Bryant’s father appeared behind Ralph. “Stop taunting each other or I’ll throw you both in.” It was a good natured threat that neither boy really feared. Nonetheless, they both quit.
Bryant looked down at his feet, discolored through the shallow silt-filled water. “My feet look yellow.” Then he saw a small frog swim by. With the excitement that only a small boy can muster, he shouted to everyone “Come quick! A frog just swam by me!” His shining face definitely brought the family over. Well, technically Ralph was not family but he was pretty darn close if Dad allowed him to come to the “Family Camp-out” at Lake Lurleen.
He could feel them peering over his shoulders down at the now empty patch of water that had so recently captured so much attention. “It swam away” was his lame explanation for why Mom, Dad, and his best friend were looking at nothing except the ugly feet of a little boy.
A strong hand patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Champ. The lake is full of cool stuff. We’ll have plenty of chances.” Then his father turned away and said “Let’s finish up those hamburgers. They smell like they want to be eaten.”
Bryant wanted to turn around and scream at him. “You don’t understand. There won’t be any more chances! You’re going to be dead. So is Ralph!” He wanted to do that but he could not. If this was a memory, he could not change the past. Instead, he knelt down and scooped up some water letting it drain through his fingers and then repeated the process. He closed his eyes and visualized time slipping by like the liquid draining back into the lake. With the ability to travel that is possible only in dreams, the scenery swiftly melted into something else.
Bryant opened his eyes and glanced around, confused as to where he was. The harsh, antiseptic smell and white fluorescent light assaulted his senses. His entire body rocked in the swaying cradle that was a speeding vehicle. A dark face, haloed by the lights on the ceiling, loomed above him. A faint voice barely penetrated the fog that filled his head. For several seconds, he could not understand a word that left the man’s mouth. Then the speech grew distinct and intelligible.
“It’s okay, son. You’re in an ambulance, but you’re going to be fine.”
Bryant’s hazy thoughts became clearer. He had been riding with Ralph. His friend had just gotten his license and wanted to show off for him. “Ralph! Where is Ralph? He was with me!”
The paramedic held him down by the arms. Strong fingers dug into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises. A ghost of a memory sighed. “Yes, those bruises stayed on there for three weeks.”
The EMT lost the mellow tone and began shouting his pleas. “Stay calm! You’re going to do more damage if you try to move!”
Bryant started to comply as his strewn mind went back to his dead friend. Ralph had been going around a curve pretty fast. They had done the same thing plenty of times before, but on this occasion, fresh rain had soaked the streets. The tires lost traction for a moment and that was all it took. Bryant sat on the passenger side when the car went into a skid. Sliding across the wet pavement and over the left lane, the driver side hit a tree, caving the door in. The jagged metal penetrated the soft body, broke bones, and tore muscle. At that moment, everything went black.
Wild panic filled the young man’s eyes at the memory. “My friend, is he okay?” Bryant’s fingers pulled a handful of fabric from the man’s shirt into the center of a tightly clenched fist. “Where is Ralph?” He shouted directly into the man’s unchanging face. His chest began to constrict and his breathing sped up. “Oh God” he moaned and tried to fight the hands keeping him immobile. He flexed with all his might but felt paralyzed.
Suddenly, Bryant was free. His arms thrashed around fighting the oppressive force that had just been restraining him. His eyes opened wide but only darkness met him. His pupils expanded, trying to compensate for the lack of light. His chest rose and fell in huge gasping breaths. The tightness around his lungs finally passed, and he fell back onto the mattress feeling hot. He kicked away the remainder of the covers, exposing his legs to the cool night air. Ralph had died in that crash (a tree branch as big as an arm had decapitated him). Bryant never saw the body, luckily. In some of his worse dreams though, the headless boy lumbers toward him for no discernible reason. Bryant did not cause the wreck, why would Ralph come after his friend? That was the thing about nightmares: They did not need logic.
He closed his eyes, trying to cool down and slip back into a (hopefully) more peaceful slumber, which he eventually did. He found that the trick to getting back to sleep after a nightmare was to fantasize about something you loved. When his lids slid down over his eyes, he saw Cara looking back at him. His imagination started to pose her in various states of undress. His mind’s eye envisioned his hand running along the smooth skin of her breast. True, he did not know what her breasts looked like yet, but it was a fantasy. Soon, his breathing slowed and his eyelids fluttered. He had found his way back into the sweet arms of sleep.
***
Eric Wagner released the blood pressure cuff and half-heartedly listened to the elderly woman speaking to him. “And WLDX announced that they would have a booth up at the county fair for that Karaoke thing. That’s about the time my chest started hurting.”
Eric wanted to strangle her and say “Some people are stable enough not to have a heart attack at the prospect of neighbors making asses of themselves on stage.” Instead he nodded, slightly pretending to care.
The woman continued rambling. “I like that DJ they have though. Nice enough boy, even if he has long, girl hair. For a small town radio station, a lot of people listen to him.”
Dr. Wagner scribbled a few hasty notes and asked her to stand. “I think we are done. It was not a heart attack, but it is a good thing to be vigilant. Next time, it could be real. If it happens again, call 911 immediately.”
She nodded and gave him the obligatory “Yes, doctor.”
When Eric’s shift was over, he stepped out into a parking lot filled with the slanted rays of a setting sun. A young girl wearing a comically large, olive-drab army jacket approached him. “Are you a doctor?” She spoke with a northern accent that momentarily stunned him. It was not often one ran into a fellow Yankee.
The off-duty M.D. sighed. “Yes, but I really think you should make an appointment with someone. I work the emergency room and you don’t look like you’re having an emergency.” His tone contained no venom, just impatience.
“I need to get some birth control pills.” She blurted.
“Go to the public health clinic.” The physician continued to move toward his car.
“I have. I can’t get them without my parent’s permission until I’m eighteen.” Her pleading eyes met his and Eric looked away.
“Let me guess. You don’t want your parents to know.” He stopped walking and looked down at his brown loafers. He was exasperated but still wanted to hear her out.
“I really don’t need them to find out.” Her lip trembled. “I’ve only known this boy a short time and they wouldn’t understand.”“Do you understand?” Eric tried to give her a stern stare but couldn’t. He empathized with the girl. “Keeping a secret is a serious commitment.” He spoke from personal experience, but would not tell her that. “It hangs over you like a cloud and everywhere you go, it follows.” He leaned in and gravely spoke. “The best thing for you to do is talk to your parents. If it is something you want, you’ll find a way regardless of what they think about it.”
“If they try to stop me, can you help me?” She gazed quizzically at the adult.
“How old are you?” He asked, suspicious of the situation.
“I’m sixteen.”
She looked ashamed. “Of what?” Eric wondered. Was it because of what she intended on doing? Was it the age that embarrassed her? He finally replied, adding shock and indignation to his voice. “Excuse me, but you want me to give an underage girl pills without her parent’s consent so that she can have sex with her boyfriend?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.” She didn’t smile, just pierced him with frightened eyes.
“Let’s sit down and get a drink.” He found himself saying.
***
The drink ended up taking place in a local BBQ joint called Lisa’s that sat beside Pizza Hut (and coincidentally, almost right across from the hospital). The set up was unusual to her. The restaurant actually consisted of a mobile home with a large dining area constructed in the front. A window and door sat within the constructed customer space. Customers entered a screen-door and immediately walked up to a window with a woman taking orders. Once the order was placed, the customer found his or her own vinyl-upholstered seat. A waitress began serving people once they were seated. Cara ordered a tea and she heard the doctor order a sweet tea at the window as she walked to an unfinished wooden table. The floor had a dusty, steakhouse look to it and a bucket of complimentary peanuts sat at each table between the salt (with rice sprinkled throughout to absorb the moisture) and pepper shakers. As she glanced around, she noticed other patrons tossing the shells on the floor before popping the tasty bits into their sparingly toothed maws. The fact that people would toss food waste onto the floor bothered her. The act appeared so uncultured.
Dr. Eric Wagner, with a small numbered slip of paper in hand, joined her at the table. “Start from the beginning.” He almost commanded.
Cara took a deep breath and began her story. The adult listened without interruption until she was done. Then he motioned for her to stop, when a waitress appeared from inside the trailer holding a tray.
“Number forty-seven!” The twenty-something girl with an apron called out. Eric raised his hand and she changed direction heading toward his seat. The Styrofoam plate came to rest in front of him and he immediately opened a small plastic cup of dark pink sauce with black flecks of pepper in it.
As the waitress departed, he looked up and said “Continue.”
Cara had lost her train of thought. “It all really boils down to the fact that I’m going to do this anyway. The options that you have are to help prevent another teenage mother or to play it safe and watch someone risk ruining her and her partner’s futures.”
The doctor’s face broke into a painful grimace. “I’m not sure you understand the consequences of what you are asking me to do.” He looked around nervously. “I stand to lose a hell of a lot more than my job.”
Cara spoke with a calm self-assurance that annoyed Eric to the point of making up his mind. “If you were so concerned about that, how come you came here to hear me out?” The smug expression on her face irked the M.D.
He sat back picking at the fried chicken finger on his plate. “No. I won’t do it.”
Her face fell. The smarmy smile disappeared in an instant and she was reduced to an unsure sixteen-year-old girl once again. “Well,” She swallowed out of fear. “I’ll just have to proceed with or without your help.”
Eric shook off his momentary distaste for the girl. “The best thing that you can do is to talk to your parents. Times have changed. Responsible discussions about sex have become much more open than in previous generations.”
“While that may be true,” She shot back. “You don’t know my parents.” Then she dramatically pushed away from the table and walked out the door.
Dr. Wagner was left alone with a plate of food that no longer looked appetizing.
***
Cara entered the kitchen the next afternoon. Bright sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains revealing her mother standing at the sink with her back turned to anyone who entered. Jean wore an apron crookedly tied around her waist. The scene looked so unfamiliar that after a brief attempt at recollection, Cara realized she had never seen her mother attempt to cook without a microwave, much less prepare a meal from scratch.
Cara called out in a loud voice to announce her presence. “How is the Stepford wife today?”
Her mother’s entire body clenched and released like a flinch when someone expected a punch. She turned, exposing a nervous smile. “Honey, you startled me.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Cara put extra emphasis on the term of affection at the end of her apology but it sounded unnatural. She had planned to talk to her mother about Bryant, perhaps even mentioning her plans to make love to him if the conversation started off well.
Jean Creed, the professional woman who stood up to her husband occasionally for no other reason than to assert her independence of thought, blushed. She then launched into an explanation of her behavior as if she were a small child caught drawing on the wall. “I was just trying to get into the whole housewife thing. It’s not permanent; it’s more like Marie Antoinette pretending to be a peasant.”
Cara interrupted. “Mom, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know that you are capable of a career.” She paused. “The whole point of being independent is to have a choice. If you
choose
to try this out, I’m okay with it.”
Cara couldn’t explain her mood. Suddenly, she felt like she might want to become closer to the two organisms that gave her life. After years of pushing them away, maybe she should be the one to close the gap. “What time are we eating?”
Jean’s expression gave way to one of surprise. “You’re not taking your plate up to your room?”
Cara began to blush. Was that really the behavior she trained them to expect of her? “Well, I thought I might stay down here tonight.” Her mother then moved forward to hug her, but fell short. The sign of affection was alien to her, awkward due to a lack of use.
When the embrace ended, Cara felt buoyant enough to mention her new man. “Mom, I met a boy.” She quickly blurted out before she lost her nerve. Jean could only stand in shock. Then she moved forward and grabbed her daughter in another tight embrace. Cara thought to herself, “When I’m older, I hope that this is the part of my family that I remember.”
Jean squeezed tighter until several moments had passed. When she stepped back to survey her daughter, she noticed a tear sliding along Cara’s cheek. She gently wiped it away with the pad of her index finger.