.:Dreams and Swords:.

Close Call

My day was going pretty well as I was hanging out with my mom, just shooting the breeze and spending some quality time together. I'd been feeling kind of crappy physically, but being with my mom always keeps me light as she knows exactly how to make me smile. It was a nice change for the both of us after the gloom of losing friends.

We had decided to pay a couple of bills given our sudden good moods and went wandering around Target. I was aimlessly walking down the Gardening Section when I get a random call from someone very close to me. (No names again. Ahh, Lady, the madness! I live to confuse. ) He makes me laugh, I get stares from random people, I smile back rather unreassuringly, they flee for their lives. Well...not flee but close.

It was towards the end of the conversation when he drops the hint of a bomb.

This is the point in the story where I should tell that I'm a Worrier. Its a flaw of birth I'm sure. But if I feel an smidgen of affection for you, I worry about your well-being. If I love you, you're screwed because I'm thinking worse-case-scenario, apocalyptic hysteria. I hide it well, most people can't tell unless you know me pretty well, but the worry lurks underneath the surface of my calm facade like a shark in the ocean waiting for its fishy midnight snack.

So, I sense the danger and start to worry with a capital W. In response to the sudden fear, I tumble out the jokes. I'm one of those stupid people that will try and use humor to deflect the fact that there's a gun being shoved into my temple. Yes, I know, I'm one of those sad cases.

He laughs his wonderful laugh, I try to laugh, and start running those damn scenarios through my head.

It takes thirty minutes to get home. My mom is looking at my squirreliness in question but doesn't comment, knowing with her Motherly Spidey Sense that I will tell her soon. The cell phone is in my hand before my bag hits the floor.

"Is it bad?"

"No, it can be considered good news."

Oh. Relief fills me. "That's great! What's the news?"

"I'm alive."

Now I feel stupid. "That's...wonderful. That's the news?"

"Well...the bad news was that Iwasinacaraccident."

"WHAT?!?"

"I was in a car accident."

I'll give him this. He knows me too freakin' well. As he proceeds to calmly explain what happened, interjecting that he's fine a few times, I try my best not to have an asthma attack.

"Are you okay?" I ask him the tenth or eleventh time.

"I'm fine," he says with a smile in his voice. I'm not so convinced.

The men in my life don't do well in cars. There has been more injuries, death, and devastating loss due to automobiles than I care to think about. None of what was being said to me was hitting the logical center of my brain. I wanted to run my hands over his body to make sure all his arms and legs were still attached. I needed to see he was whole with my own eyes. I needed to know for sure.

Unfortunately, my teleportal machine is still in the shop.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," he laughs. "I'm positive."

My faith in God has been cemented for years. I'm not the most obedient of humans, especially in times of great strife or pain, but my heart is always there. Since that phone call I have been thanking God for protecting this man who is so dear to me. There is not enough gratitude I can give to show how thankful I am. Even now I continue to pray in mercy, my words are a mixture of languages and tears.

I don't know what else to pray except:

Bless you for watching over his safety. Thank you with all my heart.