Double Indemnity

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Double Indemnity

By Indelibleink

Lamont Williams woke to the bright lights from the fixtures high above his bed in hospital room number 313B. The same lights he had woken to every day for the past seventeen days, ever since the accident.

Ah yes, the accident. Pretty simple, really. I’m working in the storage area, and with help of a forklift, I’m rotating the perishable goods stock – a normal, bi-weekly event at Feldman Dairy. No big thing. Well, I happen upon a pallet of gallon milk cartons, and the section that contains the date code is obscured by some twisted shrink-wrap. No biggie – happens all the time. So I get off the lift truck to confirm the date on the milk. The date is exactly what I thought it would be, so, as I go to jump back up on the truck, I notice something caught under one of the rear wheels of the forklift. I get down on all fours, peer under, and discover that it’s just a coffee cup. Trouble is: I can’t reach it from this side of the vehicle. So, I walk around to the other side of the truck, and lay down, with my head behind the right rear wheel. Just as I’ve almost got the damned coffee cup, Lenny Barton from shipping comes over in search of a lift truck because he has this big-ass shipment ticketed for Wilmington, and it’s gotta go out by, like – yesterday! So he sees the keys in the forklift, and nobody around, so he hops on. Now, keep in mind that it’s really, really noisy here…what with the air compressors and vacuum packaging equipment. So, anyway, Lenny turns and looks behind him - like any safe driver should – and not seeing me because I’m laying stretched out on the floor – throws it into reverse and hits the gas. Well, the truck ain’t moving, so Lenny hops off to see what the problem is. The problem is the wheel can’t turn because my neck is impeding its progress. Broke in three places! Lenny feels awful. Honestly, though – and I ain’t blaming Lenny – I feel worse. Much worse.

Well, to say I feel worse - that’s kind of misleading - because the truth is: I don’t feel anything! The doctors say I’m lucky to be alive, but right now, I’m not so sure about that. They say I will be completely paralyzed for the rest of my life with “no chance of recovery.” That’s not very promising. “Too much damage to the spinal cord” they keep saying to Sharon. Don’t they realize that my ears work just fine? Maybe not, because they always talk like I’m not in the room. Oh yeah, I almost forgot…That’s my wife – Sharon. The lovely brunette who’s talking to the nurse right now – getting an update, I’m sure - before she comes over and talks to me. The nurse is coming to put drops in my eyes. My eyelids open all on their own sometimes – a “normal muscular spasm” - the doctors say, and so, to keep them from drying out and getting scratchy, they put drops in. Then at night they close them for me so I can sleep. They might as well tape them shut, since all I see ninety-nine percent of the time are those stinking lights. Here comes Sharon now…

Well, that was a pretty brief visit. She always asks me how I’m doing. I know she loves me, and it’s just common courtesy to ask, but do you really ask someone who can’t move one stinking muscle how in the world they’re doing? And, now she only kisses me on the cheek, maybe because kissing me on the lips now creeps her out? I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too critical. Would I want to kiss a freaking mannequin – really, that’s all I am – a horizontal stationary statue. A stationary statue that passes his time talking to himself. If the roles were reversed, what the hell would I say to her? “Hey baby, mind if I cop a feel? Go ahead – try to stop me!” God…Look at me: I’m telling sick, twisted jokes to myself. The real joke is…I can’t even muster a laugh, no matter how frickin' funny it is. And you know, I find myself swearing all the time. I never used to swear – not even in my head. Never planned on starting, either. But now…Well, I guess the point is: What does it frickin' matter? I’m just talking to statue-boy ME anyway, and that’s all I’ll ever talk to. God, if there was any way to tell Sharon to just pull the stinking plug. At least I got a good insurance policy through the company.

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FORTY-THREE DAYS AFTER THE ACCIDENT

Dear God: I just can't take it anymore. Waking up to the same "nothing" every day. No one deserves this. Please God: Just make it stop! I know I must fall under the guidelines of my living will: "No heroic measures" It couldn't be any clearer, could it? Why am I on a ventilator then? Sharon visits, but doesn't even kiss me anymore. I see she's brought the lawyer the last few times; what are they discussing, anyway? Besides, she seems to be looking at him more than she does me, anyway...Read the damned will and pull the plug, damn you! The doctors have checked me a million times and nothing changes. Why are you putting me through this?

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FIFTY-NINE DAYS AFTER THE ACCIDENT

No more doctors. No more nurses. No more nobody. Stop with the tests and pull the damned plug already! I can hear Sharon and the lawyer out in the hallway talking, but they're too far away to understand. I understand the doctors every stinking day, and it's always "Nothing new to report - nothing's changed." So what are we waiting for? If I could pull the stupid plug, I'd do it myself. I swear, I'd...Wait, did the sheet that's over my right hand just move? Holy crap! It did, and I FREAKING MOVED IT! Oh my God...This can't be happening. Oh crap! I tried to see my hand move and my eyes turned to the right a little. Jesus! IT"S A REAL-LIFE MIRACLE!! Sharon! Get your ass in here and see this! Oh my God, Thank You, 'cause here she comes...Look at my hand, Sharon, look at my hand. YES! She saw it move! She's shocked as all hell and running out of the room. I can see a little better peripherally with my eyes now. She's talking to the lawyer, who's pointing back into my room. Here she comes. Look at the tears of joy she's crying! Oh my God! I will have my life back! Wait here comes the Lawyer and the doctor and a nurse. Man, they'll have the whole Mayo frickin' Clinic in here pretty soon. Look at my hand Doc, nurse, look! Ow! What the...? Sharon! You're sitting on my frickin' hand! GET OFF MY HAND! HOW DO YOU EXPECT ANYONE TO SEE IT? Look at my eyes, Doc...Wait! Now Sharon's kissing me all over my face. YOU IDIOT! The doctor and nurse will never see my eyes move now. Wait...He's talking...OH CHRIST! He's saying, "I know what the will said, but we had to wait until we were absolutely certain that he had no chance of recovery. This shot of morphine will help him with the 'transition' when we remove the ventilator. I'll leave you alone with your husband now." JESUS! NO, SHARON! You saw my hand move! What the...I'll die without the respirator! I don't have to die now! Wait, the lawyer's talking...He's saying, "You make sure no one sees that right hand of his until it's over, okay?" Jesus, Sharon, what are you doing to me? I'm your HUSBAND! Oh God, did he just slap Sharon on the ass?? I'm getting so sleepy. Wait, she...she's going to talk to me...Oh Jesus, she is saying, "Forgive me, my darling, but I just couldn't take this anymore...I'm in love with Henry, the lawyer, and he explained that if you die from the accident within 60 days of its occurrence, the insurance policy pays double indemnity. When I saw your hand move, I was happy, but Henry said that you might never fully recover, and I just couldn't take a life full of hospital visits and rehabilitation. Pleasant dreams, my love..." Oh my God, my eyes are closing on their own! Sharon! What in the hell is double indemnity? I know I will fully recover...I...know...Sharon...Shar...          

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Williams. He's gone."

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Words: 1430