Treadmill Guy

Well, Crap.

~Lizzie~

Well, Crap.

It never once crossed my mind, as Violet and I left for the gym earlier that night, that I would end up driving behind an ambulance. With her in it. To the emergency room. The ambulance was taking Violet to the emergency room. Breath, Lizzie.

I tried desperately to steady my breathing and gripped the steering wheel hard to keep my hands from shaking. I still couldn't fully wrap my mind around what, exactly, had happened. Had the treadmill malfunctioned? Did his legs give out? Was this some idiotic attempt to introduce himself to a cute girl (Violet was, really, very cute)? Or was he just a complete and total spazz? All likely options, but I supposed I would never really know.

The ambulance was moving faster and faster, its lights piercing the darkness, and I felt that my heart was racing at least twice as fast as I pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Was it so desperate a situation that they had to go 20+ over the speed limit? Was Violet really in such critical condition? What if she didn't make it to the hospital? What would I tell Maggie?

My hands were shaking again, and I was barely paying attention to the road. If I wasn't careful, I would end up in the hospital, too, and then Maggie really would lose her mind. I focused on my breathing -- again -- and tried desperately to keep my slippery palms from sliding all over the steering wheel. It seemed as though I'd driven my mom's old minivan through the nine circles of Hell by the time I'd reached the hospital, and even then I had to fight tooth and nail only to end up in the waiting room. First, they wouldn't let me park behind the ambulance, and then they forcibly kept me from wandering the halls to find Violet. By the time I reached for a white styrofoam cup at the coffee machine, my hands were shaking more from frustration than from terror, and I swallowed the scalding, bitter coffee without fully registering the trail of burn blisters it seemed to be leaving all down my throat.

I took a seat on a very hard, very sterile, faux-leather chair and struggled to stop myself from biting my nails. The ICU waiting room felt incredibly sterilized, and the harsh overhead lighting gave everything an ominous glare and made my tired head start to throb. There were a fair number of people in the waiting room with me: a man sitting with his five children looking scared out of his mind, a sniffling woman with the most bloodshot eyes I had ever seen, a battered twenty-something boy asleep where he sat.

A sudden thought brought my people-watching to a sudden halt. Maggie. With all the drama of the night, I had completely forgotten to call Violet's roommate. It wasn't a conversation I was particularly looking forward to -- Maggie would completely freak out, if I knew her at all.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hey? Where are you and Violet? You left for the gym an hour and a half ago. I know you two are trying to get into shape, but this is a bit excessive."

"Hey, yeah. Uh, things didn't go as planned," I nibbled on a pinky nail.

"What do you mean? Did you get kidnapped or something?" She joked.

"Kind of? Vi's in the hospital."

"You're hilarious. What, did you guys go for smoothies or something? And not invite me?"

"Maggie, no. She's seriously hurt."

"What? Is she okay? What happened? Oh my gosh, not Violet! I warned her not to work out to hard, she's barely moved in ages --"

"A guy flew off a treadmill and hit her."

"Oh my gosh are you joking? How in the world --"

"I'm really not sure how it happened, I'll update you when I can, alright?"

"I'm still so confused, though! Is she okay?!" I could hear Maggie's voice breaking and wished there was something I could say to comfort her.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? I mean, she was obviously bad enough to go to the hospital, but how bad is that, exactly? Did she need stitches, or was she just beaten up?"

"Well, uh, she's a little worse than that." My scalp was starting to hurt from pulling at my hair.

"What? What do you mean? How bad is she? I mean, you drove her, right? I feel like you should know!"

"Actually, I didn't drive her."

"What?!"

"She was unconscious so they sent an ambulance."

"Unconscious? An ambulance?!"

I winced. "Yes."

"And you haven't seen her?"

"No, I've just been sitting outside the ICU."

"The ICU?! I'm coming over."

"No, don't worry about it, I'm sure she'll be okay. I'll just keep updating --"

"No. I'm on my way." With a click, she was gone, and twenty minutes later, she was sitting next to me in the silent waiting room.

Hours later, Maggie gently shook me awake and I struggled desperately to focus on what the nurse in front of me was saying. I spent the next twenty minutes wading through thick medical terminology (the only words I recognized were 'comatose' and "intravenous fluids') only complicated by the intelligent, informed questions only a nursing major like Maggie would ask. Finally, the nurse smiled and turned to lead is deeper into the labyrinth of hospital hallways.

"Here you are," she said, sounding much too chipper for two o'clock in the morning.

We thanked her, walked into the room, and Maggie burst into tears.

***Coming Next: the "battered twenty-something boy" from the waiting room makes a weird reappearance