Jeremy's song
I am Jeremy
"Jeremy, are you driving?"
My mom always asks me that when she calls. After the accident, my mom is extremely cautious with everything. She gave me a curfew, she constantly checks in with me, and she makes me go to Group. That's what she calls it, to make it seem like less of a dump than it is. A bunch of parents and old people sit in a circle mourning their losses and shit, like I'm supposed to relate to them or something. I haven't lost anything.
"Jeremy, answer me. Please!"
She's a wreck, and I don't blame her. But that's not my fault.
"Yeah, Ma. I'm alright, I'm in the parking lot now."
I ran my free hand through my chestnut-brown hair and sighed
It hasn't been the same since that day in March, which ended with a drunk driver, a collision, and a police officer at our door at 10:13 PM.
"Are you going in, Jeremy?"
I didn't have a choice, really. This is what the doctor ordered.
"Do I have a choice?"
I already knew the answer, but I waited for my mother's tired response.
"I love you, Ma. I'll call you after. Okay?"
My voice cracked. Why does it do that? I hung up the phone, and walked into the church building. This is ridiculous.
So this is group. The seats were in a circle, and a man with a soft face and balding head gestured me into the room. His eyes were blue, and they twinkled a little bit. I sat down between an overweight woman in her 40's with a box of tissues, and a younger guy in about his 30's who wore a turtle neck. Under his turtle neck I could see bruising. I wanted to ask if I was in the right place, but something told me to stay.
They started going around the circle, telling about them selves. People were crying, and I hated being around it. I've heard enough crying in this last month. The woman with the tissues went through her story, her grandfather died in his sleep the other night; behind the wheel. Everyone told her how strong she was, and she dabbed her eyes with the tissues. Then they gestured to me.
I'm not ready for this! my mind was racing and my heart was pounding. I wiped my hands on my blue shorts, and stared at the man with the soft face and balding head. The one who had invited me to sit. His name was Mike.
"Start with what you know, buddy."
I wasn't his buddy. I didn't know him, nor did I want to. Maybe if I talked, these people would stop staring at me. I started with what I knew.
"Hi. My name is Jeremy Pike and I am 17 years old." They were still watching me.
"My dad was in a car accident last month... yeah. He is in the hospital." I sounded like a jerk.
"My mom took it pretty hard, people are like, bring food to our house and junk. The same way people do that after funerals. ...fucking stupid though because we never had a funeral. It was just an accident. It's not like he's DEAD."
I don't know why I enunciated that last word, but I did. The woman next to me started crying again, and I put my face in my hands. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but I did. The man in the turtle neck started to talk, and I went blank. He pulled down his turtleneck to show some bruises, and my mind went back to that night. There's so much I could have said.
He told me to start with what I know, but I know that I remember every detail of that night. I remember I had my windows open that night. The cross breeze was perfect on those spring nights, and I could hear the world outside. I could hear sirens from my room, and I always pictured the flashing lights in my mind. Nana always used to say a prayer when she saw an ambulance, and she used to tell me to pray as well. I never listened to her, but this one time, I did. That was the night when I answered the three knocks on our front door, and the uniformed men who introduced themselves asked to speak with my mother. Alone, they said. It was clear that they didn't want me there, but I led them into the living room with my Mom, and sat down on the couch next to her. I gestured for them to sit on the couch across from us.
"Mrs. Pike," The older officer began. "There's been an accident. Your husband is in the hospital, and has been listed in critical condition."
The clock in the living room had been dead for weeks, and the face always read 10:13. I squinted at the digital clock across the room, and it read 10:13. Oh, the irony.
"The EMT said that you should probably come in as soon as possible, we can give you an escort if you would like."
Professional, my ass. This guy didn't care about my dad. He didn't care at all.
My mom always asks me that when she calls. After the accident, my mom is extremely cautious with everything. She gave me a curfew, she constantly checks in with me, and she makes me go to Group. That's what she calls it, to make it seem like less of a dump than it is. A bunch of parents and old people sit in a circle mourning their losses and shit, like I'm supposed to relate to them or something. I haven't lost anything.
"Jeremy, answer me. Please!"
She's a wreck, and I don't blame her. But that's not my fault.
"Yeah, Ma. I'm alright, I'm in the parking lot now."
I ran my free hand through my chestnut-brown hair and sighed
It hasn't been the same since that day in March, which ended with a drunk driver, a collision, and a police officer at our door at 10:13 PM.
"Are you going in, Jeremy?"
I didn't have a choice, really. This is what the doctor ordered.
"Do I have a choice?"
I already knew the answer, but I waited for my mother's tired response.
"I love you, Ma. I'll call you after. Okay?"
My voice cracked. Why does it do that? I hung up the phone, and walked into the church building. This is ridiculous.
So this is group. The seats were in a circle, and a man with a soft face and balding head gestured me into the room. His eyes were blue, and they twinkled a little bit. I sat down between an overweight woman in her 40's with a box of tissues, and a younger guy in about his 30's who wore a turtle neck. Under his turtle neck I could see bruising. I wanted to ask if I was in the right place, but something told me to stay.
They started going around the circle, telling about them selves. People were crying, and I hated being around it. I've heard enough crying in this last month. The woman with the tissues went through her story, her grandfather died in his sleep the other night; behind the wheel. Everyone told her how strong she was, and she dabbed her eyes with the tissues. Then they gestured to me.
I'm not ready for this! my mind was racing and my heart was pounding. I wiped my hands on my blue shorts, and stared at the man with the soft face and balding head. The one who had invited me to sit. His name was Mike.
"Start with what you know, buddy."
I wasn't his buddy. I didn't know him, nor did I want to. Maybe if I talked, these people would stop staring at me. I started with what I knew.
"Hi. My name is Jeremy Pike and I am 17 years old." They were still watching me.
"My dad was in a car accident last month... yeah. He is in the hospital." I sounded like a jerk.
"My mom took it pretty hard, people are like, bring food to our house and junk. The same way people do that after funerals. ...fucking stupid though because we never had a funeral. It was just an accident. It's not like he's DEAD."
I don't know why I enunciated that last word, but I did. The woman next to me started crying again, and I put my face in my hands. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but I did. The man in the turtle neck started to talk, and I went blank. He pulled down his turtleneck to show some bruises, and my mind went back to that night. There's so much I could have said.
He told me to start with what I know, but I know that I remember every detail of that night. I remember I had my windows open that night. The cross breeze was perfect on those spring nights, and I could hear the world outside. I could hear sirens from my room, and I always pictured the flashing lights in my mind. Nana always used to say a prayer when she saw an ambulance, and she used to tell me to pray as well. I never listened to her, but this one time, I did. That was the night when I answered the three knocks on our front door, and the uniformed men who introduced themselves asked to speak with my mother. Alone, they said. It was clear that they didn't want me there, but I led them into the living room with my Mom, and sat down on the couch next to her. I gestured for them to sit on the couch across from us.
"Mrs. Pike," The older officer began. "There's been an accident. Your husband is in the hospital, and has been listed in critical condition."
The clock in the living room had been dead for weeks, and the face always read 10:13. I squinted at the digital clock across the room, and it read 10:13. Oh, the irony.
"The EMT said that you should probably come in as soon as possible, we can give you an escort if you would like."
Professional, my ass. This guy didn't care about my dad. He didn't care at all.