Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 7
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Wren spent the majority of the ambulance ride hunched in the back, staying out of the way. She did not like looking at Mike, because it frightened her.
The paramedics said he's going to be fine, but maybe they're just saying that. What if he's paralyzed? Or a vegetable? What about Tré? He looked...not good. Dammit, I should have just kissed Mike back.
The paramedics would not let her follow into the doctor's room, so Wren wandered into the horribly white waiting room. Billie Joe was sitting on one of the chairs, head leaned back and eyes closed.
"How's Tré?" Wren sat down beside him.
Billie Joe opened his eyes. "Smacked his fucking head pretty hard." Wren watched as his fingers curled around the under-stuffed arm of the chair. "The docs had to put him in some sort of drug coma to set his arm. I mean, he was already unconscious, but they had to put him under more. Do you know anything about Mike?"
"All I could tell was that he needed stitches. The paramedics wouldn't really say anything to me."
Billie Joe re-closed his eyes. "Fuck," he hissed. "If they died, I don't know what I'd do."
"I know what you mean."
A nurse came out, holding a clipboard. "Mr. Armstrong?" She looked around.
"That's me." Billie Joe stood.
"You're friends with a Frank Wright and a Michael Pritchard?"
"Yeah, me and Wren here. What's up? Are they all right?"
The nurse smiled warmly. Wren noticed that she looked a lot like somebody's grandmother, the type who always has cookies and hugs.
"They're fine. Young Frank will need to stay until the drugs wear off fully. That was a rather nasty break, with a concussion to boot! Mr. Pritchard needs to stay the night as well, for observation. He fared a bit better. Thirteen stitches, if I read this right, and two sprained wrists. If you two want to stay with them, we can have cots set up in their room."
Billie Joe looked over at Wren.
She nodded, "Yeah, we'll take the cots."
The nurse smiled and nodded. "They're in room 279, second floor."
Hurriedly, Wren and Billie Joe found the room. Both the invalids were out cold. Not saying much, the two friends each sat down on a cot.
How did the cots arrive before we did? Well, I guess whoever carried them knew where to go and we didn't.
Wren said nothing. Billie Joe said nothing. Mike and Tré were passed out, so they did not say anything either. All in all it made for a very quiet room.
It was maybe after two before Wren heard Billie Joe's soft snores. Wren could not sleep at all. She kept looking around the room. Her eyes would be drawn to Mike, to the bracers on his forearms, to the IV dripping into his arm, to the stitches in his head, to the bruises on his face, to his blackened eyes.
I should've listened to that new song. How long will it be before we can play together again? The silence pounded on her brain, telling her exactly how it would be inside their house. I should have been more assertive, then Tré wouldn't have got in the truck. Billie Joe wouldn't have let Tré drive his car either. He was always too hyped up after a gig. I could have prevented this whole fiasco.
Further self-abuse was cut off by a cough from the bed nearest Wren. She was on her feet instantly.
"Wha'? Where's Tré?" Wren walked over to Mike's side, overjoyed that he was coherent. He blinked hard and stared up at her like a bird fallen from its nest. His mouth twisted in a ghost of a smile. "I need a drink," he whispered.
"Water you mean?"
"No. Since they probably don't have," he winced as he breathed in, "what I really want." Stiffly he looked over at Tré, then back to Wren, eyes full of questions.
"Tré's gonna be all right," she reassured him. Maybe it was purely comforting or maybe she had ulterior motives, Wren didn't care, she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't know why I let the bastard drive," he muttered. "Did you see it? We just took the corner and.... Anyone else hurt?"
Wren could not help herself, she patted his brush-like hair. "Nah. Me an' Billie Joe took a bit longer, so we didn't even see it. We were right there after though."
Mike shifted out from under her hand. "You and Billie. Good thing I didn't let you into the truck." He mumbled drowsily, "Guess we got Billie to thank for that. He's always on top of things."
Did he think me and Billie Joe were....? Before Wren could correct him, he had drifted off again. Ah well, he wasn't going anywhere. I could tell him tomorrow. Or would that actually be today, since it's after midnight? Wren shook her head and crawled back into her cot.
The paramedics said he's going to be fine, but maybe they're just saying that. What if he's paralyzed? Or a vegetable? What about Tré? He looked...not good. Dammit, I should have just kissed Mike back.
The paramedics would not let her follow into the doctor's room, so Wren wandered into the horribly white waiting room. Billie Joe was sitting on one of the chairs, head leaned back and eyes closed.
"How's Tré?" Wren sat down beside him.
Billie Joe opened his eyes. "Smacked his fucking head pretty hard." Wren watched as his fingers curled around the under-stuffed arm of the chair. "The docs had to put him in some sort of drug coma to set his arm. I mean, he was already unconscious, but they had to put him under more. Do you know anything about Mike?"
"All I could tell was that he needed stitches. The paramedics wouldn't really say anything to me."
Billie Joe re-closed his eyes. "Fuck," he hissed. "If they died, I don't know what I'd do."
"I know what you mean."
A nurse came out, holding a clipboard. "Mr. Armstrong?" She looked around.
"That's me." Billie Joe stood.
"You're friends with a Frank Wright and a Michael Pritchard?"
"Yeah, me and Wren here. What's up? Are they all right?"
The nurse smiled warmly. Wren noticed that she looked a lot like somebody's grandmother, the type who always has cookies and hugs.
"They're fine. Young Frank will need to stay until the drugs wear off fully. That was a rather nasty break, with a concussion to boot! Mr. Pritchard needs to stay the night as well, for observation. He fared a bit better. Thirteen stitches, if I read this right, and two sprained wrists. If you two want to stay with them, we can have cots set up in their room."
Billie Joe looked over at Wren.
She nodded, "Yeah, we'll take the cots."
The nurse smiled and nodded. "They're in room 279, second floor."
Hurriedly, Wren and Billie Joe found the room. Both the invalids were out cold. Not saying much, the two friends each sat down on a cot.
How did the cots arrive before we did? Well, I guess whoever carried them knew where to go and we didn't.
Wren said nothing. Billie Joe said nothing. Mike and Tré were passed out, so they did not say anything either. All in all it made for a very quiet room.
It was maybe after two before Wren heard Billie Joe's soft snores. Wren could not sleep at all. She kept looking around the room. Her eyes would be drawn to Mike, to the bracers on his forearms, to the IV dripping into his arm, to the stitches in his head, to the bruises on his face, to his blackened eyes.
I should've listened to that new song. How long will it be before we can play together again? The silence pounded on her brain, telling her exactly how it would be inside their house. I should have been more assertive, then Tré wouldn't have got in the truck. Billie Joe wouldn't have let Tré drive his car either. He was always too hyped up after a gig. I could have prevented this whole fiasco.
Further self-abuse was cut off by a cough from the bed nearest Wren. She was on her feet instantly.
"Wha'? Where's Tré?" Wren walked over to Mike's side, overjoyed that he was coherent. He blinked hard and stared up at her like a bird fallen from its nest. His mouth twisted in a ghost of a smile. "I need a drink," he whispered.
"Water you mean?"
"No. Since they probably don't have," he winced as he breathed in, "what I really want." Stiffly he looked over at Tré, then back to Wren, eyes full of questions.
"Tré's gonna be all right," she reassured him. Maybe it was purely comforting or maybe she had ulterior motives, Wren didn't care, she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't know why I let the bastard drive," he muttered. "Did you see it? We just took the corner and.... Anyone else hurt?"
Wren could not help herself, she patted his brush-like hair. "Nah. Me an' Billie Joe took a bit longer, so we didn't even see it. We were right there after though."
Mike shifted out from under her hand. "You and Billie. Good thing I didn't let you into the truck." He mumbled drowsily, "Guess we got Billie to thank for that. He's always on top of things."
Did he think me and Billie Joe were....? Before Wren could correct him, he had drifted off again. Ah well, he wasn't going anywhere. I could tell him tomorrow. Or would that actually be today, since it's after midnight? Wren shook her head and crawled back into her cot.
