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The Woman in the Snapshot "I’m sorry to be late for our closing, Mrs. Pritzer," Mary says, her voice confidently cheerful even as she apologizes, "but the PET rescue meeting I was chairing ran over -- my fault, I lost track of the time -- but I’m hurrying and I'm close. I just need to know which exit to take. Coralles? Good, I'm almost there. I’ll see you in minutes, and thanks for your patience." Mary tucks her cell phone into its holder and studies herself in the rear-view mirror. A well shaped mouth, aqua eyes, high cheek bones, and very blonde hair look back at her. She fingers a strand of hair back in place, and says, "Not bad for thirty-eight, and thank you, Mr. Revlon." Watching for her exit, she folds her realtor's map into an awkward shape, looks down, opens her console, and tries to stuff the map into an already overly-full compartment. Tires squeal, metal shrieks, and shattered glass showers her like hail. Her SUV rolls over and skids to a stop on its top, a wounded turtle, its jaws ripped open, its spinning wheels unable to move it on. Unconscious, Mary hangs upside down in her harness for nearly twenty minutes until the EMS cuts her free. She will never recall the accident, nor will she ever regain the confidence in her voice. The plastic mattress cover crinkles loudly as Mary wakes and rolls onto her back. Her husband, Paul, flinches at the look of her eyes. It's not the blackened and swollen lids that upset him -- it's her pupils. He hasn't seen them so constricted since they left LA ten years before -- vowing to stay straight -- days after their friend, Norman, died of an OD at the age of twenty-three. Paul winces at the memory of those days when Mary would disappear, returning anytime, often bruised and skanky and unsure of where she had been or what she had done. "Am I in a hospital?" Mary asks. "Yeah, Babe, you've been here a few hours. You woke up screaming a while ago, but they shot you up with a pain-killer and you fell back asleep." "My side hurts, and so does my knee, and my eyes are sore and -- I must be hallucinating -- you've got a compass sticking out of your head. What’s wrong with me? Why am I here?" "You were in a freeway wreck. So far they’ve found four broken ribs and a smashed knee that they're going to operate on this afternoon." "Would you hand me the mirror from my purse? Oh, God, look at my eyes. I look like I’ve been in a punch out. What about the wreck? Anyone else?" "I don't know much about it but there’s a cop in the hall waiting to talk to you. Do you want to talk to him?" "Oh, yes. I’ve got to know what happened. Just let me do something about these eyes." Mary dabs coverup on her lids with her finger tips, looks in the mirror again, and says, "Oh, that just changes ugly to grotesque." She wipes her lids with her pillow case and says, "To hell with it, call him in." Paul returns a few minutes later with a young officer who says, "Mrs. Hanson, I’m Officer Alvarez of the Accident Assessment Division of the Highway Patrol. I need to question you about your accident, ma’am -- if you feel well enough." "It’s ok, officer. I’m a little soft-voiced because I'm a bit broke up, but it’s ok." She nods encouragement, sensing his shyness about talking to a woman in bed. "Can you tell me what happened, ma’am?" "I’m sorry, officer, but that's what I was about to ask you. The last I remember was getting onto the freeway at Silver about noon. Then nothing until I woke up a few minutes ago. What do you know?" "Well, our investigation's not complete, but we have a witness who says you swerved from the center lane into the left lane and hit a vehicle driven by a Mrs. Yan Yu Co. Your vehicle rolled over; Mrs. Co’s hit the central divider and caught on fire. They had to use the Jaws of Life to extract her from the wreckage." Mary's eyes open wide with horror as she gasps, "Oh, how terrible. Was she burned?" Officer Alvarez looks out the window, then back at Mary, and says, "Yes. She’s in this hospital. Critical, I think. I have to ask if alcohol was involved." "Oh, no. I never drink before six in the evening." "Ok. May I see your driver’s license?" "Of course. Paul, would you get it? It’s in the wallet inside my bag." "Is this your current address, ma’am?" "Yes. But officer, I’ve got to know. Will Mrs. Co be ok?" "I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the medics." "No one else?" "No, ma'am, Mrs. Co was alone. Now, like I said, our investigation isn’t complete, but on the basis of the information we do have, I have to issue you a citation for careless driving." Paul, himself a patent attorney, frowns. He realizes the charge may become more serious if Mrs. Co dies. Officer Alvarez writes a summons which he gives to Paul, and continues: "Before I leave, ma'am – anything else?” "Nothing. I’m sorry." "Ok. Here’s my card. Call me if you remember anything." "I will.” As soon as the officer has left, Mary presses her call button, and a student nurse, flashing a toothy smile, appears almost at once. She listens to Mary’s pleas, goes away, and returns in minutes. Her smile is gone, her voice is flat. She says, "Mrs. Co is critical in the stage three intensive burn unit -- no visitors until she’s released to stage two. She’s got multiple fractures, closed head injuries, and a ruptured spleen. Her kidneys are down and she has sixty percent second and third degree burns." "Oh, how awful," Mary replies in a choked voice, her vision obstructed by tears. |
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Copyright© 2000, 2008 by George Simone or Monte Fowler All rights reserved. |
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