I really wanted to try to help Mary process her past, it had almost become an obsession of mine; I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was still worried that her problems would become my problems, but after a couple of sleepless nights it was clear that my conscience wouldn't let me walk away, not this time.
It wasn't just the story of her miserable life that pulled at my heartstrings, it was her complex personality, the way she managed to become such a caring person despite being so thoroughly broken on the inside. And god forbid it, but there was something about her that pulled at other parts of me too. Even with her awful choice of clothes there was something fundamentally feminine about her. She wasn't exactly beautiful; it was more that she was shining from some sort of sensual inner light. I couldn't really put my finger on it, there was quite frankly just something about Mary.
But at the same time as she drew me in, what she was, the way she had lived her life, made me pull back in horror. I knew that my very strict upbringing had a lot to do with my reactions, I hadn't completely freed myself from my father's influence it seemed. It made me really angry at myself, that I couldn't separate the essence of a person, the being, from the life choices that person had made, the doing. The constant measuring of people's true values was just too exhausting...
I looked at my wristwatch and realized it was soon time to meet her again, the woman who sent my thoughts spinning and brought my emotions up, down and up again. I could feel tension growing in my shoulder and neck area just thinking about meeting her once more. I stood up and moved my arms around to remove some of that tension, with a quick promise to myself, to make an appointment at the nearby massage parlor as soon as possible.
I literally jumped when I heard a terrible crashing, screaming, metal grinding sound from the street below and I ran up to my window to see where the sound came from and what had happened. It seemed a silver colored car had crashed straight into a concrete fundament just two houses away on the other side of the street. I ran back to my phone and called the emergency services. After quickly telling the woman on the phone about the accident, address and a few other details I walked back to the window.
I had stood by that window many times and let my thoughts wander after a long workday, and the picture of the outside world that met me now was both very familiar and strangely unfamiliar. The traffic had stopped completely in one direction and flowed slowly by in the other, people were standing by or running up to the wreckage; it was both calm and chaotic. The muffled sound of relative silence through my window sent shivers up my spine; it felt like an omen, the calm before the storm.
The sound of sirens helped settle my nerves; the help was coming, finally. I looked at the people who had gathered around the car, realizing that only a few seemed interested in trying to help and that the rest of them seemed intent on documenting the accident with their phones. It was times like these that made me despair upon the nature of humans; how could social media and the instant publishing of interesting pictures be more important than trying to help a fellow human being?
I saw a dark-haired woman stand by the driver side door of the car, first reaching her hands in through the broken window, probably to see if the driver was doing okay, then turning around, seemingly intent on blocking the view of the phone waving insta-maniacs. There was still some hope for humankind, I thought, all it took was one small act of human kindness, one tiny seed of compassion and love.
As I saw an ambulance and a police unit approaching the wrecked car I looked at my wristwatch again. It was three minutes past the time when Mary usually came walking through my door, but if I knew her right she was probably down there somewhere, trying to help in one way or the other.
I kept looking and worrying about the driver of the car. I hoped he or she was doing alright and I wondered what had happened, what had made the car hit the concrete wall at such a strange angle, was it because of a technical malfunction of the car, a seizure or some other acute illness, mobile phone fiddling whilst driving or maybe even drugs? I suspected I would never know.
A firetruck arrived at the scene and within minutes the car was opened up like a giant can of tuna. The medics started working fast, fixating the seemingly unconscious woman's back and neck, then preparing to lift her out of the car, and that's when I realized I knew who she was. I turned away from the window and ran out of my room. She was down there alright; she just wasn't her usual helpful self; this time it was she that needed the help of others.
I ran down the stairs, out of the building and across the street. I was met by organized chaos, with people nervously standing around watching, talking, some even crying, and firefighters, police officers and ambulance personnel going about their business in a well-choreographed dance. Everyone was just doing their job except a young police officer who was standing slightly to the side, face pale, hands shaking. The dark-haired woman who'd been standing by the car blocking people's view was talking softly to the young man and she put her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture shortly before she walked up to the ambulance.
I quickly walked up to the ambulance too, stupidly called out "Mary" and the kind woman turned towards me.
"Do you know Mary then?" she asked with her eyebrows lifted.
"Yes, she was coming to see me... when she..." I answered, hearing the distress in my own voice.
"Then you should go with her to the hospital," she said with a decisive nod "I need to get my car out of that mess over there, and then I'll come too!"
I realized that she thought I was Mary's partner, boyfriend, husband or something like that and I didn't stop to correct her. I just jumped into the ambulance, took Mary's pale hand in mine and started praying, silently reflecting that it was the first time in years that I asked the lord for a miracle, at the same time imagining Mary's dry laughter at the idea if it all.
* * * * *
I woke up with a silent, panicked scream, then desperately tried to figure out where I was and what had happened. My mind was sluggish and I had difficulties sorting old painful memories from the somewhat painful reality. I was lying in bed and I couldn't move, but I wasn't tied up. My senses were off, I couldn't smell anything and when I tried to see there was just darkness. The only thing that seemed to be working was my sense of hearing.
I wanted to laugh but it seemed I couldn't. I had once been told that your sense of hearing is the last thing that abandons you before you die and I had thought it was complete bullshit, but perhaps there was some truth to it. Then I realized that destiny, divinity or just life was laughing at me. Hadn't I just recently been thinking that my perfect partner would be a blind person who couldn't feel the state of my scarred skin? It seemed sort of fitting that the all-seeing eye would have a sick sense of humor, at least when trying to communicate with a reluctant bastard like myself. What was the idea of it then? Was this a sign that I had to learn to love myself, before it was too late?
I remembered it then, my drive through town, my calm contemplations of a life that had turned out pretty okay in the end, then the car crash and the darkness. I had been unconscious, I didn't know where I was, I couldn't move, and I felt panic rising in my body again. Death had come a bit too close, a bit too fast; I hadn't checked all the boxes on my long list yet. I couldn't, I wouldn't go until it was all done, until I was damn well ready.
"But I'm not done yet..." I whispered to myself through dry and chapped lips.
"What's not done yet?" a soft voice asked.
"William...? Life, and all sorts of things related to living..." I whispered softly in answer.
"So tell me?" William said, also in a whisper "I can help..."
"You've got two strong arms... so you can help..." I whispered back, attempting a small smile.
"Well, the spirit is willing at least," he answered with a soft laugh "and, no offense, but I think that mental strength might be what it takes..."
"Okay," I whispered "then first, how long have I been unconscious, what kind of injuries do I have and are they giving me any type of drugs, painkillers or calming medications? Why can't I move, see or smell anything?"
