Page 73 of Best Man on Campus

“Bennie… I’m hurt.” Her voice is barely a whisper, like she’s having trouble breathing. She coughs. Mother fucker.

“I’m going to switch lines for just for a second to call the ambulance. I’ll be there in a few minutes—before you know it. Hang in there.” Refusing to let my imagination go near an image of her alone, bleeding and trapped in a mangled car, I grab my keys and fly out my door. Taking stairs two and three at a time, I go down and out the back door and run to my car. As soon as it’s started, I hit nine-one-one and start driving.

“I’d like to report a car accident on route 151just south of St. Paul University…” I answer the questions as best I can, though I realize I don’t know a damn fucking thing about what happened or what’s going on except that there’s one female, twenty years old driving the car, admittedly talking on the phone. To me. God damn me to hell.

“I’m on my way there now,” I tell the dispatcher. “I have some first responder training.” I blink my eyes, a flash of Jazzy, all bloody hitting me in the gut. Then I tense every muscle in me, determined not to lose it, not now. “I can get there before the ambulance,” I say. “I’m almost there now.” Turning my high beams up as I turn south on 151, my grip on the steering wheel tightens and I stop talking to the dispatcher.

“Are you there, sir?”

I spot the car. It’s just off the side of the road spun half-way around and I can see the driver’s door smashed in. “Fuck.” Shoving the phone in my pocket, I don’t even bother ending the call. I slam on the breaks and throw on the emergency lights, leaving the jeep parked in the road to block any traffic and jump from my car. I don’t hear an ambulance and have no idea how long it’s been or how long it’ll take them to get here, but I don’t wait.

Running to her door, I pull on the handle. It barely moves. Jazzy’s inside, eyes closed. She lolls her head to the side and opens her eyes to meet mine.

“Jazzy.” I breathe her name. She smiles at me.

Pulling on the door again, this time with my adrenaline pumping like a locomotive engine, I yank it open. It creaks and comes open and I push it wide and kneel on the ground next to her. There’s no airbag. Her face is bloody. She coughs up blood. Fuck. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding.

“How do you feel, Jazz? Where does it hurt?”

“I … don’t know… I feel dizzy.” She clutches my hand as I’m feeling her hips and reaching down to her legs. Holding her hand, I take a deep breath. Blood is everywhere. Her legs appear fine. She has a massive cut on her forehead. Ripping the bottom of my t-shirt, I tear off a large section and wad it up, then hold it against the cut. She’ll need stitches for sure.

“Hang in, babe. The ambulance will be here soon. I hear the sirens in the distance finally, thank fuck and my breathing normalizes. She looks pale. I hope to god and all the angels in heaven that her internal injuries aren’t serious.

“It’s hard… to breathe,” she says and I lean in, whisper in her ear.

“Don’t talk, Jazzy. Take shallow breaths. Slow and steady. I’m with you.” I squeeze her hand. I need her to stay conscious. I need her to fucking be okay. As soon as the ambulance arrives, I step aside and they remove her to the gurney and she cries out in pain.

“Bennie, come with me.”

I look at the EMT and he asks if I’m related.

“She’s my wife. I’m riding with you.” I don’t care about lying. I’ll say or do anything right now to be with her, to make sure she gets the best care.

Police cars arrive and I toss one of the officers my car keys, giving him my name.

“You play SPU hockey, right?” I nod and he grins and I want to punch him, because who the fuck cares? I’d rather be a doctor right now.

In the back of the ambulance, I hold Jazzy’s hand and push back the nausea that finally hits me now that my adrenaline has slowed down. The EMT hooks her up to oxygen, blood and a monitor that tracks her vitals. He removes the wad of t-shirt from her eye and cleans it and puts butterflies on it. He turns to me.

“Want your t-shirt back?” He glances at the torn portion of my shirt.

“What’s her status?” I say, ignoring his barb.

She’s had serious blood loss, internal injuries likely and broken ribs. No other broken bones.”

I nod. It’s what I thought.

“Looks like a car hit her, but there were no other cars at the scene,” he says. “You get a license plate or description of the other vehicle?”

I shake my head, watching the monitor for her vitals, her eyes closed. I squeeze her hand to make sure she’s still with us. Her eyes flutter and she looks at me, but she doesn’t squeeze my hand back. Thank fuck we pull into the hospital’s emergency driveway and the ambulance doors fly open. Attendants pull her stretcher from the back and roll her inside while I trot along to keep up.

I stay in the hospital with her and the first call I make is to my dad.

“I know a top-notch surgeon in the area, an expert at internal injuries. I’ll call him and get him on her case.”

“Thanks, dad.” I don’t know what else to say.

“In the meantime, your mother and I are on our way.” I breathe easier, a measure of tension leaving my body even though the concern about Jazzy is still there. Having my parents behind me gives me enormous comfort.