The Cowboy's Promise (UNDER HEAVY REVISION)

Sick of Hospitals- Part 2

The dirt road is way to narrow for me to move out of his way, so I slow down and move as far to the right as I can. The man only pours on more speed. I debate what to do. Finally, seconds before colliding head-first, I wrench the wheel to the left. The dually grazes the passenger side of the truck before drifting right and hitting a tree. My trucks flips onto its side in the ditch. I'm about five seconds from a full-blown panic attack, but I try to keep it together for my brother's sake. He whimpers again, sounding like he's five instead of twenty.

"El, you okay?" I ask.

"Uh-uh-huh," he answers shakily. "What the hell just happened?"

"Honestly?" I give a short laugh, more nerves than anything. "I don't have a damn clue. Let's check out that other guy."

Against all odds, my truck is still running. I turn off the ignition after rolling Elliot's window down. We both unbuckle our seat belts, and I stand on my window, at least the ground beneath it, and climb out. Then I offer Elliot my hand and help him out. We walk across the road to the dark green dually, sitting with its front end caved around the tree.

Elliot helps me tug the door open, and a half-conscious man almost falls out on us. He's as big as us combined. He tries to say something to us, but he's slurring words so bad we can't understand it. The man is obviously drunk off his ass. This makes El livid, considering he lost a friend who died after being hit by a drunk driver.

"El, hey, Elliot!" I snap. "After we're all okay and safe, you can beat the ever living shit out of him, okay? Right now, we need to get help. Because your skinny ass, no matter how strong you are, is never getting my truck back on four tires."

He nods, letting out a slow breath. "Okay. Yeah. Got your cell?"

"Shit, no. It was in the truck. No telling where it's at now. Use yours. "

Elliot calls for help while I figure what to do with the man. Finally I decide to just take care of minor injuries and wait for help. The man is so drunk he puts up little resistance. Elliot returns and helps me. Then I run my hands over his face, chest, arms, and legs to check for injuries. He winces when I touch his left side.

"Dude, stop. That hurts like hell," he says, shoving my hands away.

"Then I need to figure out why," I argue. "Lift your shirt up."

He sighs but does what I say. Already, a bruise is forming on his rib cage. He sucks in air through his teeth as I gently touch his side. Finally I leave it alone, and we sit against the truck roof as we wait. Eventually Daddy's truck pulls up, an ambulance right behind him.

"Did you call Daddy?" I ask Elliot.

"No," he replies. "But he has the police scanner at home, remember?"

Dad runs over and makes sure we're alright. The medics take care of the drunk first before turning to us. I'm fine, just a slight headache, but Elliot is taken to the hospital to check for broken ribs. As we all get ready to head out, I pull something out of my pocket. It's shiny and has a weird shape.

"Daddy, what the hell is this?" I hold it up.

"Uh, those are keys. You know, for your truck?" He gives me a strange look. I stare intently at the object until familiarity comes back to me.

Unfortunately, my statement got the attention of the medics. They tell Daddy to bring me for evaluation. I sigh.

€*€

After three hours, everything is sorted out. As Elliot and I recently learned, forgetting everyday objects is a side effect of the tumor. And apparently I did this last year, and a couple days after we found the tumor. And Elliot has bruised ribs. The drunk has a concussion and a fractured arm. Not to mention a hangover.