ACCIDENTS HAPPEN

Pulling my carry on bag to the place I thought I left my car at the airport, I couldn’t avoid seeing a couple having sex in a shiny new blue Lexus. The show was probably better than the one I gave passersby in the garage. I tripped. I didn’t fall. I flew forward as if I were a jet taking off. A gorgeous gal, very well padded, with vavooms like I’ve never felt before, cushioned my body. It was wonderful when she helped me drop to the greasy floor. The floor didn’t matter. What mattered was I couldn’t sit up. I couldn’t stand. Like a ninny, I felt tears on my face. I mumbled, ‘Thank you, Miss. Do you have a cell phone?’ She nodded ‘ ‘yes.’ ‘Will you please call 911 for me? I’m pretty sure I broke something, my leg or my hip. I’m just not sure which. The pain is terrible.’

My Savior’s name is Marilyn. She is making cars go around me, keeping me safe. ‘Ho, Marilyn, I may die right here if help doesn’t come soon. I need a pain killer fast!’ I tell her. ‘Help is here.’ She bends over and kisses me warmly, sweetly on my lips. ‘That’s the best I can do, Greg. Greg is your name, isn’t it?’ I tell her how nice it was but it can’t cure what’s ailing me at the moment.

With no siren blasting in the enclosed garage, I’m barely aware the ambulance is beside me. The guerney is out. I am strapped on a metal board and lifted up. My arm is alcoholed and jabbed with a two foot needle. Marilyn, Marilyn, follow me, find me. A sweet, quiet fog blankets my mind.

My mother tells me it is tomorrow and my leg is broken, just the bottom, thin part, the tibia. I ask her where I was all night. ‘Mom, where’s Marilyn?’ ‘Marilyn? Marilyn who?’ ‘Oh, god. I don’t know but she saved me. Without her soft body I’d be a broken man.’ Do you know where my car is? Is it still at the airport?’ ‘No, it’s been impounded.’ ‘Well, did you get my wallet back?’ ‘Back from where, Greggie, Darling?’ ‘It was in my briefcase. Egads, where’s my briefcase? Somebody must have stolen it while I was writhing on the ground. Maybe one of the ambulance drivers took it. Mom, go check with the ambulance company, the hospital. I need my I.D.’ ‘ Greggie. I know who you are. You don’t need an I. D.’ ‘But, but, my money, my car, my leg!!’

‘Son, I’ve come to take you home. You’ll live.’ From a small closet, Mom removes the oily clothes and slit pants. Although she brought me clean clothes, I can’t get my leg into the pants so she helps me with the cut ones. The door opens and a nurse, a homely one, brings in a wheel chair, and crutches that are surely going to be on the bill Mom has in one hand along with my release papers.

‘Mom, how am I going to get in your car, in your house? I can’t lift my leg. What am I going to do?’ ‘First things first. We’ll find ways to do everything, including you going weewee.’ I have to laugh at that. A surprise waits for me outside. A tall, strong looking private male nurse is going to show me how to get my ass in and out of the car and will be with me at Mom’s for as long as I need him. That Mom of mine is really something. I thank her and tell her I love her. That seems to be payment enough. ‘It will get easier,’ Tyrone, my caretaker, tells me. There are only two steps into the house but they look like the Alps. Mom and Tyrone stand on the side to see what I am going to do and they are not happy. I do nothing. He lifts me up as if I were a feather and sets me down in the hallway, saying, ‘ That is the first and last time I’ll do that for you. You will soon learn how to handle crutches.’

I make it to the arm chair and manage to elevate my leg onto the hassock. There is someone else in the house. ‘Mom, who’s in the kitchen? Aunt Mildred?’ ‘Turn your head a little, Greg,’ I look and immediately see an arm holding my briefcase, followed by a beaut of a gal. ‘Mom, where did you find Marilyn?’ ‘Marilyn found me, son. She opened your briefcase and got your emergency info out, called me right away.’ Marilyn comes over to me, kisses me again.

I kiss her back and wake up. Everything has disappeared, my memory of falling, the vavoom cushion, the needle in my arm. It was all a dream–except the plaster cast holding me prisoner for a month or so.