Chapter 18
Paul knew a place on the outskirts of town where he and his buddies would build bonfires and ride ATV's. It was secluded, accessed only by a dirt road just off the state route, on the east side of town. After he finished his shift, he drove there to get some fresh air and think. In his lap was an open beer can, and in the seat next to him were eleven more, which were all about to be opened soon. There were two more in the duffle bag in the bed of the truck, but they were for later, after he figured out where he was going to sleep. He was still angry about the flowers, and he was considering confronting her, but he didn't trust his temper when they fought. He thought it was best to just stay away. A small, quiet meadow, surrounded by sparse stands of pine and maple, was the perfect place for him to park and think of a way to find Dolores' “other man”.
Paul finished off the first beer, crushed the can, and tossed it through the sliding rear window into the bed of the truck. He cracked open another, and turned on the radio. The sound of steel guitars and electric fiddles filled the dense, moist morning air. By his sixth beer, he had a half-assed plan, and by his ninth, he had forgotten his original plan and concocted an even more absurd and certain-to-fail plan. Having never bothered to open the card, he had no idea who gave her the flowers. If he were to go back to the house, he could find the card, figure out who he was, then look him up in the phone book and settle this business “like a man”. He tossed the tenth can into the bed of the truck, let out a belch, and turned the key in the ignition. The thick morning air could no longer hold in its moisture, and it began drizzling as Paul pulled onto the black top and accelerated toward town.
His mind was a haze except for the plan, and even the finer details of the plan were beginning to cloud over. As he drove, Paul swerved violently as he tried to rehearse a few lines of what he would say when he met the other guy, but by the time he passed the city limits sign, it was all becoming unintelligible.
The drizzle had turned to rain as he sped through the first intersection downtown, just as the traffic light turned from yellow to red. As he approached the second intersection, something up ahead caught his eye. He blinked and opened his eyes wide in order to get them to uncross, and he saw Jonas riding his bike in the same direction toward Carlisle Street. He was pedaling furiously, and was soaking wet from rain. Paul turned his head in Jonas' direction as he passed, and quickly realized he was about to miss his turn. He yanked the steering wheel to the right, and the back tires lost traction and slid to the left. Paul over-corrected and began skidding right. The tires passed over a dry spot on the pavement underneath the branches of a maple tree, and they regained their grip. But the sideways motion of the truck had too much momentum, and the truck flipped over in the street. The sound of breaking glass and scraping metal echoed against the houses along Carlisle Street as the truck rolled onto its side then roof. It came to rest on the sidewalk, with the cab on the concrete and the mangled bed against a tree near the curb.
Jonas rounded the corner, and stopped short of running into a growing crowd of onlookers. He recognized Paul's truck. A number of people rushed to the truck. One man was helping Paul exit the cab through the space left by the shattered window, and a small group of others were trying to push the bed of the truck away from the tree. When Paul was free from the truck, the group all pushed at once, and the truck plowed a deep gouge into the grass in front of the tree.
Jonas stretched to get a view from between the jostling elbows and shoulders of the bystanders. He managed to catch a glimpse of the scene, and his stomach jumped into his throat. He had never before seen so much blood. Paul was scraped and still coherent enough to curse at those who had come to rescue him, but he didn't appear seriously injured. Jonas looked around at the group of bystanders to see if the reverend had heard the commotion and had come out of his house, which was two doors down from where Paul's truck came to rest. But the old man was not in the crowd. Jonas pushed his way through the crowd and toward Paul. When he cleared the forest of grown-ups, he saw the old man lying on the ground, between the truck and the tree against which he had been pinned.
“Reverend!” he shouted, and ran toward the old man.
“Stay back, kid. You don't want to see that.” said an onlooker as he grabbed Jonas by the arm, pulling him away from the horrific scene.
Jonas twisted free from the man, who had managed to pull him back toward his bicycle.
“Listen, kid, somebody got hurt bad. It's not something you should be seeing.” said the man.
“That's my friend!” he shouted and ran back through the crowd, losing the do-gooder in the bustle. But when he got toward the front of the crowd, a police officer was herding the crowd away from the scene while EMT's worked on Paul.
“That's my friend! Why aren't you helping him?” he shouted at the officer.
“Everybody back, please. We need you to move back. If you saw what happened, I'll be taking your statements, but I need everyone to just back up.” said the cop.
Jonas looked at Paul and the EMT, then looked at the reverend, who was being covered with a sheet by another EMT. It became clear to Jonas, and realizing there was nothing he could do, he cried as he walked back toward his bike.
Jonas thought about the reverend, and how he would never get a chance to witness the miracle he had performed. In the chaos of the accident, Jonas had almost forgotten about the miracle. He placed his hand on his face to remind himself, but the lump was there. Earlier, he was certain it was gone. He had seen it in the mirror. There was no lump, yet at that corner, in the rain, Jonas felt a lump along the left side of his jaw. He walked up to the window of the building on the corner and looked closely at his reflection. The growth had returned as surely as it had gone earlier.
“It doesn't mean it didn't happen.” he said to himself.
Jonas grabbed the handlebars of his bike and righted it. He hiked one leg over the seat, and placed his foot on the high pedal. He gave one last look toward the scene of the crash, then stood on the pedal and began rolling toward home.
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