Two Years After Onset of Differences

The wind coming through my open car window seemed to clear my head. I tried to keep my driver’s side tires on those little white bumps separating the lanes. I couldn’t quite do it, but I think I kept within a yard or so.

Anger, fear, resentment and self pity constantly filled my mind and influenced what I said and did. Going from an athletic roofer with a customized Camaro, a beautiful street bike, a good job and a gorgeous fiancé to a paralyzed cripple with a severe speech impairment and no prospects left me with one alternative. In high school, occasional bouts of excessive drinking had been fun. There had been no other purpose. The drinking I did after my crash, although still periodic, was much more focused. In my post crash drinking, I had a specific purpose.

The wind coming in the window felt good. I felt good. Driving put me on the same playing field as everyone else. The prisms in my glasses helped correct my post crash double vision. I don’t know if my drinking actually worsened my crash caused double vision, but I do know it made it easier for me to accept the fact that things, including my vision, weren’t what they had been.

Closing one eye and concentrating on the freeway ahead of me, I marvel at how good I feel. Five or six shots of straight vodka is magic. I didn’t even have to buy it. All I needed to do is buy some for my under aged roommate and his friends and they happily paid for whatever I wanted. It was a win-win situation.

The sound of a siren suddenly breaks into my thoughts. I look in the rearview mirror. A patrol car with it’s lights on is behind me. Fear bordering on annoyance grips me. I look for a place to pull over, but I’m in the left lane of the freeway with a cement wall on my left. I can’t stop here!

I slow down, wondering what to do. Another siren blast cuts the air. Fine! I slam on the breaks, almost skidding to a stop. I look in the rearview mirror. The cop car is almost touching my bumper. It’s lights are flashing. He stopped with his car a bit into the lane on my right. Cars are whizzing past. The cop gets out of his car and walks up to my driver’s window.

I look at him. “What?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No!”

“Get out of the car. You’ll need to walk a line.”

“Sure.” I grab my quad cane and start to get out.

“What’s that?”

“It’s my cane. I can’t walk without it.”

He snorted. “Forget it! Just be careful.” With that, he went back to his car. I wait until he swings around me and drives off. Cops, back in the early 80s, before they all had breathalyzers and such, were easier for drinking drivers to deal with.

I didn’t mean to be a menace to society, but for years, I was too immature and self absorbed to handle the pain I felt when my life erupted like a volcano. Mount St Helens blew up at the same time I crashed. Was it a coincidence?