Nightmare
A throbbing pain in my temples drags me out of the nightmare, which had felt so damn real. I open my eyes and look out of the window. It's still raining. I explore my surrounding. This is not my bed at home. Kirsten isn't there. I'm still in the car. The windscreen is cracked. I feel something thick trickling down my face. I carefully touch my face and see the blood on my fingertips. This is no nightmare. It slowly becomes clearer in my mind that I had been driving the car, through the rain and that something bad had happened.
"Mister, are you alright?" I hear a voice. "I'm…I'm sorry…the light was red but the rain…I had no control over my…truck." He says. I look at him. Life goes in slow motion. I look to me right. The window on the passenger side is cracked too. Big pieces of glass are missing. I can clearly look through it and I only see the huge red thing of a car. My look falls onto the form that is slumped into the seat next to me. This. Was. No. Nightmare. It strikes me like lightning. I immediately unfasten my seatbelt. Bad idea. The quick movement only worsens the pain in my head.
"Mister…you shouldn't move that much. You could be server injured." The man – the driver of the other car – says. I don't pay attention to him. When I'm free from my seat belt I lean over the form.
"Hey, Ryan…kid…are you okay?" I ask him. His head is turned away from me, but I don't dare to move it. He looks limp. Oh please God, don't. I beg. I never would be able to forgive myself…why…I shouldn't have been that hard towards him.
"Ryan…kid, just give me a sign you're okay." I beg. His chest is still moving. This brings a glimmer of relieve.
"mmm" I hear him groan.
"Can you hear me?"
"mmm" Is everything I get from him. Shit. This can't be true. This wasn't supposed to happen. I…I drove after him because I didn't want to lose him and…now this?
"Can…can you try and look at me?" I don't know whether this is a good idea or not, but I need to see these eyes. I need to see that he's okay. His head slowly turns to me. It seems as if the whole missing glass of the passenger side window is sticking in the right side of his face. I'm shocked by this look.
"Just open your eyes for me." I told him, brushing through his hair. I see how he slowly opens his eyes. I see how he struggles.
"That's good kid." I see into these blue eyes again.
"We need to get out of the car. Do you think you can manage it?" I ask him.
"Hope…so." He answers slowly and silent. I watch him how he unfasten his seatbelt – carefully and slowly. He can move. I'm sure it only looks worse than it is and that we will be all at home this night again. I'm glad that I can open the door to my side.
"Ryan, c'mon."
"I…can't open the door." He answers. Only now I realize this was the side the truck ran into us.
"Okay, just stay calm. I help you." I say and run to his side. It's awfully rumpled, but I pull at the door. Nothing.
"Can you try to get out on the other side?" I hope I don't ask for too much, but we have to get out of this…former called car. I see how he prop himself on the centre console. I'm glad he's such a tough kid. But then he shakes his head.
"Can't…leg's…jammed." Fuck! I can't freak out now. I need to stay calm for him.
"Mister, the ambulance and fire department are on their way." The man says. At least one gleam of hope.
"Did you hear that? Just stay calm. I'm sure they get you out soon." He's not admitting it to me, but his eyes tell me that he's scared to death.
"It's not like I have another choice, or?" He replies. I go back to the driver's side and sit down next to him.
"Does…anything hurt?" I ask. I know it's a useless question, but an instinct demands me to make him stay awake.
"A little…but I'm fine." I would laugh about this, because it's so Ryan to say this. But this situation is everything else than a funny one.
"Don't even think I believe you." I only answer him and earn a lopsided smile. Maybe it's not that bad. It can't be that bad, if he still behaves like this or? I can hear the ambulance coming and soon I can see the blue lights.
"Hear this? Only a few minutes more and you're out of this." I encourage him to hang on. His face – or better that part that's not sliced into pieces due the glass – is pale and it looks as if he gets paler with every second.
"Hello, I'm Paul. Can you tell me your name and what happened?" A paramedic arrives at the car.
"I'm Sandy Cohen…I…don't know what happened, it went too fast." I answer.
"Alright Mr. Cohen. Are you in pain?" Why does he ask me? I only suffer a laceration. Nothing more. They should care for my son first place.
"No…only my head…listen, my son…"
"Don't worry about that. We'll take care of him." How am I able not to worry? My son's bleeding like hell and is trapped in this wrack.
"But…he's trapped…his leg…"
"Mr. Cohen, just calm down. Can you leave the car?"
"No…I mean yes…but I'm not going to leave my son here alone." I can't leave him here. There had been too many people leaving him alone. I need to be there for him, to get him through this.
"Don't worry my partner is taking good care of your son. You know what, we just have a look at your head and then you can come back. Is it okay with you?" No it isn't. I don't want to leave him for a second, but I also know that I need to stay rational.
"Don't worry kid, I'm back in five minutes." I say to him, but get no real response. I get out of the car and get my wound treated. I can't take my look off of the car. If I had known what'll happen, I never had been that rude towards the boy. Hell, I'll never be able to forgive myself if the kid doesn't make it. But I drive this thought away. There's no way that he's not going to make it. He's Ryan, he's supposed to hang on and get through this. At least I think that to keep up some hope.
The paramedic is done with my wound. I've had luck, he tells me. If he knew. I don't consider it as luck, watching how my son is trapped in a car wrack, his face covered with dry blood. This is no luck.
"Why does it take so long to get my son out of the car?" I ask the paramedic. I have a bad feeling in my guts and it tells me that we can't wait any longer to get him out. It's one of these parental instincts. Although you don't know anything, you feel that your child is in a bad shape.
"Sorry, but the fire department is on its way." The paramedic tells me. That's what I was told an hour ago. I go back to the car and sit down next to my son. He has his eyes closed. He looks miserable. There's an IV in the vein on the back of his hand.
"We need to stabilize is circulation." The paramedic says. He stays next to my son, always checking on him. It makes me nervous. It shows me that my feeling tells me the truth. If they think it's necessary to watch him due the whole time, then they have found something worrying, but don't tell me. And I'm glad, because without knowing what's exactly wrong with my son, I can stay calm.
"Hey kid, how are you?" I ask him and put a hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes and looks at me.
"Better." He says.
"We've given him something against the pain." The paramedic next to him explains me. At least he doesn't have to suffer unnecessarily.
"I'm sorry." I start to talk to him. I need to tell him this. I have to tell him that he has to hang on, because there are people who won't be able to cope with… I can't go on with this thought.
"No…don't… apologize." He replies.
"But I have to. What I said wasn't right. I…I only…I'm worried about you and worse of all I feel helpless, because I don't know what to do to make you feel better…to make you trust us." I owe him answers. I can't only ask for his motives without telling him mine.
"'s 'kay." He says. His voice is low and I see that he's exhausted.
"No Ryan, it's not." There is this one thing I want to tell him, but I'm afraid of overstepping this boarder.
"As long as we aren't able to make you feel like a part of our family, it's not okay." I explain him.
"'s not… your fault. 's my fault…'m too screwed up, to…no matter… how bad I want to…be part of your family…just can't…something's…blocking me…or…dunno." He mumbled and my heart starts to ache, when I listen to this.
"But why do you run away instead of letting us help you?"
"Don'…wanna…hurt you anymore…don't deserve this." He doesn't want to tell me that he thinks he has to run away to make us feel better or?
"I agree in one thing: you're really screwed." I tell him. "How can you think it's not hurting us, when you leave instead of staying? Ryan, we're there to get you through this and we will, no matter how hard you try to reject us." He needs to feel what he means for us. He doesn't respond anymore. His eyes are closed again.
"Ryan?" I ask him. Don't do this to me.
"mmm." He groans. I take his hand. If he is too tired to listen to what I'm saying, he still can feel that I'm there.
"Just hang on." I tell him. "I'm not leaving." But I get no reply and the paramedic's concerned expression doesn't remain unnoticed by me. My hope to have my whole family around me at home this night shatters.
I don't know how long it takes until the fire department arrives and is ready to get my son out of the wreck. They hand me a blanket to cover my son and me, so the rescue manoeuvre doesn't inflict more injuries to us.
"Ryan, I just have to pull you a little more at my side, okay?" I tell him. He hadn't made any noise since hours – that's what it feels like.
"Just stay calm, only a few more minutes and your son is safe." A paramedic ensures me. The noise of an angle grinder cutting through metal shrills in my ears. I hold him tight, as tight as I can. As if I could make anything better through this. And then there's one loud noise, the one of flexing metal.
"Okay, now we can get him out." Someone says and I put the blanket down. His head's leaning against my shoulder – limp. I touch his cheek, but…the skin…it doesn't feel as it should feel. They carefully pull his upper body out of the car and with a crack – a noise that makes me sick – he's out of the car. I immediately jump out and run to his side. Bad mistake. He's lying on a stretcher. The trouser of his right leg is tainted in red, as well as the right side of his face. I see how one paramedic his checking for a pulse and than everything goes too fast for me to witness. The paramedic shakes his head. I don't want to believe this.
"Ryan!" I call out. I want to get through to him, but they hold me back.
"Leave me alone, I need to get to my son!" I scream. I only can scream now.
"Please, you have to calm down. I promise they're doing everything in their power to help your son." I feel so helpless. I feel so fucking helpless. It's my entire fault. He would be alive, if I hadn't forced him with me. I shouldn't have yelled and shouted at him, but paid attention to the street. It's my entire fault. I only wanted to safe him. I only wanted to show him his family, instead I ruined it all. I listen to all these words shouted around, but I don't understand any of them. I'm paralyzed. Everything is out of my hands and I'm not used to it. I'm used to have everything under control. I'm always the one controlling everything. There never had been things I wasn't able to fix. This boy is the first one who teaches me I'm not almighty. I'm not sure whether I should hate him for that or if I should be grateful to realize I'm still a human-being. I notice busy activity. I see how paramedics hysterically roll the stretcher with my son on it into the ambulance. With all these people and…things surrounding him, I wouldn't notice that it was him…No, I always would notice it. I see how his limp body lies there, without motion. They had to cut open his t-shirt, his trousers. I definitely won't have my family around me at my home this night. This hope is gone.
"We'll rush your son to the hospital." A paramedic tells me.
"Can I go with him?"
"No. I suggest you drive with me. Someone should have a further look at the laceration of yours."
"But…" My head is blank. All emotions and thoughts are gone and now I only want to know that my son will be alright again.
"Your son is in good hands." He isn't. He never will as long as I'm not with him. I watch the ambulance with my son in it driving off. My heart clenches. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't planned. He wasn't supposed to be carried away in an ambulance, but doing some heavy brooding in his room, after we have talked about his attempt to run. He is supposed to sit at our dinner table mute and in thoughts. He is supposed to challenge us with his rejection. He's supposed to play videogames with Seth and…just try to have his privacy.
"I…I need to call my wife. She needs to know what had happened." It strikes me. My wife will go postal when she finds out I'm the reason for one of our sons being in hospital – server injured.
"Okay, we'll take care of it." The man says and guides me to the car.