The Cool Part of His Pillow

Chapter 1: Blue Roses-5

This is what I remember, in no particular order:

Grabbing Andy’s Jeep keys from the back-door organizer.

“Mr. Barry Grooms? This is Saint Vitus Community Hospital. You’re speaking with Ramona.”

I’m not sure where St. Vitus is and I am in no mood for a fundraising appeal.

“Your registration was found in a car driven by Andrew Morgan. If you’ve got local news on, you’ll hear that there’s been a serious accident.”

Shoving my bare feet into flip-flops on the garage floor.

Even in this chaos, I make a mental note to do something about those ever-bigger oily stains.

I’m virtually airborne down the driveway.

My mind goes to Andy’s insurance. If he’s incapacitated, are they awaiting proof of coverage? Will they find the card on him? How does it work, who would I call?

I accelerate, crossing to the left, back to the right again, passing electrical substations and tire superstores, startling a mowing crew from prison.

I turn on the radio to a local station.

This, I should not have done.

“—still coming in about a downtown construction site emergency. It’s being reported that a crane and a portion of a twelve-story building have collapsed, with multiple passerby injuries and significant damage to nearby businesses.”

Eighty miles per hour. I am passing multiple cars on the breakdown shoulder.

“For more, we go to Terry Chamberlain. Terry, what’s going on?”

I speak aloud as if Terry is there. “I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t happening.”

“What we know now is that the ColonyScape condominium site—still in demolition phase—has been isolated due to safety concerns, so little is visible. People have been tweeting from the scene but without verification we’re reluctant to pass on those details, as specific as they are.”

I activate the hazard lights.

Another unidentified voice, that of a woman, an eyewitness, joins the reportage. “From the corner of my eye, I saw something yellow begin to fall. I started running.”

A blurting police car intercedes in my race.

EXIT signs jump by. I’m afraid I’ll miss the one I was told to take but I don’t slow for the pursuing pandemonium red, not when I hear “…another witness, a*****e owner in the vicinity, told me emergency equipment was brought in to rescue one victim from a parked luxury car as workers removed debris by hand.”

That’s not Andy. Please, God, have it not be Andy.

St. Vitus Community Hospital directional sign looms. I still don’t defer to the police car, now parallel to the Jeep.

As preposterous as it seems, I think about the risk of disfigurement. Scarring is tricky. Dee could help on this. A competent plastic surgeon should be standing by ready to reset Andy’s aquiline nose, to ensure his crooked mouth remains perfectly crooked.

Terry interrupts the female, whose name is Rachel. “Sadly, Rachel, it now appears that rescue was actually one of recovery. We have a report from St. Vitus Hospital now of one fatality, reportedly a male, attributed to the ColonyScape collapse.”

I veer into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant I refuse to dine at.

It is you, isn’t it, Andy?

I feel like I’m in a vacuum-sealed storage bag as all of the air slowly draws out.

“Stay with us. We’ll continue to monitor this developing story, this mind-boggling tragedy, with updates.”

Departing diners stop to watch as the police car slams to park inches from my Jeep. He strides toward my blinking hazard lights. I open the door.

“Sir? Sir? Hey, Mr. Human Rights sticker? What seems to be your problem?”

I have just enough gay umbrage to think, Would it have to be a Chik-fil-A sign I’m staring at as I realize Andy is dead?

I vomit so forcefully, it sprays gravel on his boots.