Transformation Accomplished

A young man experiences a horrible wreck that almost takes his life. 847 words

I admit it. I was a horrible kid. Living on the street can do that to you. Mom did her best, but we moved around a lot. Who knows what happened to dad. I don't remember having one. I used to imagine what he was like. Always a terrible man that beat my mother, drank, and made his money doing criminal acts. He would of spoiled me though. After all, I was his son.

After I graduated from High School I got a job with the local newspaper. Mr. Cole, the Editor in Chief, tried to take me under his wing. He was a stout man with thick glasses and a thin mustache. The mustache was the most hair he had above his neck. He always wore that black hat that didn't match his navy business suit. I wasn't striving to be the next editor though. I wanted to work for the tabloids. Ruining reputations and knocking stars off their pedestols. That's what I wanted. Nobody could make up lies and make the public believe it better than me. I made the Rock Bottom Times the dirtiest rag in three counties.

I earned thousands. Got myself a penthouse suite with a pool. Two stories. I drove a Ferarri, just like Magnum. Unlike his though, mine was my own and slick black. I wore grey trousers with black suspenders over my white button down shirt. I kept the first few buttons opened and my signature blue necktie loose around my neck. I had blue suede shoes to match the tie. My blond hair was a bit longer than people liked and I kept it slicked and combed to the left under my blue fedora. All the blue was to match my dark blue eyes.

I drove too fast, I know that. The night it happened, I was driving up Blackberry Way. I didn't normally take that route, but there was construction on Mack Boulevard so I had to take the back way to the penthouse. The street was deserted so I shifted into high gear. I threw my hat in the back seat so I could feel the wind in my hair. I couldn't imagine anyone who wouldn't want to be me.

I don't know how it happened. All I remember is suddenly flipping side over side off the edge of the road. I could hear the crunch of the metal. The glass splintered into my face. I could smell the rusty tang of blood. It seemed like forever before the car stopped in the ravine at the bottom of the hill. I smelled gas fumes. I couldn't move or see. I felt myself sinking into the mud. I tried to call out but nothing came out of my dry throat. I choked. As everything started to blur and spin I thought I heard sirens. All I could think was that they were too late.

I woke in a hospital eight days later. My face was bandaged and I was in restraints. When I was able to make a sound I was immediately surrounded by medical workers. I saw one put a needle in my IV. Everything swam away into blackness.

Two days after that I woke again. Nathan Cole was sitting in a chair next to me. He started talking when he saw I was awake. I didn't catch all of it. Just that the doctors had done everything they could. I lost my right leg. The top left quarter of my face had been severely damaged, but they were able to save most of my eye socket.. With the help of a donor eye, I would still have most of my vision.

Over the months of rehabilitation, I had a lot of time to think about how I had conducted my life. If I had died that night, I doubted it would have left behind any more meaning than a sour footnote. I decided that wasn't what I wanted for Jack Matlin.

I researched all the people who I had ruined. I made anonymous donations to them all. I sold my penthouse and bought a modest shack on the beach. I hired a driver and bought him a modest sedan. Matthew became my caregiver as well and eventually we became life partners. I started getting to know regular people. People who had brought themselves up from the rock bottom parts of life. Nathan Cole and I bought the newspaper together and changed the name to Bottom Up Times. One of the first stories I published in the new paper was a tribute to my mother. I started a foundation named after her to help single mothers change their lives.

I made money by investing in up and coming companies that became industrial giants. Turned out I had a sense for knowing just who was going to make it with just a small helping hand.

When I finally did pass, I was defintiely more than a sour footnote. I was celebrated as a philanthropist, and entreprenuer, and a generous kind individual. That was something worth leaving behind.