Police Escort

        When I close my eyes, Jack and Helena are still kissing in the bed of the truck. I open my eyes. I’ve always thought that hospitals would have a weird green glow early in the morning. This idea probably stemmed from all those horror movies I watched as a kid. This one still looks the same as it always does beige. I close my eyes again and I’m yelling at Jack for messing with my little sister. Then, I’m slurring my words at a paramedic who’s desperately trying to put me in a neck brace. I wasn’t drinking, I wasn’t drinking. I say it over and over again until I almost believe it. The paramedic isn’t convinced. I open my eyes. The pieces are falling into place one fucking blink at a time.
      A doctor enters. I feel like I should know his name. I don’t. I blink, hoping to God that I don’t see anything more. “Luke’s fine” I hear the doctor say, as if he were coming out of a radio speaker. "And Jacks in surgery, he'll be fine." I want to ask about Helena, but the words stick in this lump that's formed in my throat. And I know. I look at the doctor's face, which is blank as the wall behind him. He knows too. He looks at me and I can tell what he wants to say. I agree. It should have been me.
      I'll have a police escort to her funeral. If I can go at all.