The Clay Lion (22 page)

 “I’m swamped, Sis,” he replied.  “I
have a soccer tournament this weekend.  I’m camping with the guys the next
weekend.  And after that is Homecoming and we have the dance.  What
exactly do you want to do?”

Not only was he still going, but I was dismayed
to hear that something had changed in the timeline yet again and so there would
be both a camping trip and a homecoming dance to attend.  Even worse,
because of the change, the camping trip was in only ten days.  I was
immediately concerned that I would not have enough time to convince him not to
go.

“I don’t know,” I responded.  “I just feel
like we haven’t gotten a chance to hang out much recently.  Maybe instead
of camping with the guys you might like to go to the amusement park that
weekend.  We haven’t ridden the coasters together in ages.  Or maybe
we could go hike the gorge.  What do you think?”

“I think the coaster idea sounds awesome but can
we go after Homecoming?  I really don’t want to miss the camping trip.”

“They close on the 25
^th
,” I told him.

“Oh,” he said, pausing to weigh his
options.  “Well, let me talk to the guys.  Maybe they would switch
the date of the trip.”

“Okay.  What are you playing,” I asked,
changing the topic.

“Zombie Crunchers 3.
  Here,” he said, tossing me the second
controller.

Branson and I mutilated zombies for the next half
an hour until we were called downstairs for dinner.  I considered it a small
victory that he was open to change regarding the camping.  I just had to
convince him that the change should be not going at all.

Eating dinner around the table with my family
filled my soul with unimaginable joy.  I vowed that I would never again take
for granted the simple pleasures of daily life.  Compared to the veritable
hell that I left behind only hours before, a bowl of chili with my family all
together was as close to heaven on earth as I could imagine.

“You’re quiet tonight Brooke,” my father
commented as he finished his final slice of bread.  “How was school
today?”

I swallowed deliberately, giving myself a moment
to think.  I had absolutely no recollection of what I had done, since it
had been many months since I had actually experienced that day.  I was
sure I had gone to school, completed assignments, and perhaps taken a test or
two.

“You know,” I replied, “same old same old.”

“I thought you gave your French report
today.  You spent all evening preparing last night.  How’d it go?”

I was suddenly perfectly aware of the specific
day I was reliving.  The French report had gone well, but there had been
an explosion in Chemistry the period before that set off the fire alarm. 
I reported both events to the family and Branson immediately chimed in about
the antics that ensued when his biology class was forced outside during the
alarm.  Apparently, they were dissecting frogs, and while most of the
class exited the building in accordance with the alarm, two of the students in
Branson’s class remained behind.  When the class returned, they discovered
all of the frogs set up around the room posed in different positions. 
Listening to Branson’s recitation of the story had us howling with
laughter.  I wished silently that I could freeze time to relive the moment
forever.

Over the next few days, I brought up the camping
trip several more times with Branson.  In my attempt to keep him from
working at the hardware store during my first trip, I had been unsuccessful and
I had come across as overbearing and obnoxious.  I took great strides to
avoid appearing that way during the camping campaign, even though my
desperation grew with each passing day.  My tactic was to guilt him in to
spending the camping weekend with me, but unfortunately, by Wednesday of the
following week, I found him in the garage pulling out his sleeping bag and
other gear from the storage bin.

“So much for coasters, huh?”
I grumbled, walking up behind him as he perched
on a ladder high in the garage rafters.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Sis.  We’ve been planning
this for months.  But I’ll make it up to you.  Let’s go ride the
coasters opening day in the spring.  Just you and me,” he said as he
tossed down yet another box of camping equipment.

I tried another tactic.  “Well, it looks
like the weather is going to be awful anyway, so no big deal about the
coasters.  It’s
gonna
stink to be stuck outside
if the cold and rain show up like they say.”

“When did you hear that?” he asked.  “The
last report I saw said sunny and in the fifties.”

“Oh,” I lied, “I just heard it on the
radio. 
Sounded like a front might be coming through.
 
Glad I’m going to be warm and dry inside!”

“I’m tough,” he laughed.  “I’m not afraid of
a little rain!”

“Suit
yourself
,” I
called over my shoulder as I headed back toward the house.

As I crossed the driveway, panic began to set in
once again, like an old familiar friend.  It occurred to me that I was
going to have to do something drastic if I was going to keep him from going on
the trip.  I went to my room and laid face down on my bed, wracking my
brain for an idea that would prevent him from being able to go.  I made a
mental list in my head, which included infecting him with the stomach virus and
hiding all of his socks.  None of my ideas seemed realistic. 

And then, a plan began to form.  I certainly
did not want anything bad to happen to Branson, but I would happily suffer for
my cause.  If something happened to me that was severe enough, my parents
would be forced to keep him with the family, and he would miss the camping trip
once and for all.  I struggled to think of an idea that would be easy to
accomplish and would be grand enough to elicit concern from my parents
sufficient for them to keep him home.

At last it occurred to me.  I would have a
car accident.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and
pulled my hoodie over my head.  My mother was cleaning up from dinner as I
breezed through the kitchen.  I told her I was out of shampoo and was
headed to the store to pick some up.  Instead, I intended to scout out the
perfect location for a wreck that would have to occur Friday afternoon, before
Branson was to be picked up for the weekend.  My primary concern was to
choose a location that would not affect other drivers in any way.  I knew
the area had to be flat with a guardrail.  My plan was to swerve into the
guardrail at a relatively low rate of speed, just fast enough to deploy my
airbag and possibly cause some bruising.  And if I happened to get a cut
or scrape, that would be great as well.  I would blame the accident on a
rogue squirrel or chipmunk, saying that in an attempt to avoid the animal, I
ended up hitting the guardrail instead. 

Several miles into my reconnaissance mission I
found what I believed to be the perfect spot.  There was a small bend at
the end of a relatively straight stretch of highway.  It was lightly
traveled and there were guardrails on each side.  The area was heavily
wooded so my critter story would seem perfectly plausible.  I drove the
length of road several times, speeding up and slowing down to get a feel for
what I would have to do on Friday.  I was not exactly sure whether I was
going to be able to damage both my car and myself on purpose, but I reasoned
that I was officially out of options.  I would have to find the
courage.  Finally, I felt confident about the area I picked and the plan I
devised, so I made one final U-turn and headed home.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
E
IGHT

The next thirty six hours of my life crept
by.  I was jittery and could not focus on anything but what I was preparing
to do.  At one point on Friday morning, sitting in English class, I
realized that my plan was completely idiotic.  Worse than that, there was
still no guarantee that it would prevent Branson from going camping.  The
only thing it guaranteed was a busted up car and two angry parents.  To
say I had cold feet was an understatement.

At the end of the day, as I was making my way out
of the building, I spotted Branson running down the hall on his way to soccer
practice.  Unable to stop myself, I called out to him.  Through the
chaos of the end-of-the-day maelstrom, he heard me and turned to make eye
contact.  He waved, shooting me a sideways smile, and disappeared into the
locker room.  I prayed that the next time I saw him he would be furious
with me for ruining his weekend.

I slowly made my way across the parking lot to my
car.  My hands were shaking and I had difficulty getting the key into the
ignition.  Eventually, the engine roared to life and I carefully put on my
seatbelt, making sure it was adjusted properly.  Pulling out onto the
road, I felt like a death row inmate on the way to the execution chamber. 
My anxiety levels reached a fevered pitch and I considered backing down. 
When I arrived at the chosen stretch of road, I pulled the car over and stopped
along the shoulder.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing,
focusing on the air entering and escaping my lungs.  At last, I opened my
eyes, put the car into drive and checked to make sure there were no other cars
along the road.  The highway was deserted in both directions, so I eased
the car back into the right hand lane and pressed my foot down on the gas
pedal.  The car accelerated with little effort and before I knew it, I had
come to the bend in the road.  I slammed on the brakes and turned the
steering wheel in an attempt to graze the guardrail.

As the front bumper of the car made contact with
the first section of rail, I knew immediately that I had miscalculated my speed
and trajectory.  Instead of scraping the guardrail gently and returning to
the road, the car ricocheted across the road into the oncoming lane, spinning
360 degrees in the process.  The airbag deployed and in a moment of panic,
I gunned the engine before checking to see in which direction the wheels were
pointed.  The car shot back across the road directly into a tree.

I was conscious of the impact as my head hit the
steering wheel with alarming force.  The front windshield shattered all
around me and I was aware that I was bleeding from somewhere on my body. 
My arms were pinned beneath the dashboard and the pain was excruciating. 
I closed my eyes momentarily in an attempt to visualize where my phone was so
that I could call my parents.  The next thing I was aware of was a strange
woman speaking to me through the closed driver’s side window.  She
attempted to open the door.

“Miss,” she called to me, “are you okay?’

I tried to speak, but found that I was too
dizzy.  A wave of nausea washed over me and I closed my eyes to keep from
throwing up.

I heard the car door opening and suddenly another
voice was speaking to me.  The voice belonged to a man.

“Miss, I need you to open your eyes and tell me
your name.  Open your eyes Miss,” he pleaded with me.

I attempted to tell him that my name was Brooke,
but what came out of my mouth was nothing more than gibberish.  I was
aware that there were flashing lights around me and I heard the sound of an
ambulance in the distance.  My head was throbbing and I could no longer
feel either of my arms.  I closed my eyes again.

“Miss!” the same man was yelling at me again,
“open your eyes!  Stay with me!”

I tried as hard as I could to keep myself awake,
but I was in too much pain.  Finally, I succumbed to the darkness that was
enveloping me.  My last conscious thought was of Branson and his camping
trip.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
N
INE

I was aware of the darkness.  There was
nothingness all around me.  It was not at all like a dream in that there
was nothing to see or to hear.  I found myself in a void of empty space.

After some time, I began hearing voices.  I
strained to hear them.  The people seemed far away, just beyond where I
could see them.  I called out to them, asking them to come closer, to
speak louder.  It took all of my concentration.  Finally, exhausted,
I slept.

When I awoke, I was still engulfed by the
darkness, but the voices were closer.  They were unfamiliar to me and I
was unable to make out exactly what they were saying.  I could sense that
they were doing something to me, but I could not imagine what that would have
been.  Listening to their voices and unable to understand depleted my
strength and I fell once again into a deep sleep.

The sound of my mother’s voice jolted me
awake.  She was speaking directly to me.  She was telling me that I
was going to be fine. 
That the surgery was a success
and I would regain full use of my arms.
  I struggled to understand
what she was saying.  What could be wrong with my arms?  What
surgery?  I was frightened.  I had no idea what had happened or where
I was.  All I knew was that I wanted to talk to my mother but she was
unable to hear me.  I screamed at her, frustrated with myself for not
being able to speak so that she could hear me.  It was more than I could
handle.  Sleep came once again.