Sunrise Fires (2 page)

*   *   *

I had met Chris only once; we’d been out at the usual dirt track where Ryan rode. I watched from the sidelines and fed the guys when it was done, usually something I’d brought that was recently home cooked. On this day, we had had lasagna, and Chris was so flattering that I couldn’t help but remember him. He was young looking and slim, with baby blond hair and sky blue eyes. I’m not even sure he grew facial hair, and if he did, it would have been an easy shave.

There was a core group of six or seven men who were Ryan’s closest companions in life and in the riding world, and among them, Chris fell into the little brother role. The men took care of him, not only coaching him as he learned the ropes of dirt biking, but also coaching him in life. Chris was predictably exuberant and excited at times, making him reckless and foolhardy. He had had girl troubles, hadn’t planned accordingly to pay his bills, had taken irresponsible risks at the blackjack tables, or had made other foolish mistakes, and each time, Ryan and the guys rallied around him to educate and support him in ways that only trusted peers can.

When I’d met him, he nearly effervesced with enthusiasm, his cheeks pink with excitement as he took his helmet off. He barely introduced himself before raving about some of the jumps and runs he’d done.

“Didja see me? That ridge right there,” he pointed toward the track as if I would differentiate one ridge from the next, “I got some air there — real air. I bet I was ten feet up.” His eyes scanned the group expectantly. His energy was infectious as he continued to rave about one hill or another and how he’d moved around the track. And he didn’t stop raving on once he was eating — he was just as excited about my lasagna as he had been about the ride.

I could see why the guys had adopted him. Hell, even I had a soft spot for him.

*   *   *

Despite the fact that traffic was in our favor, the drive from LA back to Las Vegas was interminable. It was an hour and a half before we reached Fontana — a really good time, considering what typical California traffic from the beaches was like, but not fast enough when racing to get to the hospital after a catastrophic event. As we passed the last few Fontana/Riverside exits, I thought of the times I’d driven down to California to meet Ryan when he lived here — our first uncomfortable date for coffee and a movie, his old bachelor pad with comfortable furniture but not a speck of décor, the first time he took me with him dirt biking, the smell of the gas, the engines, the kicked up dirt and dust, and the smell of Ryan, musky and happy, sipping a Bud light at the end of the day. The thoughts carried me well into Death Valley as the sun beat down on the windshield.

And now, sitting here beside him, my head on his shoulder and his arm loosely around me, it felt like eons ago when we had been such strangers. He absently stroked my arm as he drove or fumbled with a strand of my hair. His tension was so evident, but his warmth and love seemed the persistent undercurrent to everything, always. I wondered how I could ever go even one day of the rest of my life without him. I looked up at his profile, stoic and determined. I kissed his cheek and then wiped my fingers over my kiss…rubbing it in or wiping it off, I was not sure. He glanced over at me and smiled, “I love you, babe; I’m not trying to be distant, but this drive is killing me, and I just want to get there and be sure he’ll be okay. He’s like a kid brother to me…”

“I know, hun. I know.” I kissed his cheek again and settled into his side with one arm behind him at the small of his back, and the other draped across his chest. I traced small designs in his T-shirt with my fingers, and then erased them with my palm.

*   *   *

We finally arrived at the hospital hours later, and Ryan nearly ran inside. By the time I met him in the emergency room, he was nearly frantic. “They won’t let me back.” The grayish-blue hues of the fluorescent lights made him look ill, pale, and weak.

“Okay, hun,” I placed my hand on his shoulder and rubbed in small circles, “the guys probably weren’t allowed back either. Have you looked around the waiting area and snack bar for them? They can at least tell you what happened.” This place smelled of antiseptic; the wire seating stood screwed to the floor, ready to hold up the ill and their loved ones; and medics and doctors bustled about in the background with medical charts in hand, calling names of patients and discussing cases in hushed tones.

Ryan scanned the faces of people in scrubs and of the random passersby, his eyes narrowed to slits as he searched the area. And in an instant, his eyes flew open wide and his mouth rounded in recognition. I turned to see Johnnie approaching.

He had seen Ryan, and made his way across the room toward us. He was tall, at least four inches taller than Ryan, thinner, and more businesslike. His sharp jawline, always shaved baby smooth, stood out even more now as worry settled into it. His camel brown hair parted to the side made it hard to believe he’d been wearing a helmet not so long ago, though I suspected he kept a comb at the ready to ensure he always looked his best. He was something of a ladies’ man, always sought after but seldom taking women seriously. His friends and his professional future were his primary motivators, and today, one of them was in trouble.

As soon as they were within comfortable earshot, Johnnie began, “It doesn’t look good, man. He said he couldn’t feel his legs, and we definitely couldn’t get him up after he landed.” Even this debonair chiseled man looked grey and ill in this environment under these circumstances. We all exchanged hugs and sat down on the nearest of the wire bench seats.

Ryan was animated as he pressed for more. “What the fuck happened, man?”

“We were up at Apex, and he tried to do that nearly vertical push up the side of the ridge — that one on the high-speed turn, the one intended for —”

“I know the one.”

Johnnie continued as if Ryan hadn’t interrupted him. “I thought he was going to make it. He got up there pretty high, at least twenty-five feet. But then something happened…not enough throttle, I’m guessing. He fell back, and his bike kinda bounced on top of him.”

“Damn.”

“I originally thought he knocked the wind out of himself and definitely must’ve broken some ribs. But he was talking right away. The bike had fallen to the side, and Mark pulled it away. This kid was really excited about nearly making it up there. That was what he was talking about!” Johnnie sounded like a proud parent and both men laughed and smiled at Chris’s exuberance. Johnnie’s faced darkened as he remembered the events. “But then he tried to get up, and he couldn’t move, man.” He looked at his hands, calloused from riding so often. Absently, he stroked the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “Ryan, man, he said…he said…well,” he looked up and met Ryan’s eyes, “he said his legs were dead.”

“Dead legs?”

“That’s what he said, and we were all wondering what that meant, too. I mean, you can guess, and everyone all looked at each other really serious out there on the track, but I don’t think we wanted to believe it.”

“Fuck, man. Fuck. Have you seen the doctor yet?”

“No, we haven’t seen anybody or heard anything. We probably arrived at least an hour after him because of the drive out of there. He got the high-speed trip on that helicopter.”

Silence hung between them. My chest tightened with the realization that Chris might be paralyzed at twenty-two. I thought of Ryan’s natural big brother role and how he would take it, knowing he hadn’t been there. I stared at Ryan, captivated by the pattern on his shirt; it was black with tan design on it. I couldn’t see the design, my eyes wouldn’t focus, but it felt good to watch it move as Ryan inhaled and exhaled in a natural rhythm. It calmed me to allow myself to focus on nothing in particular. I thought of Chris’s light enthusiastic personality and how it might be impacted by such bad news. I thought of what I would do and how our lives would change if Ryan had been the one in the accident.

As the silence dragged on, it felt heavy, stretching the tension between the three of us until Johnny’s voice finally snapped it. “He really couldn’t move his legs, man,” he was almost whispering, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. “I checked to see if he broke one or something, but I didn’t see anything.” He didn’t finish the statement, there was no need.

Silence fell between us again and stretched on for long minutes.

“What do you think is taking so long?” Ryan’s frustration and impatience blasted through the silence

“I don’t know, man,” Johnnie tried to sound soothing, but his nervous energy tightened his voice to a near squeal, making it anything but soothing.

“Well, fuck, Johnnie. Where’s everybody else? Where the hell is Mark? And who else was there? I mean, who was on this ride with you?”

Johnnie bristled, his shoulders tight as he sat more upright and eyed Ryan through squinted eyes, his lips a thin tight line. His jaw flexed before he spoke, “Pat had to get home. His wife had to go to work so he had to watch the kids.” His tone was matter-of-fact and controlled. “Mark is outside smoking a cigarette and calling to see if he can get off work tonight. Paul is down the hall in the bathroom.” As he completed the laundry list, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. His eyes were still narrowed and defensive as he stared Ryan down. He looked like a mountain lion, ready to pounce. I half expected to see a tail twitching behind him in warning.

Ryan’s response was softer, almost inaudible. “Damn — bunch of people on that ride. Shoulda been a good day.”

Johnnie softened as well. “It was, Ryan, you should’ve been there.”

“Maybe if I had been, I could’ve talked the kid out of trying that hill.”

“Don’t start that shit, Ryan. We all tried. He wanted it. There was nothing we were gonna say that would stop him.”

“Yeah…” But Ryan’s voice trailed off as if he didn’t believe that.

Chapter Three

W
e spent the next week in and out of Mercy Hospital, visiting Chris and supporting his family. It took three days before he was awake again from surgery. It turned out that they had taken him to the back, done some x-rays and tests, and immediately taken him in for surgery hoping to prevent permanent paralysis. They said something about swelling against the spine. Between work and Mercy Hospital, Ryan was consistently on the run. It was a twenty-five minute drive to the hospital from our house, and since Ryan stayed until visiting hours were over, I was never going to see Ryan if I didn’t go with him to see Chris. Thankfully Ryan and I both worked similar hours so I had time in the evenings to accompany him to the hospital, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy to our relationship while also supporting Chris through his recovery.

In the truck, I had changed to sitting in the center seat as my norm and settling against Ryan as I would if we were at home watching TV on the couch, comfortable, leaning against his side, breathing him in, and chatting about our day. I liked the feel of him next to me, the deep rumble of his voice resonating off my body and eardrums at the same time, lifting me to a happy place while also grounding me with the heavy deep weight of the bass in it. As he drove, I nestled into his side and let my hand trace his chest and belly. His body was muscular, stocky and beefy. I liked the feel of him beneath my hands, strong and full, it felt like he could take me, make me do as he pleased if he wanted to. And knowing that he loved me enough to be tender and loving instead made me feel special.

In the past week, it seemed he must’ve lost at least five pounds for lack of eating and perhaps dehydration. On one particular trip to the hospital, I pleaded with him for the thousandth time to eat and drink something, suggesting that he stop so we could grab dinner at a drive through on our way to the hospital.

“I’m not hungry,” he answered.

“You’ve been ‘not hungry’ since Chris’s accident. Babe, you’ve gotta eat.”

He sucked his teeth, sighed heavily, and pulled into a fast food place. We ordered a couple of burgers and fries, and as we pulled out, I asked, “Have you talked to your mom about what happened?” This past week had been stressful on Ryan, and it seemed there was nothing I could do to alleviate his feelings of guilt and his drive to take responsibility now, no matter what the cost in terms of his own health and stress. His mother was the person he most trusted, the person who had the most sway and influence in his life, even now that he was nearing thirty and plenty capable of taking care of himself. I hoped that he had called her and that she might’ve helped get him to see that this was really stressing him out and that perhaps we could skip a day or two so that he might rest. Maybe she could convince him to eat or perhaps she’d invite us over for dinner - an invitation he only refused when he had a rock-solid reason.

“Yeah, on the phone yesterday.”

“What’d she say?”

“She said the same thing everyone says,” he crammed another bite into his mouth, “‘it’ll all work out’ or ‘quit stressing over it,’” he air quoted the words as they sarcastically dripped off his tongue. “Or some other dismissive crap…I don’t remember exactly.”

His resentful tone was rare for him, in particular, when talking about her. Knowing better than to continue that conversation, I pressed another direction. “Someone was hungrier than he thought.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged, swallowing another bite of his burger, almost without chewing it. “I could actually go for another burger.” He sounded surprised by the idea.

I smiled, feeling vindicated for having insisted that we stop to grab something. I was tempted to remind him of his heavy sigh and eye roll. Instead, I said, “Okay, baby, take mine. I’ll leave you at the hospital and go grab something around there for myself.”

He didn’t balk. Instead, he reached right into the bag and grabbed the second burger. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounded like wife-talk.”

I punched him in the arm. “Funny man, eh?” We hadn’t talked about marriage in more than a year. It was a sore subject. Ryan asked me to marry him, and I refused. I had been married twice before, and I knew how marriage changed things. There was no way I was going to ruin this thing with Ryan by exchanging rings and vows and spending tens of thousands of dollars to do it. No, when things are perfect, my policy was why screw it up by changing anything?