind me as the door slid open into the blinding midday sun.

I was going home.