June, 1977

I am back in good old Cranston for the summer, the first time since my freshman year at college. My father and I have agreed it would be a good thing for me to earn some money for grad school. Actually dad thought it would be a good idea and I acquiesced not wanting to appear to be the ungrateful spoiled brat that I am. It's not such a bad deal even though I have to stay at home. My dad arranged for me to work road construction with a friend of his, Jake Patterson, who owns a company that lays roads, builds bridges, etc. It will be hard, physical work but it pays well. I've already been at it for a week. The crew is made up of a couple of regulars who run the heavy equipment and 10 laborers consisting of 4 college boys and 6 high schoolers. I know all the boys working the crew and they are all pretty good guys. We've all hung out together after work drinking beer and shooting the shit. It won't be such a bad summer.

Stephanie graduated May a year ago, in '76. I've stayed in touch with her and have seen her three times. In fact I've called her about once a week since she left. She is working as an analyst for a local investment firm in Dallas and doing pretty well as far as I can tell. She doesn't seem any closer to forgiving me though. She's not cold on the phone or in person, she always takes my calls, but she is having a hard time dealing with my betrayal of her. I'm holding out hope though. It gets a little depressing sometime, but I keep telling myself she is still talking to me and she hasn't told me she is seeing anyone else. We've had exactly one conversation, about six months ago, about the whole thing. I told her that I loved her, I asked her forgiveness and promised her I would never do anything like it again. She told me she believed I was sincere, but she was still unsure whether she could trust me. Sound familiar? I think I've heard a similar question about my character from my father about five years. Am I that untrustworthy? My decision making must be really fucked up is the only conclusion I can come up with. That notwithstanding, I'm not giving up on Stephanie until she tells me to get lost.

My father had asked me some months ago about Stephanie and since I didn't want to lie to him, I told him what had happened. His response was to tell me that I was developing a habit of making bad decisions. This nonplused me. It just goes to show that he's never going to change his mind about me. You would think that after five years he could get past it, but I am permanently marked. But he was right about what I had done to Stephanie, except it wasn't just a bad decision, I'm beginning to wonder if I didn't undermine myself on purpose. Why, I don't know? But it's something that's occurred to me.

On June 9th, after being rained out of work for a couple of days, we were back at our current job. My parents had left for Dallas that morning for a long weekend at my brother Matt's house. They would see everyone while there. So I will have the run of the house all weekend long. The job we are working on is a bridge job on a state highway that runs from Lake Livingston to Lufkin, a town of about 25,000, in deep East Texas. I use the word bridge loosely because it's actually just an overpass.

We've set up a 5-ton crane to handle the bridge beams. The crane sits on tracks like a bulldozer. It squats beside the overpass on a slight incline and it has sunk into the mud left from two days of heavy rains. There is a safety fence built that partially surrounds the machine. The fence is a hastily constructed affair of fence posts and barbed wire. The crane operator is a black man named Aubrey Johnston and he is an enormous man. By enormous I don't mean fat. He is about 6'6", 275 lbs. and built like Atlas. He makes me look like the skinny underfed white boy that I am. Aubrey operates the crane the way Andres Segovia plays the guitar, delicately yet aggressively. He is moving two-ton bridge beams from the ground to the crossbeam structure that makes up the overpass.

As we are working on the bridge supports making sure they are set and steady, Jake Patterson approaches me and pulls me aside.

"Luke, go over to the crane and ask Aubrey how long he thinks it will take to move those beams into place. I'd like to get the beams set and get working on the road bed later today."

"Yes sir," I say and I sprint over to the crane.

I climb up on the side to the cab of the crane that encases Aubrey, just barely. I grasp the door of the cab and lean inside slightly.

"Aubrey, Jake wants to know how long you think it will take to set these beams?"

"Luke, tell Mr. Patterson we'll have those things set in about 45 minutes, an hour at most."

I'm standing beside the cab on the floor of the crane watching Aubrey lift one of the beams, getting ready to jump down and go back to work, when I see the fat cable holding the beam go slack and the beam smacks the ground with a loud wet thwack. That's not supposed to happen, I know that for sure. With the abrupt weight shift the crane suddenly lurches to the right, the side I am on. Shit, it feels like this thing is going to go over. I prepare to jump clear and when I do I realize my belt or my belt loop or something is caught on the door handle of the cabin. I am already in the middle of my leap and my momentum is seized in mid air, the waist of my pants rips and I fall directly under the toppling crane. I roll down the little incline into the safety fence and I'm immediately caught in the barbed wire. I am lying in the muddy detritus left by the rain from previous days. I look up just in time to see the flat side of the crane bearing down on me. I think to myself, I am dead. At the last moment I pull my knees up to my chest and the crane settles onto me. The safety fence holds for a second, then gives and I am forced down into the muck I am lying in. I gasp for a last breath and then the weight of the machine is forcing all the air out of me. I realize all that is showing of me is my left arm and my head. I begin to fucking panic.

I can hear Aubrey scrambling from out of the top of the cab. He leaps to the ground and kneels beside me, cradling my head in his huge arms.

"Oh shit, Luke, what the fuck do we do?" He asks.

"Go get help," is all I can croak.

Aubrey hauls ass out of my line of sight and I can feel the crane's weight begin to increase. It is settling further and I am already pressed, out of breath. I think the next step is being crushed to death. I am overcome with anger and in my head I am cursing God, but what good is that? I can feel my knees bearing down into my chest and I think I am now about to pass into the darkness. The spots fly in front of my eyes like misshapen crows, my ears are roaring from the blood pressed into the arteries and veins of my body. I begin to replay scenes of my life in my head; my dad teaching me to ride my bicycle, Stephanie and me in bed on a Sunday morning, the sunlight playing on our bodies as we make love, John Mark and I playing touch football in the back yard, my mom giving me a big kiss before school and telling me she loves me, Phillip with his head close to mine, I'm looking into his eyes, feeling his body next to me and slowly the images fade, my hearing is going and I am ready to embrace that darkness. A smooth silent blackness descends upon me, no breath.

I feel the pressure relent a bit and the machine raises itself from me. I feel hands grabbing my shirt and shoulders and I am yanked out from under the crane, sliding in the mud and muck. My legs stretch out automatically and I draw in a sweet, sweet breath of the diesel-laden air. It tastes like pure oxygen to me. I lie very still. I open up my eyes and look directly at Jake Patterson.

"Oh, thank Christ, Luke, can you hear me? Can you breathe, boy?" Jake shouts at me.

I nod. I am suddenly very tired, I don't know if I can finish work today.

Someone takes my right hand; I look over and see it is Sam White, one of the high school boys, a junior I think. For some reason he thinks I'm a pretty cool guy, I guess it's because I'm in college. He squeezes my hand and I return the pressure the best I can.

A woman I don't know kneels beside me and asks me if she can pray for me. I nod. She takes my left hand and begins praying in a language I don't recognize. In fact, I think she is speaking in tongues. Either that or my brain is not working or I'm hallucinating. I wonder if she is an angel or just someone who was driving by that saw the accident. I feel like going to sleep and I close my eyes.

Jake Patterson shakes me and tells me to stay awake. He looks awfully scared, there's got to be something terribly wrong I think. I don't feel strong enough to ask him what's going on so I open my mouth slightly to indicate I want to talk.

"Luke, what is it boy? Do you want to tell me something?"

"Yes sir," I whisper, "did I do something wrong?"

Jake bends over my body and takes me into his arms, weeping mightily. On my right Sam bursts into tears at the same time, I hear the woman making supplications to God in her secret language and I wonder if I'm going to be okay, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I look over Jake's shoulder and I see birds wheeling in the sky overhead. They could be mockingbirds or starlings or maybe killdeers, I'm not sure. I feel like I'm up there with them riding the updrafts rising from the warm earth, looking down on the awful scene below, seeing a man in work clothes leaning over a boy covered in mud prostrate on the ground, another boy at his side and a woman with one hand raised up to heaven mouthing a benediction. My soul feels like it wants to slip its tether and stay up here with the birds dancing on the air.

I drift away for a while but I can feel Jake's tears on my left shoulder, his sobs racking him. In the distance I begin to hear a siren, perhaps it's a policeman or an ambulance. In a few minutes the screaming siren is very close, then the EMTs are beside me. One of them, a young guy with a blonde crewcut, looks about my age I think, is taking my pulse. The other, older with dark hair is reaching under my shirt and probing lightly for broken bones I guess. The younger guy says my pulse is okay but a little thready. He thinks I might be in shock. The two EMTs leave for a moment but are back presently with a gurney and a backboard. They lay the backboard down on by left, then they gently roll me to the right and place it under me. I am placed onto the gurney and then rolled to the ambulance waiting at the side of the road. They load me up and we take off like our ass is on fire and our hair is catching.

I realize as the EMT with the crewcut cuts off my shirt that Sam is still with me. He is very upset, crying and still holding my hand.

"Sam, don't cry boy, I'm going to be okay," I say in a low voice.

He nods at me.

"His pulse is pretty good and he seems to know who you are, so those are positive signs," Crewcut says to Sam.

"What's your name?" Crewcut asks me.

"Luke Shelton."

"Well, Luke Shelton, it looks like you've got some bruises coming up on your chest and abdomen, but I don't think you've got any internal bleeding going on but we won't know until we get you to the hospital and x-ray you. You've got a pretty good cut on your right bicep, probably from the barbed wire. Do you hurt anywhere?"

I shake my head and then I say, "I feel like I'm covered in shit."

"Yep, you're dirty all right, but that's what you get for lying around in the mud." Crewcut says and smiles.

He reaches down and folds down the waist of my pants.

"I would cut these off of you but I'm not sure if anything is wrong with your hip or legs so I'm going to let them do it at the hospital. You've got some impressions on your waist from the pressure of the crane, but it doesn't look serious."

I am exhausted, so I close my eyes. Then I feel someone patting me on the face. I look up and it is Crewcut. He is holding my face in his hands, peering down at me.

"Luke, I want you to wake up. I want you to stay with me until we get to the hospital. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand. What's your name?"

"Thomas, Thomas Pollan," he responds while pushing my hair off my forehead. "You have got mud all in your hair, man."

He reaches above me and pulls a towel from somewhere. Then he wipes it over my hair a few times and then makes a mussing motion through my hair.

"Well, it's not clean but we got the excess crap out of there."

He finds a thin blue blanket and covers me in it up to my chin.

"Thanks, Thomas." I murmur.

"Shit, man, don't mention it," he answers.

Thomas Pollan keeps up a continuous stream of small talk with me until we get to the emergency room. I do my best to keep up with his questions, but I think some of my answers don't make much sense. I look over at Sam occasionally and reassure him everything is copacetic. He looks intensely worried and I can see where his tears have cut tracks in the dirt on his face. If I weren't so weak I'd have to clean his face for him.

We roar up to the emergency room entrance and the EMTs unload me. We're met by a couple of doctors and about four nurses, at least that's what I can see. They rush me through the automatic doors.

"Let's get him down to x-ray now," I hear one of the doctors say.

I am rolled in a very cold room. One of the nurses begins cutting the laces off my work boots as another cuts off my pants and briefs. In short order I am completely naked. Thomas is still with me and he places a sheet over my waist for modesty sake. Then he and the other EMT lift me onto a freezing, hard surface. I am hit with an agonizing pain, like a hot knife has been driven into me at the juncture where my legs meet my body. The pang is so sharp I gasp and my eyes widen. I am wracked with shivering because of the cold.

"Oh fuck that hurts." I shout.

One of the doctors appears above me and asks.

"Where is the pain, son?"

"Between my legs, fuck, make it stop. Now!" I plead.

"We can't give you anything for the pain until we have x-rayed you and we know for sure you don't have any internal injuries or bleeding. If we sedate you now and your blood pressure drops, you could be in trouble." The doctor answers.

I finally figure out I am lying on the x-ray table when I see the huge machine begin to move above me. I have broken into a cold sweat from the fire that is emanating from my groin. I begin to pray for God to make it stop or to kill me, whatever, as long as this incredible torment is gone. It seems to take hours for them to finish.

The next thing I know the EMTs move me from the x-ray table back onto a gurney. The pain is so intense I almost black out. I cry out and I feel ashamed of my weakness. I am moved into an emergency area where the nurses and doctors check me out from head to toe. I am probed, lights are shined in my eyes and every appendage is touched or massaged. The bright torment keeps me very much awake and occasionally I ask the doctor or nurse for something for the pain. They keep telling me it won't be long. Soon I am begging them.

After the doctors have determined I'm not going to die on them right away the nurses move me to another area and set about cleaning me up. They use a water and betadine solution and bathe me as well as they can. When they are done, one of them puts a hospital gown on me. Every move is torture and I plead with them to please give me anything to make the agony stop.

I am moved into a private room and I lie there thinking there will no end to the anguish. There is a television on the wall and some kind of soap opera is on but I can't concentrate enough for it to make sense.

When I think I can't take anymore, the door opens and a large black woman, a nurse, pushes into the room with a wheeled tray. She approaches the bed and looks down at me.

"Hello, Luke, my name is Louise Turner. I am here to give you an injection of Demerol for your pain. The doctor will be by presently but they are sure you don't have any internal injuries so let's do something about your discomfort."

"Thank you, Louise," I say between clenched teeth.

She rolls me onto my side slightly which causes a bolt of pure misery to move from my belly down my lower body, then she jabs me in the hip with a needle and lowers me back onto the bed. The drug begins to take effect quickly and I drift into a sort of limbo. The television seems to recede into a tunnel, the voices coming from it become tinny and distant. I look over at Louise. She looks very sympathetic and smiles at me. Then she turns to her tray and prepares a couple of other injections. She gives me two shots in the arm.

"Luke, it appears you are very lucky to be alive," Louise observes.

"Yes ma'am, I guess I am," I answer, slurring my words a little.

She places her hand on my forehead and smoothes my hair back.

"I am going to be your primary nurse during the day shift and if you need anything, honey, you just let me know, okay?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you."

"You don't need to be formal with me, Luke. You can call me Louise."

"Okay, Louise. Does my family know where I am?"

"I'm not sure, but I think the doctor said your boss was contacting them."

At about this time, a doctor walks in. He has dark hair, olive skin and he's above average height. He extends his hand, I slowly take it and he gives me a firm shake. I endeavor to return it.

"Luke, I'm Dr. Alex Ortegon, I am your orthopedist. What I would like to do is go over with you the injuries you've sustained and what we're going to do about them. First, it appears you have broken the pubic arch in your hip in three places. It doesn't appear we will need to do any surgery to repair this, all we can do about it is let it heal. You've also have a crushed urethra. It's not as serious as it sounds but we are going to have to catheterize you. This will be uncomfortable but I am afraid it's unavoidable. The crushing injury will heal itself. You may have a herniated disc, but we will have to run a myleogram to confirm that. Otherwise you don't have any other broken bones. You are going to have extensive bruising on your chest, abdomen and legs. You will probably have some nerve damage in your legs, as well. Do you understand so far?"

I am so dopey right now I haven't really followed anything the doctor has said.

"You might want to go over this with my father when he gets here, sir," I say.

"Well, yes I will, but I wanted you to know. When your hip has healed you will have to have physical therapy for your legs. I can tell you now there will some muscle atrophy as well as the nerve damage."

"Yes sir, I understand. Nerve damage. You might want to tell my dad."

"Okay, Luke, I think we'll let you rest now. I'll come by later when I do my rounds."

In a few minutes a male nurse comes in and announces he is here to catheterize me. Thank God for Demerol because the catheterization process is excruciating. The nurse moves the sheet below my waist and raises my hospital gown to expose my penis. Then he grasps me and begins placing the tube into my urethra. I attempt to make him stop but I don't move so well. The pain in my dick almost puts me over the edge and I call the nurse a motherfucker. It feels as if the tube is being pushed into my stomach. I am going to pass out, I swear.

When he is done, the nurse chuckles and says, "Well, you'll be able to pee now."

I am in a cold sweat; I have never felt anything like this. The tube is incredibly uncomfortable and I can't find a position in the bed that helps to relieve the pressure on my bladder. Shit, I am miserable. Finally I just lay back and watch the television. Lucky to be alive, Louise said. Yeah, I guess, but right now I'm feeling a little run down. That's a joke. The effects of the Demerol deepen and at last the discomfort in my bladder and my penis begins to subside. I am getting a little drowsy so I close my eyes.

Intensifying pain awakens me. The room is dark, I can't see much but I can feel someone's eyes on me. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can make out John Mark sitting to my right. Or at least I think it's him, unless I'm dreaming.

"Johnny, is that you?" I ask.

"Yep, it's me. What the hell have you done to yourself?"

He comes over to the bed, bends over and embraces me.

"I love you, Luke, you had us scared to death. All we heard was you had been in a crane accident and you had been trapped underneath it. I prayed all the way here you were alive. Mother and Dad are here and they are frantic."

"I love you too, Johnny." That's all I can muster before my throat tightens and squeezes off all words. But I don't cry, I've learned how not to.

"Mom and Dad are downstairs in the cafeteria getting some coffee. Catherine is with them. They'll be back up in a while. You've been asleep for several hours. The nurse said you had rung her about 4 hours ago and they gave you some more pain medication. We got here shortly after that, I guess."

"Well, that's news to me. I don't remember waking up, but I think I could use another shot about now. My hip and my legs are killing me."

"I'll go get the nurse then," Johnny says and leaves the room.

Presently he is back with a nurse I don't recognize, Louise must be off duty. She checks the chart at the end of my bed and tells me it is okay to have something for the pain. She leaves the room but returns in short order with a syringe. The nurse and Johnny roll me on my side, the nurse injects me and they return me gently to my back. Demerol sure acts fast. The pain I am in diminishes in waves and I go into that near trancelike state I recall from the first injection.

"Feeling better now?" Johnny asks.

"Yeah, buddy, much better. I think Demerol may be the best thing since sliced bread." I answer.

"You know, Luke, your eyes are completely red except for the blue part. You look sort of like a vampire. The pressure must have been incredible."

"Johnny, I couldn't breathe. I honestly thought I was going to die. You know how people say your life flashes in front of your eyes when you are dying, well, something like that happened to me. I saw all the people I loved, things we did, things we said and it made me very sad. But I wasn't afraid; I was just ready to go. Does that make any sense?"

"I'm not sure it makes sense but I believe you saw what you say you did."

"What time is it? What time did I get here?"

"It is about 10:30 p.m. now. They admitted you around 11:45 this morning. You've been here awhile."

"Shit, Johnny, I've been asleep forever. You would not have believed the pain I was in. When I got here, they stripped me, put me on the x-ray table and I thought I was gonna pass out from the sheer fucking agony. I have never felt anything like it." All of this rushes out of me in about a second.

"Luke, I'm sorry."

"What's to be sorry about. It just happened."

No, what I mean is I'm sorry you are hurting," Johnny shoots back, "God, you can be such a dickhead."

Mom and Dad enter the room at about this time, followed by Catherine. Mom begins crying as soon as she sees I am awake. I ask Johnny to raise the hospital bed a little so I can look around a little better. Mom comes over, hugs me and tells me she loves me. She is busily wiping her tears with a handkerchief she probably lifted from Dad. My father has this stricken look on his face, close to tears but holding back. He's good at the stiff upper lip. He comes over, embraces me briefly and tells me he loves me also. I know all this should move me but right now I just feel numb. Maybe it's the drugs or maybe I'm just beyond wanting him to forgive me or caring whether he loves me. It could be the effect of a brush with death, but the fact of the matter is while I'm glad to see my dad, I don't feel a lot of emotion associated with it. It used to hurt for him to ignore me or peer at me with that odd look, but I don't know that I care anymore. It seems everyone in the room is crying except my father and me.

November, 1977

I didn't go home for Thanksgiving. I don't tolerate car trips very well yet. When I came back to school, my parents drove me and I spent the next day in bed because my hip and legs were killing me. No one seemed too surprised by my decision though.

My therapy has been going better. Clyde is a tough taskmaster. He still hurts me on a regular basis, especially with the massage. He told me one day that it was all right for me to cry if he hurt me. I think he told me that because he intuited I was ashamed by it. His exact quote, as I recall was:

"It's not a sign of weakness to cry, Luke, if something hurts you. It's a sign of hard headedness if you don't. Sometimes crying helps to get the bad feelings out of you."

Clyde is actually a pretty wise man. And he has worked wonders on my legs. I am walking well now. I walk everywhere now. I am still in a lot of pain, but it has diminished by about tenfold. Clyde assures me the harder I work, the better the pain relief will be. I quit taking my pain medication about six weeks ago and I'm glad I did. I still have persistent leg cramps, numbness and a limp, but I feel like Superman compared to when I began PT.

I had to move into a different apartment because I had taken the summer off to work. My new apartment is a little bigger than the old one, but it also in an old house. This one has four rooms; a living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. I like it a lot because my bed is not the first thing you see when you come in but I miss my old place nonetheless.

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving I am sitting in my rocking chair, listening to music and studying. I have an econometrics class in graduate school that is threatening to eat my sack lunch. It is tough with a capital "T". I am barefoot but I have my ankle weights on and I am doing slow leg lifts as part of an exercise regimen Clyde showed me. There is a knock at my door so I get up to answer the door.

When I open it Stephanie is standing there. My jaw actually drops. I had talked to her several times since my accident but I had not told her about it. I wasn't sure what her reaction would be so I just decided to leave it out of my news of the day whenever I spoke to her.

"Are you going to invite me in?" She asks.

"Sure, come in, by all means," I say, "God, is it good to see you."

I am almost fucking giddy. She comes in and sits down in my rocking chair. I pull up another chair and sit facing her, drinking her in. She is still amazingly beautiful.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Well, I talked to John Mark earlier this week and I thought I would drive down to see you. One question though. When were you intending to tell me about your accident this summer?"

I know I am blushing but there's not much I can do about it.

"I didn't want to worry you, so I didn't tell you." I admit.

"Didn't want to worry me? I had to find out from your brother. Luke, are you purposely insensitive or are you just an idiot?"

"That sort of stings, Stephanie. I wasn't trying to be insensitive."

"Look you, I am so pissed at you right now. Don't even try to make excuses for not telling me. When John Mark told me how close you came to being killed it made me realize a lot of things. I've got something to say, so don't interrupt me. I was angry with you for what you had done. There is no doubt about that. I still can't believe you did what you did, but that is old news. When you told me, I believed you were sincere in your remorse, but I was so mad I didn't care. I knew you were sincere in your apology, but because I was angry I withheld my forgiveness. I always thought I would have another day to tell you that I forgave you but sometimes we forget that things can change in a blink of an eye and then we won't have that chance. I think that is what almost happened here. I should have told you a year ago 'I forgive you'. I should have told you a year ago 'I still love you'."

It feels as if all the blood in my head has fled to other regions of my body. I am so filled with gratitude to hear the words 'I forgive you' I don't know what to say or how to express it properly. I know I am sitting here with my mouth open, trying desperately to tell her I think I owe her my life.

"Stephanie, I'm not sure what to say except thank you. I love you more than anything in the world. I just want you to know that. I don't deserve your forgiveness but I will always try to be worthy of it."

"Luke, please don't. I want you to know I love you too, I always have and, dammit, I think I always will. Even though you play 'keep away' with everyone else, you have to remember you can't do that with me, ever again. I don't know why you are the way you are and I don't care, but you need to trust me, you need to remember always no one loves you like I do."

Again, I am struck dumb. This whole thing is blowing me away.

"I think I'm a very lucky man." I finally say.

"You have no idea, Luke," she says.

Then she gets to her feet and takes me by the hand. She leads me into the bedroom, undresses me then herself. I lie back on the bed and she reclines beside me. I tell her I can't lie on my side because it hurts to do so. Her hands start caressing me all over and I become aroused, the blood roaring in my ears. She raises herself above me and gently lowers onto my penis, suspended by her knees not putting too much pressure on me. Her upper body descends upon mine and I embrace her. Tenderly she makes love to me, careful to avoid hurting me. It is intense in an almost virginal way. As her body moves over me touching me lightly but fully, I am transported, I am enraptured. And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.