The Time Until
Authors: Casey Ford
By:
Casey
Ford
Copyright 2013 Casey Ford
There are two girls that have helped me through
this whole process.
First is my wife who
gently pushed me from behind.
Second is
Ohio who loudly dragged me forward, kicking and screaming.
You guys
are awesome!
Thank you.
Present Day
“I still can’t believe you got me to go see that
stupid, glittery vampire movie,” I say, a giant teasing smile plastered on my
face.
This starts up a rant from earlier
in the night. “I can’t believe they actually made a kid.
I find that all sorts of wrong.” In the
passenger seat of my car, Samantha is giggling.
“You’re still on that?” she asks with amusement.
“I can’t believe you actually went even after
finding out what you were going to see,” she plays along, almost in a downright
laugh at this point. “Besides, what makes it so wrong?”
I can’t help but smile at her.
“Come on, you expect me to believe those two
should be allowed to procreate? It’s just wrong.
I feel gross.” I fake a shudder and she
starts petting my back.
“Poor baby,” she teases.
“You have no idea.
I think I need a shower.” I grimace. “Anyway, that was definitely not
fair.” I counter. “When you told me we were going to see a blockbuster, I
assumed it was going to be the other blockbuster, the superhero one.” I take
the left turn when the light turns green. “I feel so cheated.”
“Well, there’s your problem.”
Another
red light.
“You just made an ass of you and me.”
I have to smile at her saying. Her dad says that
all the time. “You know what they say about assuming something?
You make an
ass
of
u
and
me
.”
Yeah, we always found it a stupid play on words and now she’s using it
on me.
The light turns green again.
“When do you have to be back at the dorms?” I ask
after a few moments of silence and soft snickering as our laughter dies down.
I’m hoping she’ll go back with me, but I’m waiting to hear her plan before
asking her to carpool with me.
It’s only
a two-hour drive to UCLA from here, but the trip gets pretty lonely by
myself
.
“Why, you looking for a ride?” She’s being playful
again.
I like it when she’s playful.
Another red light.
“You caught me.” I throw my hands up in surrender.
“So what do you say?”
“Sure. Why not?” she sighs and shrugs.
I roll my eyes at her and we share a quick chuckle
at our silliness.
We’ve always been a little
silly, it comes with the territory.
I
turn my attention back to the streetlight.
Seriously, how long has it been red?
There’s no one coming.
“Did you really need to ask, Al?” Sam
inquires.
She knows differently. “It’s
not like I was going to leave without you.”
I know that, but I always feel the need to ask
anyway.
Just in case something’s
changed.
“Nope.
Just like hearing you say you’ll take me with
you.” I smile brightly and Sam chuckles at me as she rolls her brown eyes.
“Come on, Al,” Sam starts, “we’re 20.
When are you going to grow up?”
I shoot her an “are you kidding” look.
The damn light is stubborn.
“That’s real rich coming for the person who counts
years starting from her birthday and not New Year’s Eve.”
“Hey!” she defends.
“That’s a perfectly good place to start a
year in my book.”
“Sure, if your birthday was New Year’s Day instead
of in July.” This light really hates me and the feeling is mutual.
Finally, after what seems like years, the light
crossing the intersection in front of us turns yellow, then red.
I watch as my light turns green. It takes a
second to register in my mind that I can go since I’ve been sitting at this
light for the better part of my adult life.
I ease on the accelerator just as Sam turns slightly in her seat.
She runs her hand through my dirty-blonde
high and tight hair absentmindedly.
It’s
something she does when she’s thinking — instead of sticking her tongue out,
though just as adorable.
“You know, Al, I’m so happy right now I could die
with no regrets.”
A smile pulls at my lips as I glance at her.
Headlights over her shoulder catch my
attention and my eyes widen as a truck runs the red light.
Time slows as it gets closer and closer, but
my brain can’t make a decision on what to do.
My body just freezes and refuses to react.
There’s no time to warn Sam before the truck
finally smashes into us. The car lurches violently with the impact and the
entire world spins out of control.
All I
can hear is the screeching of metal on metal and the pierce of breaking
glass.
I see Sam’s head shattering the
passenger door window, fear masking her features, before the world rapidly
resumes a normal speed.
I watch as her
body is tossed against her restraints as the vehicles come to a stop and black
spots crowd my vision, quickly surrounding me in darkness.
15 Years Ago (Age 5):
September
Kindergarten scares me.
It’s the first day and already my parents
leave me with a group of strangers and an old woman who smiles too much.
My mother literally pries me from her
leg.
That leg means safety. Now I’m in
the world completely unguarded.
That’s when the tears come.
“You okay?” a soft voice asks me.
The voice belongs to a set of auburn
pigtails.
She’s cute, for a girl.
“They left me,” I sob.
She nods her head in understanding.
“Yep, they did,” she agrees like it’s the most
natural thing in the world, “but why are you crying like a pansy?” She reaches
her hand out to help me up.
“They’re
comin
’
back.” I must look confused because she laughs at my face.
It’s a nice laugh.
“I got it,” she announces, her face brightening
up slightly as if she just thought of something really good. “My name’s Sam and
from now on you’re mine.” Now I know I’m showing my confused face.
What is this girl saying?
“Huh?” is all that comes out when I try to ask
her about what she just said.
Her smile
falters slightly.
“You’re mine.
So you’re not alone anymore. You’ll be with me.” She pauses to let that
sink in for me.
Is she saying she wants
to be my friend?
That’s kind of a wacky
way to say it.
“My mom says everyone needs someone.
Well, you’re mine.
Now you need me.”
This little girl, Sam, is by far the weirdest
person I’ve ever met.
I can’t help but
smile at her. I think it’s going to be really interesting with her around.
Present Day
I wake to flashing lights – bright, ominous, and
blinking red, blue, and white.
Smoke
fills my head, the car, everywhere. The baby powder mist from the airbag hangs
in the air, mixing with the smoke from the engine, and giving my mouth a chalky
taste.
Everything is black with blobs of
flashing color. My left eye feels like I’m crying from it — something wet and
sticky is dripping down my cheek — and I’m hesitant to open my right one.
My head is ringing, or it could be the car
itself, either way, it hurts.
A lot.
Moving my hand
a little sends bolts of pain through my body and the world goes blacker.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I
manage to open one eye — the other seems to be permanently sealed — and take in
the scene.
The entire world is hazy and out of focus. I have
to blink a few times before I can see clearly enough to figure out what’s
happening.
Even then, it’s barely enough
and I have to make due. An off-white deflated airbag hangs from my steering
wheel.
The windshield is shattered and a
pickup truck is where my engine is supposed to be.
There’s no other sound beyond a continuous
ringing. I can see the radiator spewing steam. Breathing is hard until I open
my mouth – I guess I can count a broken nose on my just started list of
injuries.
I slowly turn my head, which accounts for a fresh
bolt of pain, a larger headache, and another injury induced power nap.
The next time I rouse, smoke has filled the
inside of the car, and it’s very hard to breathe through all the debris
floating around.
I figure out why my arm
hurt so badly when I tried to move it — it’s bent in an unnatural direction at
mid forearm.
From the way the bone is
jutting out, I’ve determined it’s in pretty bad shape.
My other arm is pinned between the door and
the steering wheel, but for now, it seems fine.
Not being able to feel my legs is what really scares me the most — but
then again, I can’t feel anything but pain right now.
That is, until I look at the passenger seat.
Samantha is leaning forward against her seat belt,
blood dripping from her ragged, hanging hair.
Her once auburn locks are almost dyed black from the rich crimson color
staining it.
Her eyes are closed and I
can’t make out much in the way of injuries.
I do notice that her arm is beyond black and blue having progressed
directly to black.
The entire passenger
dash has been crushed and now sits completely in her lap, her legs buried under
metal and plastic.
She doesn’t move,
doesn’t even whimper.
It takes a second
for my thoughts to process and I can find my voice.
“Sam?” I can barely get that out; my voice is
harsh and scratchy.
“Sam?” Not even a stir.
I try moving my arm again in order to touch
her. Maybe she’ll wake up if I can touch her.
The pain nixes that idea in a hurry and I have to fight to remain
conscious as the black spots start to crowd my vision again.
“Sammy!”
Nothing.
One more time.
“Samantha!” Yelling hurts my throat, but I’m
desperate.
“Wake up Sam!” I start to move my arm again.
Pain makes me want to stop — fear forces me
to continue.
Fear that the person
slumped over in the passenger seat is dead.
Fear that the one good thing in my life is gone.
I reach for her, with great effort,
adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I
grip her arm, and shake as best I can — difficult to do effectively with my
broken arm, but I’m determined.
Despite
the adrenaline acting as a pain-number, the pain from my arm is incredible and
I fight against it in order to keep myself conscious and hopefully get Sam’s
attention.
My fingers aren’t working
properly, bone through muscles does that, simply moving them sends waves of
pain throughout my body.
They have
enough strength to hold on to her arm at least.
I grit my teeth against the agony and try to wake her up again with
another excruciating shake.
Not even a broken arm is going to prevent me from
trying to wake her up.
I have to wake her up.
“WAKE UP, SAMMY!”
I can’t stop the terror in my voice.
Tears start to fall from my one good eye, cleaning a trail through the
blood on my face.
I keep shaking her,
calling out her name even as I see the shadows behind her — blobs of black move
and crowd around the car.
To me, they look like Grim Reapers and I shout at
them not to take Sam away from me.
I didn’t even notice that my seat belt has also
been cut and the door next to me is peeled away.
Hands grab me, helping me out of the scrap
metal I used to call a car.
They carry
me to a bed on wheels, a gurney, and start strapping me down.
If I could move properly I would struggle, but
I’m more intent on finding Sam.
My gaze
lands on her a moment later and the scene is not the one I was hoping to see.
The passenger door is ripped from its hinges and
her seat belt cut.
The shadows rip and
tear the dashboard apart, freeing Sam’s legs.
Multiple hands gently guide her out of her
seat — she so
limp
in their arms — and manage to get
Sam onto her back.
Her shirt is torn
open and they hover over her working as quickly as they can.
One of them is pumping her chest rapidly, counting
one to 15 for each pump.
A second guy –
my muddled brain finally recognizes them as paramedics not specters of Death –
is at her head with what looks like a mask and bottle, I can’t think of what it
is — my head hurts. He pumps the bottle to get air forced into her lungs when
the first paramedic stops pumping.
They
continue to do that over and over again, a pump of the chest for each
second.
A third paramedic readies a
small device that looks like it’s made for charging car batteries – a
defibrillator.
He places round sheets
attached to wires over her heart and on her chest, under her arm.
Everyone scatters when he yells, “CLEAR,” and
Sam’s body arches for a second before thumping violently back to the ground.
The medic checks her pulse and shakes his
head.