In a Flash

Sunday, Easter Sunday actually, was the second time my life has been saved by wearing a helmet.

It was a loud smack of plastic and metal — then black. My head was heavy and my vision was cloudy as if I were pulling it up through a thick fog. I was half on my side — I think. I remember rolling over to find my fiancé, face down in the cement with the motorbike on top of him, a pool of blood where his face lay on the pavement.

That’s when I went all adrenalin.

I scrambled across the street, my depth perception off. He appeared close, but was far to reach. Like a dream where you try to run but go nowhere as if stuck in quicksand, I couldn’t get to him fast enough. I tried to wake him. Did I shake him? I don’t remember. I called his name. I tried not to move him too much. I think I felt his pulse. I looked around. Where was I? Brightly lit storefronts and Thai faces, pavement and night. I think someone was wearing a pink shirt. They were standing back — the faces — off to the side. I lifted my lead-weight body and struggled toward them.

“Hospital! Ambulance! Someone call…” I trailed off. Why weren’t they doing anything? “Hospital! Call an Ambulance! Help!” I screamed. I think I shook one of them, panic setting in. Oh, shit. I have to tell them in Thai. What’s the word for hospital? Erik. Blood. Help. Hospital. Erik. Pain. Help. My mind was too jumbled. What the hell do I do? Oh God, Erik.

Did I pull out my phone and dial the emergency number, shoving it in a Thai’s hand? I may have. It’s unclear. I stumbled back to Erik. “Erik! Baby, wake up!” He moaned and lifted his head off the pavement a little. I could see his bewilderment. “Oh my God! Erik. Thank God, don’t move!” I turned back to the crowd, “Help! Hospital!” Erik lifted himself up, shaking his head to clear away his own settled fog. He touched his face and his eyes widened at the realization. That’s when I became a bit hysterical. Because I think it sank in at that moment for me, the severity of what just happened.

“Tighten up!” He said to me as the tears flowed from my swollen eyes. Oh my God he’s alive. Thank God he’s alive, and walking. Oh my God he’s walking. And talking. “Is it bad?” he asked me. “Okay, um.” I swallowed hard, catching my breath and trying to focus. “Um, okay, there’s a deep cut above your lip, and your chin. Oh God, you’re bleeding everywhere. Uh, shit. Are you okay?”

“Molly! Get a hold of yourself!” he snapped at me. I did need to get a hold of myself, but for crying out loud, he was just unconscious in a pool of blood and I was relieved he was okay. “Let’s just go. Come on!” He said in his haze.

“Erik, baby, sit down. Just wait for help. You need to go to the hospital… HELP!”

“Okay. You’re right.”

“Somebody help! HELP!” Hos-pi-tal!”

“Calm down.”

“Why won’t they help us? HELP!” I choked.

Blackness

My memory returns and the ambulance is there. Erik’s on a stretcher and they’re wheeling him inside, the legs of the stretcher buckling in. A neck brace supports his head and catches small pools of blood, his lip has swollen to enormous sizes. I want to scream. I probably did. I have Erik’s hand, and I’m choking back tears as the swab his face. I hear a knock on the back door. My friends, who had left the dinner we were all at moments ago just a few minutes after us, had seen the accident and stopped. I opened the hatch in a frenzy.

“Call Eva. Just call Eva.” I plead with them, knowing that she, my best friend, would know what to do. I closed the hatch hastily and off we went, my hand still in Erik’s as he fell in and out of awareness. A mixed group of paramedics, if one can call them that, surrounded the bed, attending to him. My eyes met those of a Thai boy, he couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old, as he held Erik’s head in place. I smiled meekly at him. Hold it tight.

We got to the hospital in good time. Surprising as I regularly see ambulances stuck in traffic jams, no one budging an inch for the injured. I don’t remember much of the ride, because I think I was going in and out of hysterics. Blackness. I remember crying uncontrollably, then collecting myself in a second’s time if needed. Jesus Christ, I was a fucking mess.

Erik received stitches in his upper lip and chin. I remember them putting a needle into his lip, blood oozing out as he shut his eyes, clenched in pain. That’s when they took me away to clean my wounds. “Erik, baby, are you okay?” I yelled across the hospital.

“I’m okay. I’m right here.” He answered back. We continued that for some time, until a stern nurse came and told me to shush up. It only made me want to know more. “Are you okay?” I called again, giving her the stink eye in defiance. The Thai people all around me were yelling to each other. “Thank you.” I turned to the nice nurse who was cleaning my wounds. Minutes later Eva and her Uncle Bruce arrived. They were on top of everything. And from then on, I relaxed. Well, by relaxed I mean I lost it. I just let the whole thing crash down on me and released all my suppressed fear — I thought he was dead.

The following day we went back to claim the bike. It had an estimated 4500 baht worth of damage to it. But it’s our helmets that scared me the most. Big gashes and scraps mark the sides and tops. My visor in broken in several places and Erik’s is completely broken off.

Imagine if those were our heads? I wouldn’t be telling you this story right now.