Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 21

A cold texture crunches against my cheek. Something green comes into focus inches from my face—sprigs of grass. Pressed against the coarse ground, I try to turn my head, but can't. In fact, I can't move at all. My vision blurs even more. A darkness falls all around. The faint sound of footsteps approaches from behind. Then the strangest sensation creeps into the back of my neck, like the soothing warmth of a hot washcloth. The shuffling sounds of steps fade away as my vision returns. The warm sensation spreads down my back, slowly flowing into my limbs.

In the distance, an appalling voice instantly brings me back around.

"Will you look at my Jag? It's all jacked up."

A streetlight shines above—it's the pole I was trying to get to before I was hit by a car.

"What the....Chuck. Look. Did you run into that girl over there?" someone else says.

"Shoot, heck if I know. I was looking at you the whole time, Baby. What kind of idiot rides their bike on the road like that, anyway?"

I can't believe this. It's the Neanderthal. I roll over to my side and try to sit up. Searing pains shoot down my arm. Blood covers my hands. My jeans are torn. My shirt is ripped. Grass and dirt stains are everywhere. When I try to push myself to my feet, I scream. My left arm is twisted and deformed.

Standing in the driver's side doorway of his car, Chuck Conner and a blond girl sitting in his passenger seat are gawking at me as if I'm an escaped zoo animal.

"Holy cow. I think she was at your party earlier. Wasn't she the one hanging out with that chick you've been messing around with?"

Muffling my cries, I use my right arm to get back to my feet.

"Who knows? I can't keep 'em straight. Look, she's standing up. She's fine."

"I don't know. Maybe we should ask her if she needs any help," the girl says.

"Yeah, I guess. Ah—hey, you, kid, you need any help?" he says loudly, not moving from his doorway.

The immense pain is unbearable, but there's no way I'm letting him come anywhere near me. I use all the energy I can muster to squeak out a reply. "Nope. I'm fine." My bicycle is lying in the street twenty yards behind his car, slightly mangled from the impact. Forcing myself to power through the agony from my severely wounded left arm, I walk over, stand the bike back up and straddle the crooked seat.

"Chuck, look at the wheels. They're warped. Her head's bleeding, too."

One foot on the pedal, I push myself forward, tightly squeezing the right handlebar with a death grip that is sure to keep me from falling. My left arm hangs mercilessly bringing me to the brink of passing out, but I don't stop.

They are both quiet for a moment, then Chuck says, "Look, she's on her way. Just a couple of scratches."

"Hope she doesn't have far to go," the girl says.

"She's fine. Said she didn't need no help." The door slams and the car's engine revs loudly, eventually vanishing into the darkness.  

Turning onto the first accessible side street that takes me off the main road, my front wheel warps its way through the neighborhoods. Finally, when I pass Vincent's house, the Farmer's Café appears. The figure of Aunt Amy standing in the front porch is a welcomed sight. She starts to move toward the screen door.

"Oh, thank goodness," she says loudly. "It's almost ten. I was so worried and no one knew where you were."

When I'm close enough for her to set eyes on my condition, her jaw drops, "My God, Mackenzie. What happened to you?"

That's all it takes for me to snap out of it. I drop my bike in the front yard. Uncontrollable tears of pain burst from me like a pressure cooker.

On the way to the emergency room, Spencer's in the back seat trying to comfort me. Worry spreads over his little face, making me more inconsolable, knowing what he must have thought when I didn't come to get him, like I promised.

At the hospital, the doctors examine me, asking what hurts. Gashes are being stitched on my good arm and leg, and the other wounds on my head and back are being cleaned. X rays are next.

It's what they expected. The bones in my left arm are fractured and broken. I need surgery right away. Something about pins, screws and wires.

What happened is being asked again and again by nurses, doctors and Aunt Amy. The pain is so intense, I can't even logically put together the sequence of events. All I can get out is, "Riding down the mountain trail. A guy with his big dog." And, "Crashed my bike."

Spencer, who hasn't left my side, is stationed in a chair right next to me. When Aunt Amy steps outside of the curtained room, I try to set his mind at ease.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you tonight, Bud," I say. My heart hurts for putting him through this ordeal.

"It's okay," he says halfheartedly, staring at the television hanging from the ceiling.

"Yeah, me and my handle bars, we got into this big fight. But they look worse than I do."

He frowns, but I get eye contact. "Not funny."

The hospital staff draws back one of the curtain walls and reports they are ready for me.

"You're going to be okay, Mackenzie." Aunt Amy says with authority, brushing back a strand of hair from my face. "They said it will take a couple of hours, but I'll be right here when you get out."

I nod, and let out a low moan from the pain.

She puts her arm on my brother's shoulder and bends down to get his attention. "Spencer, we have to let them take Mackenzie back to fix her arm. You don't have to worry about anything because these great doctors are going to take care of your sister. Okay, Buddy?"

He hesitates, giving me a final longing glance, before succumbing to the circumstances that are forcing us apart.

"I'm so sorry for all this," I can't get much more out or else the last thing my brother will bear witness to before I am wheeled away is me becoming completely unhinged.

"Don't be ridiculous," Aunt Amy replies softly. "We're both just glad you're gonna be okay, sweetheart."

The gurney starts to move and they wheel me away down a narrow corridor. Spencer waves weakly as the double doors close. As soon as I'm out of his sight, the tears stream freely, partly from the pain but mostly from the pain I've caused.

The long, white hallways are a maze of florescent lights. I scream in agony when they transfer me onto a different gurney in the operating room. The nurse puts something in my IV drip. Then a woman in a surgical hat and mask with greenish blue eyes says, "Hi Mackenzie. My name is Dr. Griffith. I am going to help you go to sleep."

"Okay, Dr. Griffith. Everything hurts."

"I know. We're going to try and get you all better. I'm going to put this mask on you in a second. All I want you to do is count back from ten. Can you do that for me?" she asks.

"Yes ma'am. You want me to do that now?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready. 10, 9"

On comes the mask.

"8, 7-"