Wednesday, January 6, 2010


I heard the phone ringing, but I didn't bother to get up. It was probably Jordan. Drunk. Calling for a ride home. The clock said 3am. Bar time. It rang and rang. I continued to ignore it. About 15 minutes later it stopped. Good. I was tired of running to his rescue every time he called. And I was still mad. Still angry from our fight tonight.

I didn't feel like I had asked that much. All I wanted was for him to spend some time with his family. They would be gone in a couple of days and he hadn't even seen them yet. But no. He wanted to go out with his friends. I knew his cousins would be disappointed. His mother would be irate. Still, he argued throwing a hissy fit until I finally told him to just go. "Fine! Don't get yourself killed" I screamed as the screen door slammed shut.

The phone started ringing again. It was 3:30am. Damn it! Why couldn't he just take a cab home! I stormed out of my bed, whipping the receiver into my hand. "What?" I delivered it bathed in ice.

There was momentary silence and then one of Jordan's friends quietly said my name. "Amy?" Even in my fatigue and anger, the voice was uncharacteristic of Jordan's friends. They were all 'happy' drunks. The sound I heard was too subdued.

"Yes." The uncertainty took some of the edge out of my voice, but it was still cold.

"Amy. This is Micheal, one of Jordan's friends. I tried to call you earlier, but there was no answer. Look... ummmm. Jordan's in the hospital and its serious." It was serious. Now I could hear the tears he was trying to hold back.

"Oh my God. What happened?" Everything was a blank slate, ready to be written on.

"I think you should come right away. I'll tell you more after you see him, okay?"

I was silent. I didn't know what to say or how to react. The phone rested on my chin when I heard Micheal say my name again. "Yeah. Okay." I was about to hang up when Micheal rushed in an offer to pick me up. "No thank you. I can get there." I hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

I rushed to my room and pulled on the jeans I wore earlier that day, grabbing a hair tie off the dresser along with my purse and keys. I slipped into a pair of sandals by the door and headed to St. Lucia's. It was the only hospital for an hour. He had to be there. It never dawned on me to ask otherwise.

As I pulled into the first parking spot I saw, the last words I said to him began echoing around in my brain. "Don't get yourself killed." I doubled over, out of breath from the mere thought. Quickly, I pulled myself together, opening the door and marching myself to the emergency room. The nurse behind the desk raised one finger to me before I could say a word. She was on the phone and I was being shushed. A moment later she transferred the call and asked how she could help.

"I'm Mrs. Crowsauk. I think my husband is here. Jordan Crowsauk." I said it timidly, afraid that I had made an awful mistake, responding to a dream and that Jordan was at home waiting for me. She looked at her notes, nodded her head once, and waved another nurse over.

"Yes Mrs. Crowsauk. Your husband was brought in earlier. Nurse Mary will take you to the waiting area. I believe one of his friends is there now." Before I could ask any questions, Nurse Mary began leading me down a hall behind the nurse's desk. She stayed a couple of feet ahead of me. In my confusion I had difficulties keeping up.

After a few turns, she stopped in front of an elevator. It took me a few steps to catch up. "Where is he? What happened?" I felt so lost, not just in the maze of corridors, but in the situation.

"Mrs. Crowsauk?"

"Where are we going?" I was feeling impatient and it showed in my tone of voice.

"Mrs. Crowsauk, didn't you speak with the doctor? I know they called you this morning. Several times." She was hesitant in her words. The elevator had arrived, yet she hadn't taken another step toward the door. I watched the doors slide open and then shut.

"No. I came because a friend called. He said it was serious and that he would tell me more later. What happened?" I was afraid now. Tears were sliding down my face. I stood frozen, unwilling to take another step until I understood what I was going toward.

Nurse Mary reached out a hand, placing it firmly on my arm. "I can't tell you, but I can page Dr. Yoel. He was on duty when your husband was brought in. He can explain everything to you. Let's walk back up front." I wanted to scream no, to make her tell me what was happening. I didn't want to be the obedient puppy i was acting like, following once again at her heels.

Finally we reached the front. I was offered a seat and Dr. Yoel was paged. He arrived within a few minutes. Nurse Mary spoke with him quietly for about two minutes before he came over to me. "Mrs. Crowsauk, I am doctor Yoel. I'm so sorry we didn't get to talk before you came in. Mr. Crowsauk..."

"Jordan." I interrupted.

"Yes. Jordan came in this evening after being involved in an accident. It appears that he hit his head. We did everything we could. He had surgery to relieve the pressure. He is still unconscious and his vitals continue to fluctuate. We are having difficulty stabilizing him. Mrs. Crowsauk, his brain has been greatly traumatized. It is possible he may not make it through the night. If he does, there is a great likelihood that he will need specialized care for the rest of his life. The prognosis does not look good. But I have seen people pull through worse than this."

I sat stunned. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to cry. I just sat, starring at the black speckles in the white of the linoleum floor. Somehow, I found myself bedside his bed. I could barely recognize him. His head was heavily wrapped in bandages. His body was completely still other than the mechanical rising of his chest. Every time I looked at him I had to convince myself that it was Jordan and not an impostor.

The only memory I have of the next three days was of Michael. "He was at the bar. He'd only been there for a few minutes when he stood up. He said he had to go. His family was in town and he hadn't seen his cousins in a long time. He asked if he could borrow the Jeep. Since he hadn't been drinking, I handed him the keys. About six hours later, I got a call from the police. They said they found the Jeep flipped over and a man they assumed was me laying on the side of the road. I told them I had lent it to a friend. They asked for his information and then I called you immediately. I think he was out with his cousins. The tank was almost empty and the Jeep was covered in mud. He must have dropped them off first because there was no one else at the scene. Amy, I am so sorry."

Jordan died late on the third day. The last memory I have is fighting about not spending time with his cousins while they were in town. I ended it by telling him not to get himself killed. I wish that sentiment had not been filled with sarcasm. I loved him.


  1. This is so incredibly sad. It is well written different from other pieces you have written in it tone. But it is also somewhat predictable.

  2. Would you believe this started out as an answer to your prompt idea?

    Then as it started going, I realized that it had started to resemble my cousin's story so just followed the path. Switch the main character's relationship to mother and the cousins to friends who left him laying on the side of the street and the destination the morgue instead of the hospital and you have his sad story.... fight and all. (Okay... that is confusing, but I can tell you the story sometime.)

  3. Oh my...I don't know what to say. This is partially true? Left him laying on the side of the street? WHAT?

    And what was the prompt idea that led to this?

    I'm so sad now.