Sunday, July 4, 2010

Do You Want To Know?

When we arrived at the scene of the accident, I saw by-standers picking up CD cases and papers. There were two bicycles lying on top of each other in the bike lane, and there was a car parked on the sidewalk, just inches from a building, and a woman crying hysterically. I looked over at the officer beside the young woman, and he pointed toward his left.
I looked over to where the officer was pointing, my heart stopped. There on the sidewalk was my accident-prone brat, sitting with blood all over his shirt, shorts, and a trail of blood running down his leg. He was trying to comfort another person laying on his/her back, with an arm over his or her eyes. Dillon was holding pressure on the person's forehead. David and I both headed over. I, of course, wanted to help my brat, but knowing the rules in such an incident like this, David went to Dillon's side, and I went to the other person.
"It wasn't my fault," was the first thing Dillon said when he saw us. David started to check where all the blood was coming from, but got stopped. "It's not mine; it's hers," Dillon told us.
Then he turned to me, and gave me a smile. I noticed that she had a folded towel around her neck, and tape to secure it into place. "We were both in the bike lane. I was just a few seconds behind her, when that car...," he pointed to the one on the sidewalk, "came around the corner into our lane. She got hit head-on and went over the hood, and landed there. I was unable to stop, and followed her up and over, landing almost on top of her. Yes, she had a helmet on. I took it off because of the blood, but not before I secured her neck. She has a laceration on the forehead, above her left eye; I've been applying pressure, but it's not stopping. Her left ankle hurts, and I'm not sure, but I think it might be broken, 'cause of the way it's laying. She's coherent, but a little shaky. She is also a diabetic; her medical information is there." He pointed to a folder lying on her chest. "Her name is Catherine, but they call her Kit. She's new here; she works for Johnson Carrier. I've already called, and told them she's been in an accident, and then I called her emergency contact; he will be here soon.
I was proud of my boy; he actually listened to what I have been trying to teach him in case of an emergency.
"Oh, yeah, she may be pregnant, and she's 26," he told us. David and I just looked at each other.
"Ok, now what about you?" David asked him, as I attended to Kit.
"I'm fine," Dillon told him.
"No, he's not," Kit told us.
"Kit, you're hurt worse; let them check you out," Dillon said.
I just looked over at my boy with the 'start-talking' look, and I saw David swallow. "Dillon talk," David told him.
He gave us a sly grin. "Male, 25, healthy, has been in a vehicle vs. bicycle accident; just shaken up; no major injuries; had slightly bloody nose, and a small cut on the right knee." Yeah, his slight cut later took six stitches.
"He hit his head on the sidewalk," Kit told us. About that time, we heard the sirens of the ambulance coming. With that new information, David made Dillon look at him, checking his eyes, and stuff. Kit laughed when David had Dillon follow his finger, and Dillon stuck out his tongue in the opposite direction as his eyes went.
"Dillon!" I warned him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and did the rest of the test as he was supposed to. I called for another ambulance.
"I don't need one," he told me. "Ok, fine," he said, when I just looked at him.
One of the officers came over and told Dillon and Kit that the bikes could be picked up at the police impoundment yard, at no charge.
Just as they got Kit loaded into the ambulance, an older man came running up to it, yelling her name. I stopped him, and assured him that she was going to be fine, and that he could meet her at the hospital. Since there was no other ambulance available, Dillon was riding shotgun with us.
One of the by-standers, who picked up the stuff, came over and gave Dillon both packs, both crammed with papers and CD's. "Sorry; not sure what belongs to whom," he told him.
"I'll figure it out," Dillon said, as he climbed into the passenger side of the ambulance. "Thank you so much for your help," he told the guy.
Dillon went through the ER entrances with Kit; I stayed with him as long as possible, but, I soon had to go to another emergency. Before I left him in the hands of the ER doctor, I told Dillon to call me when he got released, and I would find him a way home. Dillon gave me a kiss good bye, then sat on the gurney, waiting his turn, and started going through the packs to find out what belonged to him, and what belonged to Kit.
A few hours passed, when I got a call from Dillon, telling me he got a ride with Kit's friend, and, since he was going to pick up her bike, he was taking him over to claim his. I started to tell him 'no', that I would have Allen pick him up, but he then told me not to worry; he'd be fine.
I got home around a quarter to six; I was bone-tired, but I knew my boy needed me more than normal tonight. When I walked into the apartment, he met me with a smile and a big hug.
One thing about living in an area where they treat you like family was when the news got out that Dillon was in an accident, not only were they concerned about him, they fed us. So when I got home, we had more food than we knew what to do with.
After we ate, and I had my shower, I went over to Dillon, who was going through his pack, and pulled him over to 'our' chair. "I'm getting spanked, huh?" he asked me, looking through his bangs, while I pulled him down onto my lap.
"Why should you be?" I asked him.
"Following to close, not paying attention, listening to my MP3 player instead of the traffic," he told me. "I am, aren't I?" he asked, when I didn't respond to his question.
"No, you did nothing wrong," I told him. He looked as if he didn't believe me. We sat there for a while; I just held him, knowing today could have been worse. "How's kit?" I finally asked.
"She's ok, she didn't lose the baby" he said, more or less looking down to his legs. We sat in silence for a while, when Dillon turned to straddle my lap. He then started to play with my chain that I wear. "We've been together for, what...almost four years?" I nodded 'yes'. "And, umm, according to Greg, umm, do you know, umm, if anything happens to you, umm, like at work, or, umm, an accident, umm, if I have any say so over you? Umm, and no matter what I decide, your family can over-rule me?" he said. "And you over me, even though my family don't care," he said, looking at me. "I was not too sure who Greg was, but I figured he had to be Kit's emergency contact."
"Dillon, what are you trying to say?" I asked him.
"Umm, well, do you want to you know?" he asked. I was totally lost.
"Do you want us to do the 'power of attorney' thing?" I asked him; he didn't say anything.
"Greg says he can do it for free, since I took care of Kit when she was hurt, and all," Dillon told me.
I put my hand under his chin, and made him look at me. "Baby, do what for free?" I asked him.
"You know, that thing that couples do," he told me.
I started to feel a headache coming on. "Sweetheart, I usually can come to grasp with what you are saying when you don't make sense, but right now I am totally lost," I finally told him.
I could see him take a deep breath, his cheeks turning a little pink. "Do you want to be my husband?" he finally asked. I was shocked to no end; I just sat there. "Oh, no," Dillon whispered. I could see tears make their way down his cheeks. I grabbed his hand, when he started to make a fast get-a-way, and pulled him to me, and kissed him for a long time. When I finally let him go, he gave me a smile. "Does that mean 'yes'?" he asked me.
"Yes, it means 'yes'. I would love to become your husband," I told him.
"Cool, 'cause I would love to become your husband, also," he said with a smile. The tears still fell freely, but this time they were tears of joy, not sadness. I just held him tight in my arms. "We probably still have to do that power thing," he said, looking up at me. His thumbs brushed my cheeks. "Why are you crying?" he asked me, when he realized that my face was as wet as his.
"I'm not; I'm just happy," I told him. "These are tears of joy."



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