What do I do now?

This morning there was an accident right in front of me on the freeway. It was surreal.

I'm driving in the HOV lane, half asleep, really, trying to wake my mind up with my Greek lesson. Obviously I'm awake enough to drive, but not really to think about anything else, too. Suddenly I hear the terrible sound of two heavy steel objects slamming into one another; micro-seconds later, an old white Monte Carlo swerves into the lane in front of me. I slam on my brakes, stopping about three car lengths behind the white car as it spins to a stop.

I sit for a second, gathering my wits; I've stopped with plenty of space in front of me, but that doesn't prevent someone more sleepy than I from slamming into my rear. I tap the emergency flasher button, hoping to make myself as conspicuous as possible in my tiny, asphalt-colored Prius.

I take stock of the scene; the giant yellow Hummer has spun in a complete circle and come to a stop perpendicular to the dividing line of two of the three regular lanes on the highway. The Monte Carlo has spun all the way around and landed, much the worse for wear, as if it wishes to continue its journey in the HOV lane with me.

I sit for a moment longer, not thinking very quickly at 6:30 in the morning; suddenly the white car door opens and a young man on unsteady legs climbs out and totters toward my car.  I roll down my window as he cries, "Am I bleeding?! Is it bad?!"  He is bleeding, but it's not bad -- a little blood from a superficial head wound likely cause by the shattered glass spraying on his face on impact. "Yes, you're bleeding, but it's not bad. Are you okay?" I ask. In response, he sinks to the pavement next to my car and props himself up against the stone divider separating us from oncoming traffic.

"Sir?"
"My life sucks! Oh my god, my life sucks!"

He must be relatively okay if he is thinking of how much his life sucks. The Hummer, on the other hand, is still ominously quiet.

"Hey. Listen. I'm gonna call 911, okay? I'm not getting out of my car because it's dangerous. You should go back and sit in your car, too; secondary accidents are really common and you will be safer if someone hits you inside your car rather than out here on the pavement. Ok?"

"Ok, yeah. Good idea. Thank you so much. Oh, my god!" He resumes freaking out.

"Listen to me. I don't see any serious injuries, but if you do have any, you need to relax. Understand? You need to slow your heart rate so if you have any injuries you don't pump all your blood to them. Ok? Go sit in your car and take some deep breaths and try to calm down. Understand?"

"Yeah, ok." He totters off towards his car.

I look towards the Hummer; still no movement. Are they badly hurt? Are they just being smart and staying in their steel-framed vehicle on the highway instead of sitting down in the road? Are they...ok, forget that question. I don't know any real first-aid, and I shouldn't risk my own life trying to find out about theirs. Best thing to do? Call 911.

After a short, quick phone call to summon an ambulance, I sit, flashers blinking away, and stare at the Hummer. Do I go check? I look at the traffic; it's moving slowly in streams flowing on either sides of the sideways Hummer. Fairly orderly and respectful, which is not usual for Phoenix rush hour. Still...

An old man in an SUV takes the decision out of my hands as he hops out of his car, shoots me a look I interpret as irritation, and hobbles over to the Hummer. He knocks on the passenger side window, and to my relief, the window comes down. At least one person is alive and aware in the Hummer.

An ADOT truck pulls up behind me while I'm watching the old man gesture at the white car. He startles me when he appears at my window to ask if I'm okay. "I'm fine. I wasn't in the accident, I just stayed to be an emergency signal. Didn't really know what else to do."  "I'll take it from here," he tells me. He walks in front of the lane to my right and stops the crawling trickle of cars to let me pull out. What else is there to do but obey the authority figure in his official orange vest? I leave.

Afterward I realize I should have stayed. I was a witness. Nobody else who saw the collision stayed to help. It will be the white car's word against the Hummer's, and from what I know about the justice system, money talks. The Hummer caused the accident trying to whip into the HOV lane from two lanes away. But a late-model luxury SUV has more clout in court than a 1972 Monte Carlo. I should have stayed.

Paranoia

Even though I know that what happened to you was an accident, I'm paranoid. Every minor thing I feel has me diagnosing myself with cancer or some other deadly disease.

Right now I have a transient pain in my upper abdomen and I need to see a doctor about it. I hate going to the doctor because they just look at me and assume it's because I'm fat and never do a really thorough job of figuring out the problem. I had nineteen gall stones and my gallbladder was four times the size it should have been by the time they took it out.

I was referred to a cardiologist who looked at my chart and said, "You're 29. Why are you here??" "Because I'm fat." He rolled his eyes. "Go home. Your heart is in excellent condition."  I knew that. But that didn't stop the doctor from sending me to the heart hospital when I was having a textbook gallbladder attack.

I hate the prejudice, and I don't want to go spend my own money (my insurance is more limited now) on their stupid, prejudiced guesswork. They will run a barrage of unnecessary tests and never find the problem because they will be treating my fatness instead of my problem.

But...I gotta go anyway. What if it's something serious? Our family can't lose another person so soon. We just can't do it. And besides, L-- just had cancer removed. I can't get sick, too. I don't want to go, but I have to. For my family.

Why'd you have to go and die for? What were you thinking, doing that? Idiot. I miss you.

Even though I don't celebrate Christmas,

I am thinking about you more than usual today.  I know everyone else is, too.  You would be at L---'s, possibly by force, with Mom and everyone else, probably putting a call in to your grandma, and definitely to your dad and M---.  You might even call me and pretend not to want to wish me a Merry Christmas, or maybe you'd say something like, "I know you don't celebrate this pagan holiday, but I do, so Merry Christmas anyway, because I love you and I'm thinking about you."  You totally would -- you said almost exactly that last year.

I thought because I don't celebrate that I'd escape the typical 'first holiday season after' sadness.  Turns out there are memories no matter what.  Turns out I miss you more that normal today.  Go figure.

You Would Be So Disappointed

I can't really explain what I mean, other than: it's the same old garbage that made you so sad all the time. The same old fight, the same old sides, the same stupid reasons. You would be furious at how the most innocent, and most important, person is stuck in the middle. I don't know what to do that's fair, that doesn't hurt anyone or buy into the stupid games. I don't think there is any good solution. It's like the past five months didn't happen and we are back to the most ridiculous square one in history.

All I can think is, it's just stuff. It can't bring you back, and you never cared about any of it, anyway. Why should people be so selfish and manipulative for the sake of material things? Things which are worth almost nothing anyway, things which were not even really wanted until they became of value on the emotional battlefield? I don't understand. I wish you were here so you could tell me what you would do. Then again, if you were here, this would not be happening in the first place. Sigh...

I miss you.

Heartbeat

It's hard to be sad when you have a new puppy, but I manage. I'm packing up my apartment to move on Wednesday, and that involves dealing with your stuff, and with you.

I've had you tucked safely in a drawer because there's no good place to put three temporary plastic urns while I wait for circumstances to fall into place so that those urns may be divested of their contents and you be laid to rest in the corners of the planet you would most want to rest in. Now that I'm moving, I have to take you out of that drawer and find you a new safe place during transit, and another one at the new destination (because the drawer won't work now that my furniture is being shared with a roommate).

It might seem wrong that I've had you in a dark drawer. I feel guilty for it sometimes. But it would be far worse if something were to happen to upset those temporary urns. Life is all hustle and bustle, and I have dogs, and visitors, and not much space, and it would be too easy for some accident to happen. I think I would feel far worse about that. So you are in a drawer with some items I think you would want to sit with while you wait, and you are waiting.

As I sort and pack the remains of my apartment, working quietly around what remains of my brother, my puppy whines when I move too far away. She's anxious to be as close to me as possible, to listen to my heartbeat, to be reassured of my presence.

I know the feeling, Daisy May. I know the feeling.

I Need You Back

You were the only one that could handle Mom when she's this way.

And Miles To Go Before I Sleep...

Today I feel so very tired. So tired that for a fleeting moment I was tempted again, like I have not been in many years, by that long, dreamless sleep which used to seem like a solution to this bone-weary tiredness. Not for long, and nothing that should raise any alarm bells, but for a disquieting moment I wondered about laying down next to you in that dreamless slumber that shields you from every callous hardship of the day. I wondered if your long rest will feel restful when you finally wake to contemplate it.

Of course it was only a micro-moment. A random thought flitting unbidden across my meandering mental landscape, filling an empty synapse for a second as the rest of my grey matter busied itself with a herculean list of items to be checked off before the move. I purged it as soon as I felt it land, banished it to the dark recesses where it belongs (until I find some way to be rid of it completely).

I miss you acutely right now.

I was in Best Buy talking to the sales boy (he was at least twenty so I suppose he is a man, but to me he's a boy) about Linux vs Mac vs PC and I said at one point, "My brother knows more about Linux than I do," and he of course asked me which version you use. And I realized the verb tenses were wrong and that I had forgotten that your computer is in a box in my closet. So I said something clumsy, like, "Well he used to run Ubuntu, I think," to which, of course, he responded, "He doesn't anymore?" And I said, "No." And then there was an awkward pause, because I wasn't going to tell a total stranger in Best Buy that my brother died suddenly a few months ago but I forgot for a minute and brought him up in conversation because I still haven't fully trained my reflexes to remember his absence. So I opted for social awkwardness instead, even though I am, as a rule, not given to social awkwardness.

I love you. I'm sorry I never had time for you. I miss you.

Geeks

I've decided to really learn Linux. According to the people on XDA, it's pretty analogous to what happens on an Android device, and if I learn the Linux language, I will clearly understand what's under my rooted Android tablet's hood (or my iPhone, should I decide to play).

This makes me miss you intensely. You tried so hard to get me to play around with Linux. I let you install it on my computer and I played for like, a minute, and then I went back to what's comfortable. You thought my Mac proclivity was lame. I thought you were a geek. We both are. Were. I still am. You can't be anymore.

It's little stupid stuff like this that punches me in the gut.