Morning After

I woke the next morning cocooned in white eyelet lace comforter and surrounded by my adolescent things: Led Zeppelin and Marilyn Monroe posters, antique hats, and lunchbox collection.

My shoulder and chest muscles throbbed. It felt like I’d spent a night on the rack, subjected to medieval torture. Sounds dripped in through the fading narcotic haze. Mom was making coffee, I could hear the water filling the pot and cabinets slamming. The television was off; Luke must be gone.

“Hi,” a voice said from the floorboard startling me. I thought it was the Vicodin playing tricks on me. “Are you okay?” someone asked. I looked for the voice. There was someone in my room; he was holding what looked like Mardi Gras beads. His face slid into focus: Jonah holding a rosary.

“Hi, baby,” I said.

“You look really confused,” Jonah said. He stood and crawled into bed with me. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Water,” I said voice cracking. “Wow, my head’s a mess.”

Jonah handed me a water bottle he’d been holding onto. “We’ll get some food in you. That should take the edge off.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it home last night,” I said sipping the water. “I guess we aren’t going on vacation.”

“It would seem that way.”

“Can we go home now?” I asked snuggling into his chest. The simple action of hugging him sent shockwaves of pain through my arm and neck but I didn’t care.

“I want to see your car first,” he said. “Do you know where they took it?”

“Barney’s,” I said. I remember the police officer said something about Barney’s Wrecker Service junkyard.

“Get dressed, it’s cold out,” he said. “We’ll get some food, look at your car, and go home.”

I held on to Jonah to steady myself while I pulled on jeans and my favorite University of Iowa sweatshirt.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked as we entered the kitchen.

“Food,” I answered.

“Did you take a pain killer?”

“No,” I said rubbing my forehead. “I don’t want any. They make me crazy,”

Mom tossed the bottle to Jonah. “Make sure she takes one with breakfast.”

The Hy-Vee deli was filled with farmers, truckers and Maytag retirees. All were lost in reverie about the days when the union was fair, corn prices were high, and pigs flew. We sat in a corner booth away from the noisier diners.

“Brig, you need to take these,” he said shaking the bottle at me.

“They make me hallucinate.”

“That’s fun.”

“No, it’s not. I thought there were snakes in my bed trying to eat me last night.”

“You should try some of my drugs.” Jonah laughed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not taking them!” I said loud enough to turn a few heads.

“Are you in pain?”

“I ache but I’m not in pain.”

“You’ll take them if you are in pain, right?”

I nodded.

The waitress cleared away my half-eaten French toast and left the ticket. Jonah tucked the pills back into his jacket, paid the bill, and we left.

We pulled up to the tow yard, parked and got out.

“Are you feeling better,” he asked.

“The food helped.”

We wandered the aisles of cars. I didn’t recognize the Dodge when I saw it. The front bumper was set on top of the accordion hood. The windshield was held placed by an unknown force – gummy safety glass hung shattered. The car frame was bent above the driver’s door. The door was now too big to fit into the frame and was strapped into place.

I climbed into the driver’s seat through passenger door. The floorboard had been pushed up to where it was pressing the break petal forward; the stick shift hung askew; the airbag hung like a dead wagging tongue. I touched it and the whole steering column moved. I gripped the wheel and shook it; it moved at least six inches in any direction.

I hugged the flaccid steering wheel and thought: I walked away, how is it possible I walked away.

“Brig,” Jonah called. He was still facing the front end, eyes wide. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

I crawled out, catching my damaged knee on the console. I bellowed in pain.

“Are you okay?” he asked rushing to my side.

“Yeah,” I said eyes squinched shut. “Just hit my knee.” Dizzy, I looked back at the car and wretched losing my breakfast. “How did I walk away?” I asked between dry heaves.

“Grace maybe,” he whispered rubbing my back.

“Get me out of here. I want to go home.” The vomiting had tugged already tender muscles. Now I puked because of the pain. “Fuck!”

Jonah lifted me into his arms and put me into the Beamer.

“Give me those damn pills.” I swallowed down two with a warm flat Mountain Dew from the backseat. I passed out a few minutes later.

Photo: howdarntragic