Lucky Devil

She got out of the car.  She wasn’t supposed to get out of the car.  We were just having a normal conversation, and as usual, it got out of control.  She’s never gotten out of the car before.  It was an accident.  I had no idea she had walked out in front of the car.  Then, my coffee spilt.  I don’t know how but my foot slipped off of the brakes, maybe I hit the gas, I just don’t know.  That noise.  That thud.  I thought I’d hit some poor animal.  I was surprised to see that the poor animal turned out to be my wife and now she was dead.  She was as beautiful in death as she was in life.  The fire in her eyes was gone and now her eyes stared at me, unblinking, as if caught by surprise.  I’m sure she was.  Her blood was pooling around her body, seeping into her bleached blonde hair.  Her locks were turning orange. She would have hated that.  She hated orange.  She worked hard and spent a lot of money for her perfect hair.  The motor was still running.  I don’t even remember putting it in park, yet I must have.  I don’t know how long I stood there watching her.  I prayed for help from someone, anyone.  I knew I couldn’t stay.  I didn’t have to feel her pulse to know she was dead and I guess some part of me knew better than to touch her.  So I left her lying in the street, in a pool of her own blood, straddled by the car. 
         I started walking in a daze.  I didn’t really know or care where I was going.  I knew I just had to go.  I had no idea how long I had been walking when I heard the sound of aV8 pull up slowly beside me.  I heard this voice “Dude, are you okay? Can I give you a lift somewhere? Man, dude, it’s like over 100 degrees out here and you don’t look so well.”  I searched for the voice and finally saw the pimply face of a teenage boy in a red mustang convertible.  A vintage ride, it was loud and classy.  He must have been yelling in order for me to actually understand what he was saying.  I must have answered because he stopped the car, reached over and unlocked the door.  I opened it and slid right onto the black leather seat.  You’d have thought the seat would’ve been hot, but it wasn’t.  The kid had the top down and the A/C blowing full blast.  He must have turned the radio down at some point but I could still feel the beat of the latest rap tune as if the speakers were inside the seat.  We drove in silence for a while.
         “Man, I know you” he said.  I was silent. “Dude, like, I know you from somewhere.  You’re famous aren’t you?” I didn’t have to say anything.  I knew he would figure it out.  They all did sooner or later, especially here, in my hometown.  “Yea, you’re Dwight James, receiver for the Cowboys! Dude, you look like hell.  Are you all right?” All right?  Hmmmm…I didn’t think I was going to be all right for a long time.  I must have nodded, although I don’t remember.  “Should get you on home, man, yup, should get you home.”  Home.  It sounded good.  I nodded again.  But home would never be the same without Marissa.  Marissa, the homecoming queen, a football star’s wife, who was currently lying dead in the streets of Las Colinas.  Can’t, mustn’t think about her right now.  Not like I last saw her, but as she was before.  Lovely, lively, fiery!
         Before I knew it we were pulling up in the driveway behind my house.  I didn’t think about it then, but how did the kid know where I live?  I guess a lot of people know especially if they live in the area.  And this kid looked like he belonged.  Except for the pimply face he was good looking, sandy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and that car.  It was definitely the car of a teenager on the right side of the tracks.  “Dude, just go inside and report your car stolen.  Here…. here’s your keys.  Just tell the cops you went outside to get in your car and it was gone.”  Then those words I will never forget “Trust me.” As soon as I was out of the car he was gone.  Music was blaring and yet he was traveling slowly.  He was so unlike most teenagers who speed through life.  I absently went through the back door and hung up my keys on the rack.  I went over to pick up the phone when it hit me.  My keys.  How did the kid get my keys?  What did he know?  Who was he?
         


         Luck.  Now there’s something a whole lot of people don’t have.  And something I’ve been swimming in since that day.  I was lucky that none of my neighbors saw my wife and I leave together.  I was lucky no one saw that kid drop me off at my house.  The police actually bought my story about my car being stolen.  They even believed my wife had been kidnapped and killed.  They thought she must have caused enough troubled for them that they killed her before they could ask for a ransom.  I didn’t have to feign surprise or shock that my wife was dead, because that’s how I really felt.  What did surprise me, however, was that it took the kid a couple of weeks to show up at my house. 
         His name is Ezekial, Zeke for short as I soon learned.  And he was soon becoming my new best friend.  He followed me everywhere and he asked me a lot of questions about my life, how I got to be where I was.  Funny, though, it seemed like he already knew the answers.  As if I was taking some sort of test.  Training camp was about to start and I didn’t know what I was going to do with the kid.  I couldn’t take him with me, because that would be weird.  People would talk, there would be accusations and my reputation would be ruined.  I could say he was a relative, maybe Marissa’s kid brother.  Everyone on the team knew my family and me; it would be difficult to pull off but not quite impossible.  What was I thinking?  I have to get rid of Zeke! What? Is he going to follow me around all my life?  The police already bought the story.  Who would believe a kid over me anyway?  Maybe he has some sort of proof?  And where were his parents?  How come they let him hang out with me all the time?  Then one day, he was gone.  He didn’t come back for a week and I had to go to California.
         I was a star at training camp.  I never felt better about how I played the game.  It was like I was blessed.  I couldn’t miss and the coaches and the other players noticed.  I was totally involved in the game.  It wasn’t like I had forgotten about Marissa, but no one brought her up and the game made the whole incident easier to forget.  Pre – season had come to a close and I went home expecting to see Zeke at any moment.  But, he never showed and I went on to have a fantastic season.  I felt like a King and was treated as royalty everywhere I went.  It was as if I carried the team and as the regular season ended my agent began negotiations with every other major sports team.  Not that I was really interested in playing anywhere else, but money talks. 
         We were headed to Miami for the Super Bowl when I saw Zeke again.  He complimented me on my fantastic season.  He also wished me luck on the big game and said he would see me after.  I thanked him and went on my way.  Whatever he wanted to do with me now would wait until after the game and I would just have to deal it with it.  I had enough to think about.  I had interviews with all the major news stations scheduled not to mention the game of all games to play.