Boots

I don't have a clue how long I was out. All I know it was dark and it felt as though every fiber of my body had been pummeled with a baseball bat a hundred times over.

"Concentrate," I told myself, trying to clear my head, but it was hard. I was on my right side, held in place by my seat belt and shoulder strap. I was having difficulty focusing through the pain. My mind wandered back to the time I'd been mountain bike riding and took an ugly spill. As I laid there motionless, a crumbled heap on the ground, my bike lying on top of me, one by one I tried my limbs, they all worked. This time, I wasn't so lucky.

I thought back to earlier tonight. It was a stupid argument, one that never should have happened. I know I let my anger get the better of me, but what was my wife, Holly, thinking? Between rent, food, gas, and credit card bills, we were making it, but just barely. We had maybe a couple hundred left over to pay for all the extras that always seemed to materialize out of thin air every month. Paycheck to paycheck is how we were living.

Holly came home late from work, tightly clutching a shopping bag from Macy's. With a huge smile plastered on her face, she threw her jacket on the couch, and flopped down on the overstuffed ottoman.

"You've just got to see what I bought today." Beaming, she pulled a large box from out of the oversize plastic bag. "They were forty-five percent off, can you believe it?" She proudly held up a pair of tall, dark brown, leather boots, like a trophy from some athletic event she had won. She pulled off her shoes, slipped on her new boots, zipped them up, and sat there with her legs outstretched, admiring her new purchase. "Don't you just love them?"

I cringed before asking the first thing that popped into my brain. "Holly, I hate to ask, but what did they cost?"

"Only eighty dollars! Can you believe it?" She was still beaming.

"But, don't you already own a pair that are almost identical?" I asked, trying my best to not sound confrontational, even though I wasn't happy.

"Steve, those are chocolate and these are dark brown. Also, the heels are totally different."

Like that was supposed to mean something to me.

"Hon, we've got the auto insurance due next week and with everything else, we're not supposed to be spending what little extra money we have left right now." I was being nice, trying to get my point across without getting into a full-blown argument with her. It wasn't easy. There was a battle raging inside me. My words were coming out quiet and calm, but my brain was screaming, what in heaven's name was she thinking?

"Steve, they were forty-five percent off! I saved us a ton of money."

"Holly, if you hadn't bought them in the first place, we would have saved the eighty dollars you spent." She sat there looking at me like I'd started talking in tongues. Obviously she hadn't picked up on my sarcasm.

"You want me to take them back? Seriously?"

"Don't you remember we talked about cutting back on all our extra spending? Besides, you've got a closet full of shoes and boots, why do you need another pair?" Being a shoeoholic it wasn't a question of need, it was more a question of want when it came to a lot of Holly's purchases.

"Fine, I'll take them back tomorrow."

"Maybe in another month when we have a few extra bucks," I started to say, but was quickly cut off.

"Steve, they were on sale now, not a month from now," she reiterated, not understanding why I couldn't grasp the concept of a bargain. She took them off and tossed them back into the box. "Just wait until the next time you want something. Two can play this game, Stephen!"

Stephen? Holly never called me Stephen unless she was angry with me. Holly and I had been married for two years and really were happy, that is unless you count our arguments about money. She lived at home until we officially tied the knot. Her family was well off and whatever Daddy's little girl wanted, Daddy's little girl got. When we first got married, I didn't owe a red cent to anyone and wanted to keep it that way. However, it didn't stay like that. I somehow always got outvoted one to nothing over and over again.

The first year I know I gave into her way too much, but wasn't that what husbands did for their new brides? Tons of clothes, and an apartment just off the downtown, were only a few of the things she talked me into. Okay, truth be known, it really wasn't her talking that convinced me.

After our argument, the dinner she served up was hot. Well the food was anyway, but the temperature in the kitchen teetered just above freezing. Holly was going to make me pay, but I was determined to be strong this time.

Our dinner conversation consisted of three-word answers to the questions I posed, "How was your day and what do you want to do this weekend?"

After the last "I don't care," I took what was left of my dinner and flushed it down the garbage disposal. Grabbing a beer I headed to the den. It was really our spare bedroom that held our desktop computer and the rest of Holly's clothes that wouldn't fit in one of her two closets. My self-imposed solitude lasted for all of ten minutes.

"I really want those boots!" I heard her say, from the doorway behind me. "If you won't give me the money I'll get it from my dad, but I'm not taking them back. They're too good a deal." She stamped down her foot after making her declaration, and it was at that moment I lost it.

"Holly, why don't you just go down to the local blood bank and sell some plasma to pay for your fix? Or better yet, the street in front of our building is pretty busy, and with a figure like yours, I know you could make the eighty bucks in no time at all." I was being ugly and sarcastic as hell, trying to make my point—she didn't need those boots.

"You're an ass, you know that? I don't know why I married you!"

Okay, that one hurt. We'd gone from sarcasm and being angry at one another, to cuts that were downright hurtful, all over a pair of stupid boots.

"Don't you worry your little self, I can rectify that decision right now." I slipped on my sandals, grabbed my denim jacket, and reached for my keys on the hook by the door.

"If you're going out, make yourself useful, take my car and put some gas in it."

The look I gave her wasn't priceless. It was at that moment she must have realized she'd pushed me too far. I heard the word, "Steve" just as I slammed the apartment door and went storming down the hall to the parking lot.

In my classic two-door Chevy Impala I did my best to burn rubber out of the parking lot. However, it had rained earlier and all I did was spin my tires on the wet pavement and fishtailed.

I must have yelled out the word bitch a dozen times as I sought to quell my anger. I vowed to drive all the way down to Miami, get a job on a cruise ship, and leave her ungrateful, and spoiled ass. It was only then I realized I was going nowhere. No wallet. Looking down at my gas gauge it was registering a little over an eighth of a tank. At best that would get me maybe a hundred miles, even if I drove like a senior citizen. Frantically I looked through all my pockets, hoping to find at least a couple of bucks—I found only sixty-five cents in the dashboard ashtray. I had no option but to turn around.

If I would have driven back on the main roads I wouldn't be in the mess I currently find myself. But I was in no hurry to get back to the apartment, only to be most likely frozen out of my own bedroom. So, I took the scenic back roads that meandered around the two lakes a few miles behind our apartment complex. It was a beautiful drive during the day and at night there was virtually no traffic.

***

Looking back, the guy must have been either drunk or had a death wish. From over a third of a mile away, I saw his high beams come over the crest of the bridge driving down the hill towards me. That's when I took my foot off the gas to slow down. He was driving down the center of the road.

I flashed my high beams, honked my horn, and went from the right to the left side of the road twice. There were no intersecting side streets or even a shoulder to pull off onto, only a deep gully on both sides of the road. For a split second I debated about pulling over to the side of the road and running away from my car. Now I wish I had.

As he came down off the high bridge I got lulled into thinking I was going to be okay when he finally moved into his own lane, but it didn't last. About two hundred yards before the hill leading up to the bridge, I moved to the far right side of my lane and hit the gas to get up and beyond him. I thought I was in the clear until he swerved at the last second, catching the front left fender of my car.

The last thing I remember seeing was the bridge's metal guard rail to my left as I went airborne, heading off the right side of the road, flying over the ditch, towards who knows what.

I know my car rolled at least a couple of times before I was knocked out. How far down that ravine I had traveled I hadn't a clue. All I knew, when I finally woke up, I was in big trouble. I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious, or what time it was, only that it was dark outside and around me were only shadows.

I'm no doctor, but it didn't take one to realize I was pretty messed up. My left shoulder was either dislocated or broken as the pain throbbed in time with my heartbeat. That my right arm was broken was without question. I couldn't see it, but could feel the tent in my jacket sleeve. I knew there was a bone protruding at least a couple of inches through my forearm. My arm hung there lifeless, but not painless.

With my left shoulder I was wiped what I thought was sweat dripping into my eyes. I later found out it was blood running down my face from a number of head wounds. My legs were sore but I could at least wiggle my toes, fortunately something was intact.

The seat belt was so tight against my stomach and right side it made me want to puke. I fought the urge. Thankfully the shoulder strap was holding my upper body somewhat upright. I had to clear my head and figure this out.

For hours I hung there, sweating from the intense pain, waiting for the first glimpse of daylight to see where I was. I went over last night's argument and a hundred other things in my mind, trying anything not to think about the intense pain I was in.

Mercifully sometime over the next couple of hours I must have passed out. I sure as hell didn't fall asleep, considering the uncomfortable position my body was in. And the pain? Well, it came roaring back as soon as I became conscious again. When I opened my eyes it was light and I could see, but only the most obvious of my questions were answered.

The front windshield was shattered, both side windows were gone, and the roof of my car was at least a foot and a half lower than it had been hours earlier. Even if I weren't hurt, it would be a tight squeeze to get out the side window. The car was resting on its right side and to my horror I could see water seeping in just below me. The seat belt and shoulder harness were locked in place, holding me firmly in the driver's seat. The lap belt was digging further into my waist as most of my upper body weight was pressing against it. Fighting against the pain, I pushed my knees up against the dashboard to take some of the weight off the lap belt. I adjusted my body the best I could, and it helped some, only not enough to make a big difference. If my car had bucket seats or a center console I would have had something to lean against, but with a bench front seat the only thing keeping me from falling into the far side of the car were two nylon straps.

My right arm was a mess but fortunately my elbow still worked. Gritting my teeth, and fighting through the pain, I managed to pull it up and lay it across my lap. Then with one more push with my knees, I drove my upper body deeper into the car seat. Tears streamed down my face, but I got just enough slack in the shoulder strap to move my forearm under it. My arm still throbbed but at least it was more comfortable being closer to my body and immobilized. My left arm hung across my chest on the outside of the shoulder strap. I debated about trying to move it also, but figured it wasn't going to move much, and would leave it the way it was at least for the time being. Besides, I couldn't take any more pain right now.

Then something wonderful happened, my cell phone started to ring. The only problem was that it was in my right jacket pocket, and there was no way on earth I could reach it, certainly not with my right hand. After five rings it went to voice mail. It had to be Holly checking up on me. I needed to get to that phone, but had more immediate needs.

I heard cars on the road and bridge above me, and foolishly thought someone was bound to see my car from the road and come to my rescue. No one came. My car wasn't even visible from the road, that is unless you were stopped on the top of the bridge, and were looking straight down, but at the time I didn't know that.

My mouth was dry and I really could have used some water. I looked down at the dirty water that had pooled on the bottom of the car. It had stopped seeping in and was maybe a foot deep. As thirsty as I was there was no way in hell I could ever drink that gross looking water. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed me, and pulled me out of here. I clung to that thought throughout the day. I screamed out a couple of times, but I was having a hard time getting a deep breath. As dusk arrived, so did the black flies. They were giving me fits as they buzzed around my head, landing, and then taking a chunk out of me every couple of minutes.

As dusk moved into night, my optimism began to diminish. I started calling out more frequently but with my mouth as dry as a desert, and my lungs feeling constricted, I found it more and more difficult to cry out. Why hadn't anyone found me? I wasn't at work, and didn't even call in. Surely someone would have called our apartment to check on me, and where was Holly?

***

"Where in the hell is he?" Holly asked herself after calling and texting Steve's phone a dozen times over the last four hours. He doesn't have to talk to me, but the least he could do is answer my texts, she thought, sending Steve yet another message. She figured he'd spent the night at one of his friends' places. She was feeling a little bad about the argument of the previous night.

"I know just how I'll make it up to him tonight," Holly giggled to herself, looking at her watch. "I'll beat him home and when Steve walks through that door I'll jump his bones." There was nothing to forgive, it was just a stupid misunderstanding, and no boots were worth the trouble they had caused

***

It was now dark again and I dreaded the next ten hours. My right arm was numb, and I had to keep readjusting my legs because they were continually falling asleep. Though not broken, waking them up sent shards of pain shooting through my other limbs. And through it all, my phone kept ringing, followed by the beep that another text message that had come in. If there was only a way to get to it, but there wasn't.

They're probably out in force looking for me at this very minute, I thought or more so prayed at this point. Then they started again. I knew I had at least a few open cuts on my head. I'd wiped my face on my shoulder the previous night and in the light I could see the blood on my jacket, thankfully they had stopped bleeding. I had dealt with the bugs on and off last night, but going in and out of conscious had helped. Tonight though, they looked on me as fresh meat.

The mosquitoes and every other flying, biting, carnivorous, insect came out in force beginning at dusk and by dark they had become unmerciful. With one useless arm and the other almost as bad, all I could do was rub my face on my shoulders to ward them off. I could feel them feasting on my head and neck, but there was nothing I could do to stop them. When I couldn't take the torture longer I violently shook my head side to side, trying to dislodge them. A fierce pain shot through my left arm, up my shoulder, and I puked up what was left in my stomach from the agony of it. I cried, praying the night would end, or that at least I'd pass out again. God didn't answer my prayers.

I could tell my face was swollen, and by morning the itching was harrowing. Looking down I would have given anything to have a mouthful of that dirty water that was just out of reach. There was no moisture left in my mouth and besides hurting, my body was starting to shut down. My right arm had stopped bleeding, leaving my jacket sleeve one dark, crimson, mess. Too much blood loss, dehydration, hunger, intense unending pain, one or all were probably the reasons I felt the way I did.

I wished I'd at least grabbed a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator on my way out. More than that, I vehemently wished I never left. I was feeling weak and my brain wasn't functioning the way it normally did. I was exhausted and having a hard time focusing.

The incessant ringing of my cell phone kept me both awake and gave me a glimmer of hope. I heard cars, tried to yell but nothing came out. The black flies were more numerous than yesterday. I discovered that by shifting my weight with my legs it allowed me to move my jacket collar a little higher protecting my bare vulnerable neck somewhat. However, the top of my head was still fair game. Hundreds of sharp needlelike pinpricks are what they felt like. I didn't get used to it but by days end I was so tired I became numb to it. I was coming up on my third night and at this point I just wanted to cry, except I didn't even have enough moisture in me for tears. I knew the onslaught would soon begin in earnest and I no longer had the energy to fend them off. That's when I made a decision to go for broke.

***

Holly was frantic. She had spent the last twenty-four hours calling everyone she and Steve knew trying to locate him. Her calls and texts to his cell phone had all gone unanswered. Holly knew Steve had been mad, but no one gets that mad, or for this long, over a pair of eighty-dollar boots. Something was definitely wrong.

The desk sergeant, at the local police precinct, wasn't that helpful at first after hearing her story. He told Holly it sounded like a lovers squabble and her husband was probably on his way back home at this very moment. Besides, to file a missing persons report, if it involved an adult, that person had to be missing for forty-eight hours.

"Okay, it'll be forty-eight hours at seven thirty tonight, I guess I'll just sit on that bench for the next two hours and seventeen minutes and then file the report." The look she gave him was a combination of anger, frustration, and a deep-seated determination, that wasn't going to go away.

"Kenny," the sergeant yelled to a guy sitting at a desk not more than twenty feet away. "I need you to take this lady's statement and help her any way you can." Holly's eyes thanked him as Detective Kenny Robertson took her back to his desk.

Holly spent the next hour going over every detail of Steve's disappearance. She had the make of his car, license plate number, a recent picture of Steve and his cell phone number.

"Sergeant Myers is probably right. Your husband is most likely just letting you stew a bit knowing that when he does come home you'll be so happy to see him you'll forget all about the argument you two had."

"Detective, Steve hasn't missed a day of work in three years and when he did, he was almost on his deathbed. Even then he called into work. He didn't call in Wednesday or Thursday. They to are concerned about him now."

"He has his cell phone with him, right?" Holly nodded. "Unless he turned it off, which I can't imagine from what you told me about him, we can triangulate his location through the local cell towers."