A slow news day, indeed.
He couldn’t rationalize the perfect plan which seemed natural. He, again, questioned whether he should just forget the whole thing and stick with the original plan and move on. To simply forge a new life.
The moment of internal debate quickly vanished as several alarms blared through the news room; scanners came to life with police chatter as Howard raced toward Chris.
"Hey, Barrow!" he yelled; "there’s a real bad crash over on I-10, get a crew and get there, now! Take Joel!"
Chris and his crew were one of the first media on the scene.
"Jesus Christ," he quietly whispered, surveying a massive pile up; he wondered how ANYONE could be alive, amidst this pile of twisted steel and fiberglass.
A semi had jackknifed, but, not without taking four cars out in the process.
The television crew hovered around the scene, filming raw footage of the pile up while Chris intently scribbled notes for his live stand up that he was about to do on-air. News directors and anchors stood ready, back at the station as they, too, watched and scribbled notes being transmitted via closed circuit screen on the "REM" screens.
Chris did his live cut-in with the burning, twisted mess on the interstate as his backdrop. It looked as though it could be a Hollywood movie set, but this was real.
"...And, we’re clear. Cut to hard break!" the floor producer announced in Chris’ earpiece.
"...Good job, Chris," Howard complimented through the earpiece. "...Stay on the scene and transmit anything new that you get," Howard ordered.
Chris wandered through the mess, keeping a respectful distance in order for emergency crews to do their work. Suddenly, he stopped, noticing a stretcher emerge from the side of one of the mangled vehicles.
Even with the oxygen mask firmly in place on the young woman’s bloody face, hers was irrefutably a familiar one. Glancing at the vehicle from which she was rescued, his heart sank. It was his ex-wife, Angela.
Chris threw his IFB earpiece and microphone back to the camera man and ran to the stretcher.
"...Dear Jesus, is she gonna be OK?" he questioned one of the emergency workers.
"Don't know; we gotta get her to the hospital, right now...get back!" The paramedic yelled.
A police officer rushed to Chris:
".. HEY, let em’ do their job, sir!" He commanded.
"I fucking KNOW her!!" Chris helplessly yelled to the officer. "...Where you taking her??" Chris snapped.
"University," the officer replied.
After completing the remainder of his live and recorded shots, Chris scrambled from the scene; he headed for University hospital.
At the admission desk, he impatiently questioned the nurse.
"...I’m looking for Angela Bar…" Chris paused, about to give Angela’s married name.
"...uh, Angela Reston," he stammered.
"She’s in ICU," the nurse replied, looking at Chris’ media badges. "Are you covering this as news or do you know her?" The nurse hesitantly inquired.
"Both," Chris replied.
"Are you family?"
"She’s my..." Chris paused for a moment. "...she’s a friend."
"...Wait over there; I’ll check with the doctor when she’s stable, then I’ll see what I can do," the nurse assured, looking at Chris, empathetically.
An hour had passed as Chris stared blankly at the ceiling. Even though he was no longer involved with Angela, he didn’t wish anything bad for her.
"...Why am I here??" He wondered.
His thoughts diverted when a doctor briskly entered through the waiting room door.
"Are you here for Angela Reston?"
"Yeah," Chris eagerly acknowledged. "How is she?"
"She’s stable; we believe she’ll be fine, but she’s pretty banged up," the doctor calmly informed.
"Can I see her?"
"Yeah, for a few minutes," the doc reluctantly OK‘d, eying Chris' media badges. .
Chris peered from behind the thick, pale door through a narrow window; Angela lay, motionless, with IV tubes and monitors attached to her arms. He stood over her motionless body, silently staring at his former love.
He thought of their life together, he thought of their first house. As memories roared through his mind, one after another, a single tear slowly rolled down Chris' cheek, falling to the bed sheet.
"...Dear God, how did this happen?" he begged under his breath. "I never wanted this; please let her be OK, don’t do this, not today, God," he quietly pleaded.
A distant memory vividly played in his mind as he drifted off with the cadence of the medical monitoring devices:
"...You’re a much better cook than I am…will you cook like this for me every day?" Angela begged.
"No," Chris quickly replied with a smile. "...Sometimes it’ll be Hamburger Helper…but I can try my best to make it GORMET Hamburger Helper, Al dente, if you’d like," he teased.
"Wow...such big cooking words and everything," Angela laughed.
"You’re a good cook, too," Chris complimented.
"No, I’m not, and you KNOW it, babe."
"Well, you do a couple of good dishes," Chris slyly smiled, before Angela tossed her napkin across the table at Chris.
"For better or worse, huh?" He asked, now fully laughing.
Angela playfully grabbed Chris’ waist from behind.
"...I love you, Chris, so much."
They paused from putting away the dishes as Angela stared into Chris' eyes.
"I love you, too, even though you wanna chain me to the kitchen stove now," Chris whispered.
"Actually, I can think of better places to chain you," Angela shot back, with a playful smile.
"...Maybe the dishes can wait," he coyly replied, tossing the towel over his shoulder to the floor.
Chris and Angela seemed destined to always be together. Their's seemed to be a classic love story. They had their moments, their spats, as all couples have, but, they NEVER went to bed angry and resolved most disagreements very quickly. Rationally.
They genuinely enjoyed one another’s company, and when they spent time together, they enjoyed it. They each had their own lives but always made time for one another. Their bond was strong and could be felt by those who knew them.
So, how can two people who were SO much in love spiral, hopelessly, out of love? Chris stood, silently thinking, his head now back to the moment at hand, in a cold hospital room in the middle of New Orleans.
"...Look at what I’ve done," he whispered to himself, staring at Angela’s lifeless body.
Angela’s eyes barely opened to a squint; she scanned the room, disoriented, she fixed her eyes flatly on Chris and smiled.
In a weak voice, Angela slowly spoke. "...Please tell me I didn’t hit your car again?"
Chris laughed. "Not this time…you aimed higher. You tangled with a semi tanker truck, with deadly chemicals," he boasted.
"Why are you here?" She asked.
"I came to exchange insurance information with you from the accident the other day, Chris teased.
Angela shook her head; a strained smile crossed her face.
Actually, you made the news with today's accident," Chris continued, offering a joking congrats. You actually made the "A" block. The president of the United States. made the "C" block, to put it into perspective," Chris laughed.
Angela seemed puzzled.
"I’m a news reporter; I covered a very bad accident scene; and, you were the star of the show, as it were," he continued.
"....Great, I always wanted to be on TV," she deadpanned.
"Don't worry, we shot your good side," he joked.
"Look, do you have anyone coming here or do you need me to call someone for you?" Chris quizzed.
"Just my room mate, I suppose, other than that, no."
"...give me their number and I’ll let your room mate know on my way home, OK?" Chris assured.
"Thank you." Angela paused, "...I should know your name by now, but I don’t, or I forgot, Angela weakly laughed."
"...It’s Chris, your insurance company owes me money," he replied.
"Well,we gotta stop meeting like this, Chris."
"Yeah, it’s rather unhealthy and expensive it seems; look, I’ll check in on you tomorrow," Chris assured, reaching for his shoulder bag.
Angela stared at Chris for a moment before speaking.
"Why?" She asked.
Chris focused, blankly toward the heart monitor, before returning his eyes to Angela:
"By THEN, he continued, you should be able to sign some papers for my lawyer...we're suing you for the fender bender the other day," Chris joked.
"Get in line," Angela retorted.
"Well, I should get going," Chris announced. He nervously grabbed his bag. "...At least I know you can’t run into anything HERE, unless they, God forbid, give you a wheel chair."
"Go away," Angela smirked.
As Chris turned to leave, Angela called out to him before he reached the door.
"Hey...Thank you, Chris."
"For what?" Chris asked.
"I don’t quite know," she politely answered.
Chris studied Angela’s face for a moment.
"Get some rest," Chris softly suggested, with a warm smile as he turned and closed the thick hospital door behind.
"...Holy FUCKING shit!! Is she gonna be OK??"
Marie had just been given the latest details on a bizarre twist that had unfolded on Interstate 10.
"I think so; she’s banged up pretty good," Chris sighed.
"Well, you got a problem on your hands, now," Marie cautioned.
"Why? WAIT, What, NOW. WHY?" Chris exclaimed.
"You went to the hospital; now you’ve endeared yourself, and, I can assure you that, you just scored some points," she answered, matter of factly.
"Points?? What points? I’m not playin’ because I don’t want any fucking points! Are you serious?" Chris panicked.
"Yep, POINTS, baby doll."
"...How do you know, Marie? WHY do you always have to fucking give me the downside to every single event in my life?" Chris snapped.
Because’ I’m a girl; we think that way...you got points, whether you want em’ or not.
"Well, I’m not takin’ em’. Give em’ to someone else...I'm off this fucked up game show.
"Doesn’t work like that, Chris," Marie corrected.
"Great! How can I turn her away, quickly?"
"Oh, I don’t know; go kill her cat while she’s in the hospital or maybe go back to the hospital and jerk the IV outta her arm…wait! Fill her oxygen line with poison, that’ll do the trick. End of problem," Marie sarcastically offered.
"Come on, Marie, seriously!"
"...Chris, just play it off, and if she starts comin’ on to you, just tell her you’re involved with someone else. For that matter, tell her you’re gay. Marie laughed."
"She’d never believe that," Chris snapped.
"Not judging by that tie you’re wearing," Marie corrected, with a playful laugh.
"What the fuck? This tie is NOT gay…is it?
"Why so defensive, honey?"
"Stop it, Marie! I'm in no mood for your shit!"
"Ok, Ok, settle down. God, you’re sooo easy to screw with. Just remember, YOU'RE in control of your decisions here; stop worrying," Marie lectured. Maybe you still have feelings for her and you can’t admit it."
"You KNOW my feelings," Chris reminded.
"Well, whatcha doin’ about THAT? Any progress made since you and Erin last spoke?"
"What does that mean?" Chris grew frustrated in tone. It’s not a job site, Marie; I don’t grab my lunch pail and punch in. I’m taking this shit slowly and I don’t wanna over step here."
"Well, it doesn’t look like you’re steppin’ at all, except for today, when you stepped in a pile of shit by goin’ to the hospital."
"Nice, thanks a lot for your encouraging words," Chris glared.
Marie changed the subject; "...Speakin’ of piles of shit," she giggled, "where’s your little friend?"
"She’s at the shop." Chris paused for a moment before reluctantly announcing "...Her name’s Bailey."
"Ah Haaa!!" Marie yelled. "I knew you wouldn’t get rid of her!"
"Shut up; I’m only keepin’ her for a while, in case someone comes for her, so don’t give me any AH HAH shit about it. Her chip contact info is outdated, since Hurricane Katrina. They probably thought she died."
Chris and Marie sat, silently, staring up at the television screen before Chris shyly asked:
"...You don’t really think this tie is gay, do you?"
"Of course not…I never said it was. I said it made YOU look gay," she giggled. You sure are gettin’ defensive, Chris; you sure there’s not something you need to tell me?"
"Very fucking funny Marie." Marie laughed, again, "...because I’m a VERY accepting person; I’m not a hater, girlfriend," she assured, snapping her fingers in the air.
"Don’t you have people at the bar to provide shitty service to, Marie?"
"Yeah, what do you want?"
"For you to leave me alone," Chris nonchalantly waved her away.
"You got it, Mister grumpy pants; maybe Bailey is destined to be your new girlfriend," Marie smirked as she trailed down the bar.
Chris sat, silently for a minute, taking in another unexpected day. Marie smiled, glancing down the bar at him when he wasn‘t looking. She shook her head as she poured a beer. She'd been trying to hide something about his situation that she lacked courage to share
copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008
"I think so; she’s banged up pretty good," Chris sighed.
"Well, you got a problem on your hands, now," Marie cautioned.
"Why? WAIT, What, NOW. WHY?" Chris exclaimed.
"You went to the hospital; now you’ve endeared yourself, and, I can assure you that, you just scored some points," she answered, matter of factly.
"Points?? What points? I’m not playin’ because I don’t want any fucking points! Are you serious?" Chris panicked.
"Yep, POINTS, baby doll."
"...How do you know, Marie? WHY do you always have to fucking give me the downside to every single event in my life?" Chris snapped.
Because’ I’m a girl; we think that way...you got points, whether you want em’ or not.
"Well, I’m not takin’ em’. Give em’ to someone else...I'm off this fucked up game show.
"Doesn’t work like that, Chris," Marie corrected.
"Great! How can I turn her away, quickly?"
"Oh, I don’t know; go kill her cat while she’s in the hospital or maybe go back to the hospital and jerk the IV outta her arm…wait! Fill her oxygen line with poison, that’ll do the trick. End of problem," Marie sarcastically offered.
"Come on, Marie, seriously!"
"...Chris, just play it off, and if she starts comin’ on to you, just tell her you’re involved with someone else. For that matter, tell her you’re gay. Marie laughed."
"She’d never believe that," Chris snapped.
"Not judging by that tie you’re wearing," Marie corrected, with a playful laugh.
"What the fuck? This tie is NOT gay…is it?
"Why so defensive, honey?"
"Stop it, Marie! I'm in no mood for your shit!"
"Ok, Ok, settle down. God, you’re sooo easy to screw with. Just remember, YOU'RE in control of your decisions here; stop worrying," Marie lectured. Maybe you still have feelings for her and you can’t admit it."
"You KNOW my feelings," Chris reminded.
"Well, whatcha doin’ about THAT? Any progress made since you and Erin last spoke?"
"What does that mean?" Chris grew frustrated in tone. It’s not a job site, Marie; I don’t grab my lunch pail and punch in. I’m taking this shit slowly and I don’t wanna over step here."
"Well, it doesn’t look like you’re steppin’ at all, except for today, when you stepped in a pile of shit by goin’ to the hospital."
"Nice, thanks a lot for your encouraging words," Chris glared.
Marie changed the subject; "...Speakin’ of piles of shit," she giggled, "where’s your little friend?"
"She’s at the shop." Chris paused for a moment before reluctantly announcing "...Her name’s Bailey."
"Ah Haaa!!" Marie yelled. "I knew you wouldn’t get rid of her!"
"Shut up; I’m only keepin’ her for a while, in case someone comes for her, so don’t give me any AH HAH shit about it. Her chip contact info is outdated, since Hurricane Katrina. They probably thought she died."
Chris and Marie sat, silently, staring up at the television screen before Chris shyly asked:
"...You don’t really think this tie is gay, do you?"
"Of course not…I never said it was. I said it made YOU look gay," she giggled. You sure are gettin’ defensive, Chris; you sure there’s not something you need to tell me?"
"Very fucking funny Marie." Marie laughed, again, "...because I’m a VERY accepting person; I’m not a hater, girlfriend," she assured, snapping her fingers in the air.
"Don’t you have people at the bar to provide shitty service to, Marie?"
"Yeah, what do you want?"
"For you to leave me alone," Chris nonchalantly waved her away.
"You got it, Mister grumpy pants; maybe Bailey is destined to be your new girlfriend," Marie smirked as she trailed down the bar.
Chris sat, silently for a minute, taking in another unexpected day. Marie smiled, glancing down the bar at him when he wasn‘t looking. She shook her head as she poured a beer. She'd been trying to hide something about his situation that she lacked courage to share
copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008
No comments:
Post a Comment