More Than Anything

She knew that what she was doing was probably not smart, but she still pulled the keys from her jean pocket and shook them in front of Brandon’s* face. He smiled goofily at her and laughed out loud at nothing. He got that way when he was wasted. She could feel that same buzz. The feeling that your skin is on just a little too tight, but it feels absolutely fucking wonderful. Brandon’s face was dancing in front of hers and she realized all of a sudden that she wanted to get home, to be alone with him. More than anything. She could just imagine kissing his lips and pressing her naked flesh against his. The thoughts caused a growing sensation of pleasure between her thighs. She got that way when she was wasted.

Outside they stood against the side of the baby blue Chevy pick up truck, wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying the moment. The sky was pinpricked with white lights, for the moon was a just a sliver of its majestic self. Brandon pulled away from her and smiled, his gray eyes glossy in his inebriated stupor. She managed, after several attempts, to pull him back towards her. Always her fingers grazing his arm as he managed to wobble out of her distance. She hugged him close as she shut her eyes and let the whirling motion of instability overwhelm her. Her eyes popped back open from the sudden rush of sickness that assaulted her. Maybe she was farther gone than she realized, but she choked back the need to vomit and smiled again, thinking of getting her man home.

After starting the vehicle she accidentally set it into drive and pulled three feet into the weeds before she was able to stop the truck. She giggled repeatedly and Brandon laughed as if there was nothing funnier. A light came on behind them and she turned to see who it was. Her world spun as she tried to focus on the figure in the light. It was some one from the bar asking if they were okay. Brandon shouted back in the best voice he could muster, knowing that if he didn’t fool them, they would have to come get the truck in the morning. And he didn’t want to do that. Fooled, the figure walked back into the bar, leaving them in the dark cab of the truck giggling with what they had gotten away with.

She caught her breath and put the car in reverse, inching it backwards and she began to wonder if this was such a smart idea. Just turning around in the seat to check where she was going was taking its toll on her. She frowned slightly as she turned back to face the front of the truck, thinking back on the last shot of tequila. Maybe she should have stopped before then. She realized now with a grimace, she should have stopped with the Budweiser, several drinks before that. Had she not been told, no beer before liquor? She shivered and clenched her teeth together to keep from getting sick in the truck. She knew that Brandon would be terribly angry with her if she messed up the truck. It was, after all, his. The only reason he was not driving it was because she had snatched the keys from him earlier, when they were dancing close. More than anything, she wished the feeling of nausea would go away. If she could just make it home, then she would be okay and she could vomit all she wanted in the toilet, in the comfort of her own house.

She rolled the window down as the truck began to pick up some speed, her foot on the pedal almost as if she didn’t control it. The air was helping her and she realized somewhat that she did indeed love living in the country. It was September and the air had a crisp freshness to it and it was soothing, almost a medicated caress for the knot in her stomach.She was passing fields upon fields, following the gravel road up to the main road before heading home. She blinked.

It was one of those blinks that almost seems too heavy to lift back up. The sudden need to sleep. She lifted her hundred pound eyelids and realized all too late where the truck was going. It careened head first into the ditch on the left hand side of the road. When it started its roll, the crunch of steel upon steel resounded in her already throbbing skull. The door came open and she fell, a sudden lurch as the truck continued rolling. She could feel the cold metal against the sides of her head. And then it came again, the earth tilting back into view, weeds poking through the open window, ground dangerously close to her face.


The pain exploded and she did not understand what was going on. The truck rolled away from her and she lay in the grass beneath the stars. She swallowed. Somewhere her body told her to breath. She took a shaky breath and realized with dire certainty that she could not move. She did not know it now, but it was better that way. She heard Brandon moan and she tried to voice her plea for help, but no sounds came. The sudden feeling of being eerily sober settled over her and she realized that she could see straight and hear great, and could probably even speak without slurring if she could only get the words out. She heard rustling to her left, or it could have been her right, and then words.

“Missy.”

She looked up into the eyes of her boyfriend and seen tears shedding from them. She felt the need to reach up and wipe them away for him, to make it all better.

“Oh God, Missy.”

Cold.

It touched her skin.

Fatigue.

It wore her down and made her years older.

Fear.

It settled in the pit of her gut.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she realized beyond any doubt what the look in Brandon’s eyes said.

“No…No…No!”

The words came now and she cried, tears touching her cheeks, mixing with his, but not feeling them. She couldn’t feel.

“I have to go get help; I’m going to get help.”

He stood up and stumbled away from her, unable to look at her any more. He stood a few feet away and wretched, his body sweating.

“God fucking dammit,” he managed between heaves. He couldn’t stand to see her, couldn’t believe she was still alive. When the truck rolled, she must have fallen through the open door when it caved in, and when it came back around her head must have been positioned between the door frame and truck. The top of her head was bloodied; skin and bone and brain matter was mixed together like a terrible soup. 

She watched him as he moved out of her line of sight. Terror, panic, fear seized her and she wondered if she would ever see her son again. It was amazing, this assortment of feelings that befell her as she lay dying. Regret. She cried, her body shaking. If only she could see her son and tell him how much she loved him. Suddenly, she was afraid, scared to die alone.

“Don’t leave me! Brandon!”

No reply.

“Please Brandon! Don’t let me die alone. I don’t want to die alone. Please, come back.”

Her voice drained to a whisper. Whimpers.

More than anything she wanted to be okay. More than anything, she wanted to see her son. More than anything, she wanted to say to him, one last time, “I love you.”





Author’s Note: Brandon finally made it home and phoned the police. He was so intoxicated that instead of doing anything useful, he proceeded to undress himself down to his socks and his boxers and fell into their bed, asleep. Missy died alone under the darkened sky, just as her little boy was stirring from his bed, asking for his mother.

Don’t drink and drive, for all our sakes.


*Name has been changed.