Emergency Room
This is the opening scene from my book Motorcycle Stories - Finding forgiveness on the open road
There was nothing new about Mom and Dad arguing in the kitchen. But the loud crash and sound of glass breaking was new. It was April of 1974 and I was in my bedroom looking at maps, planning my first week long motorcycle trip to Mount Washington. I was seventeen and my brother Randy was four years younger. I was eagerly anticipating my trip.
At the sound of the crash, I dropped what I was doing and raced out of my bedroom to find broken glass all over the floor. Dad was pounding on the bathroom door. “Joanne, come out!”
“What the hell’s happening?” I asked.
Dad gave me a quick glance. “Your mother locked herself in the bathroom with her pills.”
Randy came running up the stairs from the basement, his eyes wide with fear. “What’s going on?”
From behind the door, I heard Mom crying. “I’m going to do it this time!”
“Joanne, if you don’t come out, I’m going to break down the door!”
Nothing.
“Stand back, boys.”
Dad backed up and rammed the door hard with his shoulder. No good. He stood back, lifted his leg and kicked the door once, then again. Splinters flew, and the door fell off its hinges.
Mom backed up against the wall, crying. She held up a bottle of pills to her mouth. Randy stared, wide-eyed. “No, Mom!”
She swallowed the pills and threw the bottle to the ground. Her brow furrowed and her eyes were wide. “Now, you’ll be happy!”
Dad grabbed Mom by the throat and held her against the wall with one hand. Using the other, he pried her mouth open. A few pills fell to the floor. Mom slid down the wall and sat there crumpled, sobbing.
Dad threw Randy the keys. “Start the car! Scott, help me with your mother.”
Dad and I held Mom between us as we walked her out of the bathroom and down the steps. It was all I could do to support her dead weight.
Groggy and crying, Mom said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sor ...”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said.
Dad and I placed her in the front seat. I raced around the side of the car, threw the door open, jumped in, and slammed it closed. My heart raced with fear as I looked at Randy who sat next to me.
We screeched down the driveway, Mom slouching to the right with her head on the window.
Randy looked at me, his eyes filling with tears. "Brother, will Mom be okay?"
He always called me Brother. Normally it pissed me off, but not today.
I touched his shoulder. “Yes, but we have to get to the hospital.”
“Drive faster!” Randy pleaded.
It was a twenty-five-minute drive. Dad and I ushered Mom into the Emergency Room where the staff put her on a stretcher and wheeled her away. Dad turned to us, “Wait here, I’m going with the doctors.”
Randy and I stood there in the hallway looking at each other as they pushed her through a set of double doors. I wondered if I would ever see her again. I put my arm around Randy. “Let’s wait over there,” I said pointing to a waiting room.
They told us if we had arrived fifteen minutes later, that would have been it. I thought, holy shit, she actually almost died. What the hell would I have done then?
They pumped her stomach and attached her to IVs. They inserted an oxygen tube into her nose. They told us she would be alright, but wanted to keep her overnight to be sure.
We all stood around her. I was holding her hand.
Mom looked at me. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“It's okay. You need help.”
Crying, Randy moved to the other side of the bed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
She had been detaching from our family ever since I was in third grade. We moved from the suburbs of Norristown to what Randy, Dad, and I considered a place of adventure. Randy and I explored the rugged, mountainous woodlands scattered with boulders from the ice age. Mom didn’t feel the same way. She often slept in till 1 PM, then moved to the kitchen where she would sit in her blue paisley bathrobe, smoking and drinking coffee. It made me angry that she was not part of the family and sat there staring into the distance. I didn’t realize how addicted she was to what she called “my pills” until the drama that was unfolding in front of us. I was pissed and scared at the same time. Pissed because she was removing herself from our family and scared because I wanted her to be okay.
I looked down at her, she looked so fragile, like a half broken china doll that could fall apart at any time.
Dad put his arms around us. “Come on boys, it’s time to go.”
This is the opening scene from my upcoming book Motorcycle Stories - Finding forgiveness on the open road. It is the story of Scott, a young timid boy saving up and buying a motorcycle that becomes his lifelong love. He and his best friend Ross take motorcycle trips around the northeastern U. S. where Scott faces his fears and comes to grips with his drug addicted and abusive mother. For more about the book, please see https://www.scottocamb.com/ and subscribe to my Substack to stay informed about the book’s launch this fall.
What do you think of my opening scene. Please leave me a comment and let me know.
Just found you Scott and I would keep reading, I was hooked.
Beautifully written, well edited. Scott, you gave this to us as if it just occurred yesterday - immediate, alive, frightening. I can see why taking to the road was so compelling. I wonder if finding out what eventually happened to your mom in the end is essential for us to know? Maybe this provided enough for us to imagine the rest? Sharron at 🍁Leaves