The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1342 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

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“What was all that about?” asked Danny as I walked to the car.

“All what?” I asked.

“The whole thing–why did you stop to help him–he was crazy.”

“He’s someone’s son as well, Danny.”

“But he tried to kill you?”

“Yes, I suspect he did.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know and I doubt he does either.”

“That’s twice he’s met you, and twice he’s gone away in an ambulance.”

“You’re absolutely right–just shows he’s a slow learner.”

“Slow–he’s like, stationary.”

“He will be for a while, this time it wasn’t a doe’s hoof catching him, it was the gear stick stuck in his groin.”

“In his...”Danny looked down at his groin for a moment–“That’s gonna hurt.”

“Very likely.”

“I saw the blue light thing–did you heal him–he didn’t seem too happy last time?”

“I just went to help, if the light decided to come too, I can’t stop it.”

“I woulda done–someone tries to hurt me twice–I’d have walked away.”

“Good job, it was I who went up to the car then.”

“Can we go home now?”

“I’ve left my name and address for the police–I’m surprised they’re not here yet.”

“They probably heard it was you and are waiting for you to go.” He chuckled to himself. “My mum the copper frightener,” he said and laughed louder.

“I don’t think so, they’re probably on their way, or held up somewhere.”

“The crash happened an hour ago,” he said as we negotiated the damage in the car park. “Are you going to order your stuff online?”

“I can’t, Morrisons don’t do it yet.”

“What about the other ones, Tesco and Waitrose–they do, I’ve seen their vans–plus Asda and Sainsbury.”

“Anyone you forgot?”

“Um–Iceland and the Cooperative–I think that’s all.”

“I think so, too.”

For the next few days, as we got back to normal and the children went back to school, I wondered about the young man who’d tried to kill me. I’d tried calling the hospital but they won’t tell anyone anything except family members.

Then after dropping off the girls to school one morning, I called at the hospital–it isn’t normally visiting time but I first had to discover which ward Wayne was on and then see if they’d let me say hello.

As I remembered he’d smashed up his nose and front teeth, I decided not to take him anything to eat–that could be embarrassing for both of us. Instead, knowing his involvement with sporty cars, I took him a couple of magazines on suped-up sporty cars. They were quite expensive, so I hoped they’d be outside his normal price range.

As I walked to the ward, I debated with myself why I should want to see this wretched child, who was barely a man at all–and after his injuries–perhaps going to have difficulties growing into that role.

I decided that I was curious–the fact he was registered as a patient, meant he was at least alive–a good start; I’ve had enough visiting of graves recently. I wanted him to have learned from the experience–although he might not even have any memory of it–so that could be difficult. I certainly didn’t want him punished any more than was absolutely necessary–his continual suffering would provide more than enough of that.

I spoke with the ward sister. She accepted my story that I’d assisted in the rescue–stories were abounding of some woman who climbed into the car to keep his airway open. I admitted it was me.

“I’m not sure how much he’ll thank you.”

“I wasn’t expecting any thanks–it’s something people do for each other, isn’t it?”

“Some do, some don’t–Wayne is still undecided. Go and see him–but if he gets too excited, I’ll have to ask you to go.”

“I’ll do my best not to over excite him.” I promised and walked towards the side room he was in. He was laying in the bed his face bruised black and blue, his one arm in plaster and a cage over his lover abdomen–making it look as if he was lying inside a small tent.

“Hello, Wayne, I’m not sure if you remember me?”

He was using an iPod and he gave me a disgruntled look, pulling out the earphones to hear what I was saying. “No, who are you?”

“D’you recall killing the doe?”

“Yeah, sorta–she got up and walked off.”

“She died and so did her baby.”

“Yeah–well, she ran out in front of me–totalled my fu–my car.”

“They do that I’m afraid, they’ve nearly had me off my bike a few times.”

“You ride a motorbike–what sort?”

“No, a bicycle–I’ve got a few of them.”

“Rubbish I expect–bloody girly bikes with a basket on the front and a bell so you don’t run over kittens.”

“Um–not quite–they’re women’s bikes because–I’m a woman, in case you hadn’t noticed–and they fit better. But I have two carbon fibre race bikes.”

“Yeah–I suppose you’ve had thirty out of them–down hill,” he laughed and showed the missing teeth from his lower jaw.

“Actually, I’ve had more than thirty out of them on the flat–but it’s hard work; downhill, I think I was just shy of sixty–but staying on them at that sort of speed is a bit hairy, never mind stopping them with side-pull brakes.”

“You’ve had sixty out of a bicycle?”

“About fifty eight point something–why?”

“That’s a bit faster than I ever managed on a mountain bike.”

“I’ve seen some of them shift a bit too.”

“Yeah–well I won’t be riding one again–be lucky if I ever drive again.”

“Why?”

“I damaged my back–one of my legs don’t work.”

“Which one?” I asked knowing it was his left one–there was a decidedly cold aspect to his left side.

“The left–good job I’m right handed, my left arm ain’t too clever either. Gonna be in a wheelchair–maybe they’ll let me race those–fuckin’ deer.”

“You didn’t do that in collision with the deer, you did it in collision with another car trying to kill me.”

“Wish I’d killed myself.”

“How old are you, Wayne?”

“Seventeen.”

“Same age as Julie.”

“Yeah, she’s at the same college as me–I’m doing motor fittin’ or was–be no bloody good in a friggin’ wheel chair–will I?”

“Does your right leg work?”

“No–but at least I can feel it–or part of it.”

“Curious–you obviously haven’t severed the nerves entirely, so they may yet settle down and regenerate.”

“The guy from Southampton didn’t think so.”

“They can be wrong.”

“He saw the MRI scans–wasn’t impressed. I’m probably never gonna walk again.”

“When I sat with you in the car...”

“You sat in the car with me?”

“Yes, after you’d crashed, I held your head up to keep your airway open.”

“Wish you ’adn’t bothered, my troubles woulda been over.”

“Not necessarily, but you could have been even worse–if things don’t improve, you might be confined to a wheel chair, if they improve who knows what might happen. If you’d been worse injured, but not fatally so–you might be bed bound or a cabbage–or even a cauliflower–yeah, i think you’d be more of a cauli than a cabbage–a white cabbage, naturally.”

“You think this is funny, d’you?”

“No–I find it tragic that a seventeen year old isn’t trying to fight back. Your body is at its prime–use your strength to fight your injuries.”

“You ain’t been in a serious crash then ’ave you?"

"Several–including one caused by some nice person stabbing me in the lung while I was cycling past. I nearly died–so I know that feeling too.”

“Why’d he stab you?”

“Why did you want to run me over?”

“I didn’t–I wanted to scare you–you humiliated me twice, letting your kids hit me.”

“The way I saw it, you did the humiliating by acting like a twit. If I’d wanted to humiliate you, I’d have done so.”

“Yeah–how?”

I jumped and delivered a backwards kick at what would have been chest level. “Like that?”

“Clever dick.”

“Yeah–now, I kept you alive–I wasn’t counting on you festering in a wheel chair.”

“Big deal–who gave you the authority to decide what happened to me? God?”

“No–the goddess, actually–I’m a feminist so have political problems with gods.”

“Bloody stroll on–are you fuckin’ crazy?”

“I must be to give up my time to try and help an ungrateful seventeen year old who tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry–alright.”

“For what, missing me or hitting that other car? You realise they’ll disqualify you from driving for at least a year?”

“Carry on–you’re really cheering me up.”

“Would you like these magazines?” I held them up for him to see.

“Yeah, might as well.”

I threw them on the floor by his bed, “Go and get them then.”

“Aw fuck off, you stupid bitch–maybe I shoulda tried harder.”

“To kill me?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t–better people than you have tried–they all regretted it.”

“You don’t scare me–bitch.”

“Wayne, I’m not trying to scare you–I’m trying to help you–I kept you alive–you were nearly dead.”

“Shoulda let me go then, shouldn’t ya?”

“Why, so you could spend the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself. I’m sorry, perhaps I should have done–I thought you were a man–I was wrong–you’re am ill tempered child.”

“Wouldn’t you be–I could live another fifty years in a bloody chair.”

“I’d say, another eighty–you’ll make it to ninety seven.”

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.”

“Tell me that in eighty years time.”

“I’ll be dead before then–if I ’ave to do it meself.”

“You haven’t got the bottle, little boy.”

“You bitch, I’ll kill you.”

“C’mon then, you and who else’s army?”

“You bitch–“

“Watch the drip–you’re still attached to the bed by it.”

“What?” He was standing at the side of the bed–puffing and panting–but standing, having just walked three steps.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

I smiled and nodded. I bent and picked up the magazines and handed them to him. “Sometimes you have to believe the impossible to make it possible.”

“What are you? You and your kids–you had that deer–it walked away.”

“It also died later.”

“Oh so is that it? I’ve taken my last steps?”

“No–when they MRI you again, they’ll find things weren’t as bad as they thought. You’ll walk again–perhaps not as well as you used to–but you could still drive or ride a bike–if you wanted to–well not drive for a year at least.”

“Can ya do anything for this?” He lifted his gown and he had a catheter coming from a what looked like a large stitched wound in his groin–there was no obvious sign of his meat and two veg.

“No–I’m afraid you’ll have to sit to wee.”

“Like a woman–fuckin’ wonderful.”

“I do it, so do most of my children, as does your mother–in fact, half the population does–so why is it a problem?”

“I’m a man.”

“You will be one day–yes.”

“I’ve lost my fuckin’ dick.”

“That isn’t what makes you a man–it just means you can wee standing up–you can get devices for that.”

“How can I get a girl–when I have no dick?”

“Women don’t spend all their lives in penis envy, despite Freud’s efforts to suggest we do. We also spend more time doing the washing and ironing than making love. If you’re a good enough catch in other ways–there are things that can help you with the practical aspects. It beats being in a wheelchair and having a catheter.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Go and ask the sister to remove it.”

“I can’t–” he pointed at the drip stand by the bed and the urine bag attached to his catheter.

I took down the drip and handed to him, and unhitched the bag from the bed–handing him the rack which holds it.

“There ya go–go and ask–it’ll sting for a few hours–but that’s better than not being able to feel anything.”

“Thank you,” he began to weep.

“I’ll come and see you again, one day–life is good–hang on to it.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is forgiveness.” I walked out of his room hearing the nurses rushing to help him and him shouting at them to let him walk.