The car came out of nowhere. At least that's what it seemed like. The lights had turned to green, Tony had started to move off and we were half-way across when there was this almighty crash and the car was spun around in a circle. When the world stopped spinning, and my brain started working again, I realized we'd been hit - and hard - by someone running a red light.
The engine had stopped in the melee, and there was a sudden, profound silence, punctuated by Tony's muffled curses.
"Hey, man. You okay?" I said, realizing that I seemed to be unhurt, but then we'd been hit on the driver's side, and Tony was driving, not me.
"I'm not sure," Tony said, and I turned to him, alarmed, startled to see his face all bloody, blood which later turned out to be from a mostly superficial cut on his scalp, but the bodywork of the car on his side had been caved in, the safety glass of the side windshield - and the main windshield, come to that - had disintegrated, and it looked like his leg was trapped. He reached down, and I saw his face whiten, his gasp clearly audible, before he turned to me, "I think my leg's been broken," he said, strain - pain - in his voice.
The world outside had come to life, and someone loomed up, a passer-by, maybe another driver, looking worried.
"Are you guys okay?"
"I am, I think my friend has a broken leg," I said.
"I called the police, and the ambulance service," said the stranger.
"What happened to the other car?"
"It's in the ditch just past the intersection."
"What about the driver?"
"I think he's drunk," said the stranger, a disgusted tone in his voice.
"At ten in the morning?" I said, startled.
"Yeah, I know. Can you get out?"
I tried my door, and with a lot of shoving, and with the other guy pulling, got it open. Out of the car, I looked around. There were quite a few people around, and several cars behind us had stopped, with people showing the unmistakable, avid curiosity of those not involved. I moved around to Tony's side of the car and winced. Side protection or not, the other car had hit us just forward of the pillar between front and rear doors, and the driver's side door was a crumpled mess of metal. I heaved on the handle. Nothing. Tony glanced up at me and gave me a wry smile. And passed out. Alarmed, I felt for his pulse. Strong and steady, and I relaxed.
"Passed out?" said the stranger.
"Yeah. His pulse is steady."
"Possibly for the best. There's nothing anyone can do until someone brings some cutting gear." He reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and passed me a business card. "You'd better take that, in case you need a witness. I was right behind you, and you didn't move until the green." He gave me a wry smile. "Several seconds after the green, in fact. I was just about to hit the horn and wake you up. If you'd gone immediately the light was green, that idiot would have hit me, instead."
"We were discussing the game," I said, matching his smile. "Tony's brother was playing." I pointed. "That's Tony."
We could hear sirens getting closer, and a few moments later the junction was busy with uniforms. There was confusion for a few minutes until cutting gear was organized, but about half an hour after we'd been hit, Tony was in Emergency being treated for his injuries. I sat, helpless, and waited. It was about forty minutes later when a tired doctor came over to me.
"Are you Andrew Gillespie?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"I'm Doctor Collins. Are you a relative of Mr. Larsen?"
"No, just a friend."
"Is there anyone who should be informed?"
"Tony's parents are in Australia, on holiday. We're staying with his aunt for a week or two, a break from college."
"Perhaps she should be told?"
"Of course, I'll do it straight away. But first, how is he? So I can let her know?"
He nodded. "Superficial cuts, messy, but unlikely to leave any significant scarring; I'm pretty sure they're all from the broken windshields. He has a cracked rib, and a broken leg. It's a bad break, two places, and we're going to need to keep him in for a little while, to make sure it starts to heal properly."
"Nothing life-threatening?"
The doctor gave me a tired smile. "Nothing as bad as that, but he won't be running for a while. You'll make that call?"
"Straight away."
"If his aunt wants to ask any questions, check at the nursing station." He pointed. "They'll know where I am." He nodded, gave me another tired smile and went off to his next emergency. I finally remembered the phone in my pocket, and went out into the fresh summer morning to ring Tony's aunt. His aunt Lucy. His aunt Lucy who had peopled my dreams ever since I'd met her a week earlier. His aunt Lucy whose imagined nakedness had occupied my mind every time I'd masturbated, something which had happened a lot since Tony and I had arrived to stay with her. There was no doubt in me at all, that Lucy McKeen, thirty-something, divorced, and living alone in a lovely house, with its own indoor swimming pool in a converted barn, was a very desirable woman. Very. Chances of anything happening between us? Her in her thirties, and me just beginning college? Somewhere between infinitesimal and zero was my best guess.
She answered after a short delay, slightly breathless. "Hello?"
"Um, Lucy. Hi, it's Andrew, Andrew Gillespie."
"Oh, hi, Andy. Sorry, I was in the pool. Something up?" There was no alarm in her tone, and I guessed she thought we'd run out of gas, or something.
"Um, yes, I'm afraid there is. We've been in an accident. Tony's leg has been broken."
There was a gasp, and then her urgent, but calm, not panicking, tone. "Where is he, and where are you?"
"He's in St. Agnes'. We're in emergency. I'm in the waiting room."
