I hear the words from Mr. Boyd, crackling and static-y and broken up by disbelief: "Car accident...killed on impact...critical condition...ride to the hospital..."
I follow numbly through the hallways, backpack hanging from one shoulder. The hospital is quiet, orderlies and nurses bustling past on squeaky sneakers, doctors in lab coats with clipboards and file folders. I'm in a room, curtained off. Monitors beep. Antiseptic and cleaners and death and sickness assault my nostrils.
Mom, bruised, broken, bleeding. Dying. A tubes is in her mouth and an oxygen cannula in her nose. Bandages on her head. Someone is pulling me away to explain about internal bleeding, cranial swelling.
"Will she die?" I ask, cutting off the explanation.
A male voice, deep, calm, soothing. I don't look at him. "It's hard to tell. It doesn't look good, though, son. I'm sorry. We're doing all we can."
"My dad?"
Silence.
Another voice, and face, stepping in front of my blank stare. A policeman. "Son, I'm sorry, but your father didn't make it. He was killed on impact." The policeman rests his hand on my shoulder briefly and then drops it. "Is there anyone we can call for you, son?"
A brief spike of rage pulses through me. "I'm not your son. I'm her son." I jab my finger at the door. "My name is Hunter."
The policeman nods. "Sure thing, Hunter. Sorry. It's just a habit, didn't mean anything by it. So, do you have a relative we could call for you?"
I shake my head. "No. There's no one else."
The officer seems shocked. "No one at all? No sisters or aunts or grandparents?"
I choke down the urge to punch his face. "No, ass**le. That's what 'no one' means. My grandparents are all dead. I'm an only child."
"Watch it, son."
"You watch it, Officer. I'm about to be an orphan. I think I'm allowed to be upset."
He relents. "You're right. I'm sorry. So where are you going to go?"
I shrug. "My girlfriend's parents might be able to help. I don't know."
I'm shaken out of the memory and back into the present by a car skidding to a stop in the road next to me. It's Doug, talking through the rolled-down window of his sensible Mercury four-door sedan. "Hunter, look, I know you don't want to see me, of all people, but let me drop off you somewhere. It's below zero out here and dropping fast, man. You'll get hypothermia."
I ignore him and keep walking. He pulls the car over and jumps out, the car facing away from me, door open, lights on to illuminate a swath of thickly falling snow.
"Hunter, dude, listen—"
I try to keep walking past him, but he keeps pace and steps in front of me. Big f**king mistake. I stop, glare for about three heartbeats while I wait for him to move, then jerk my fist from my coat pocket and swing. I connect with his jaw and send him flying. He's just a little guy, no meat, no muscle, no experience with fights. He crumples hard. I step over to him to make sure he's not seriously hurt. He's not, just stunned unconscious. He wakes immediately to see me standing over him, fists clenched. He scrambles away.
"Hunter, please, listen. I was just—"
I move away. "Fuck off. I don't want a ride. If I see you again, I'll break your skinny f**king neck."
He stumbles to his car, clutching his jaw, and drives off. The heat of anger keeps me warm for a while. I finally remember my cell phone.
It rings six times before Derek picks up, out of breath. "Dude, what's up? I'm...unnhh...goddamn Maggie!...I'm busy." I hear a woman moaning in the background.
"Sorry, bro. Listen, I caught Lani in bed with Doug Pearson. I need you to pick me up. It's f**king cold out here."
I hear Derek's breath catch and he stifles a groan, and the woman gasps softly. Only Derek would stay on the phone during sex.
"Sure thing, man. Be right there." I hear Maggie’s moaning voice start to get loud just as he hangs up.
I shake my head in bemusement. Derek is a dog. The man gets more pu**y than a cat licking itself. I don't get it, but it's his thing. I keep walking, head ducked down, shoulders hunched up in that odd, useless gesture we do when we're cold. I make it another half mile or so before Derek's borrowed red F-150 swings around in an illegal U-turn and skids to a stop next to me. There's a tarp over some construction tools in the bed. I toss my duffel bag under the tarp and get in the truck.
Derek pulls away towards his parents’ house. "So. Bitch be trippin', huh?"
I rub my hands together and hold them in front of the heater vent. "Yeah. Got back from the gym and walked in on them." I groan and flop my head back on the ripped cloth seat back. "Fuck, man. With Doug Pearson. Doug, of all people."
"Isn't he, like, an insurance salesman or something?" Derek asks.
"Yeah. Something like that."
Derek shakes his head. "Fucked up, man. Cheating on a beast like you with a skinny little shit like Doug?"
I scrub my hand over my wet, buzz-cut scalp. "No shit. Don't remind me."
We went to high school with Doug Pearson. Graduated with him. He was the geek who sat alone in the corner while Derek and I sat a table filled with our lettermen jock buddies. Doug was valedictorian, NHS, school band, all that. And now he sells insurance. Won't ever leave Des Moines, probably.
But he got the girl, didn't he?
Fuck.
"Hey, man, don't sweat it. She's a ho. Her loss. Now you can get some real hookups goin' on. Fuck a real bitch. Lani's always been stuck up. You're better off."
I remind myself that he means well.
"I was gonna ask her to marry me, D." My voice is quiet.
Derek cocks an eyebrow at me, incredulous. "Dude, thank god you didn't. You don't need her. I know you've been with her forever, but that don't make her right for you. I never said anything 'cause you wouldn't have listened, but I never liked her. She's hot and all that, but I never got the sense she loved you as much as you loved her."
I slug Derek's arm hard. "Next time say something, f**ker."
"Hopefully there won't be a next time." He grins at me. "Lets go get f**ked up. I've got a bottle of Johnny with our name on it back at my folks' place."
"Sounds good." It does sound good, in that moment.
I want nothing more than to forget Lani for a while. It won't change anything or erase the pain, but it'll let me forget. I learned the hard way after my parents died that no amount of booze or pot or anything else will take away the pain. I quit trying to bury the hurt and just dealt with it. Good thing I've got practice, because I can feel the pain spreading cracks through my heart.