33 Bones
Matt Chapman
Copyright 2011 by Matt Chapman
Smashwords Edition
Chapter 1
The sun was too bright. While otherwise a picturesque spring day in the Bay area, the intensity of the late afternoon sun pierced through even the darkest tinted sunglasses. The Audi A6 hummed along the roadway, much quieter than its owner. “I don’t care what Product Development says, we need to ship the new heart monitors by the first of the month or we’ll lose this deal,” stressed Joanie into her mobile phone. “Of course all the contracts are in place, that’s why you promoted me, right? I’m on my way to an appointment and I’ll be checking email later tonight.” Joanie finished her conversation with the divisional president and turned her attention back to the road, squinting against the glare of the sun through her Ralph Lauren shades.
Joanie Saunders enjoyed her new title of Vice President of Sales for the startup medical device company. Maybe it was the new business cards she could pass around, or possibly the staff of twelve she supervised, but more likely it was the six figure base salary and unlimited commission potential for selling a product that sold itself.
MedEquip’s new heart monitor functioned as a standalone wireless device that communicated with the hospital computer system no matter which floor or room the patient was located in. The device remained implanted within patients after they were discharged and allowed the hospital to monitor heart rates via a wireless network. MedEquip also kept a central database with all patient information and statistical analysis of previous heart rates. If a patient visited a new hospital on the other side of the country, the doctor punched the unique serial number into the hospital’s computer and the device downloaded the patient’s heart rate history from the company’s central database.
Hospitals around the country were scrambling to acquire this new device and there were days when Joanie sat in her office taking order after order by phone, stealing a break to pull out her desk calculator to determine her commission check.
To call Joanie a workaholic was an understatement. She did not differentiate between work hours and the rest of her life. Her mobile phone was a permanent wardrobe accessory and chirped with calls and emails at all hours of the day and weekends. She was always in a hurry and never worried about working out to stay in shape as she never took the time to rest or even eat full meals. Joanie couldn’t recall the last television show she watched or the last book she read for pleasure, however she could spit out last month’s sales numbers and next month’s forecast without hesitation. Joanie knew she was destined for corporate stardom, and very few people stood in the way of her goals. She joked with herself that she didn’t even know how to spell the word failure. In fact, there was a bit of truth in her internal self appraisal. Everything about life was positive for Joanie; no setbacks, no disappointments, and every choice she made worked out for the best.
Her appearance did nothing to contradict her successful corporate image. Expensive silk shirts and tailored business suits was the standard wardrobe. The skirts may have been an inch shorter than the current accepted style; however, in her profession the buyers were men. Sex sells, and Joanie was not afraid to use this to her advantage. She spent close to an hour each morning on her hair and makeup, emerging from the bathroom looking like an evening news anchorwoman. Joanie’s blue eyes had a cold, icy look to them, complementing her artificial blonde, wavy hair. She exuded confidence in every way, an intimidating presence for people who met her for the first time, men and women alike.
As she neared her exit for San Mateo, just south of San Francisco, she realized that her directions to the office were still in her computer bag. Joanie glanced to her right to see her bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and then back to the road as traffic was a bit heavier than earlier. She leaned over to grab her bag and grunted in despair as the seatbelt kept her bag beyond her outstretched hand.
“Damn seatbelts.” She unclipped the safety belt and once again lunged for the computer bag, which this time, was within reach. Her eyes turned back to the road just in time to see brake lights.
Joanie’s brain sent the message through her spinal cord and through her nerve network to the muscles of her right foot to slam down on the brake pedal. In the same split second, she also realized that the distance between her car and one in front of her diminished and braking alone was not going to cut it. Joanie’s instinct took over and her hands jerked the wheel to the left in an attempt to swerve into the left lane to avoid rear-ending the vehicle in front of her. The Audi’s steering was too sensitive. Her reaction exceeded the car’s traction control system and the silver metallic sedan skidded sideways into the adjoining lane.
Joanie’s last image that sunny afternoon was the vivid glare of the sun reflecting off the shiny grille of a full-size pickup as it crashed into the driver side door.
Chapter 2
I stared at another pie chart projected onto the screen, having something to do with the production numbers for last quarter. Brent was not known as an animated speaker, and made no attempt to change his reputation this afternoon. The sun was bright enough to necessitate lowering the shades in the large conference room, the ensuing darkness having a less than positive affect on my ability to concentrate.
Looking around, I wondered if any of my co-workers were paying attention. Brent, my boss for the past four years was a fair and honest manager. He lacked the charisma and leadership qualities to ever move beyond middle-management, but seemed to accept his role in the corporate world without further aspiration. Brent was happy to stay in his director-level job the rest of his career. His salary allowed his wife to stay at home with his two kids. They were living in their average-sized house and still had enough discretionary income to take the family to Disneyworld or a beach vacation each year. Brent was content with having reached his career plateau. While he mumbled on about the region’s quarterly performance, my ability to focus lessened and I found myself fighting to keep my eyes open.
A familiar vibration coming from my right pocket interrupted my Brent-induced coma. It was a good thing I remembered to switch my phone to silent mode before the meeting. I didn’t want to be ‘that guy’, the moron who forgets to turn their phone ringer off during meetings. I slid my phone from my pocket and glanced at the caller ID screen, ‘Unknown Caller’. While I wanted a reason to leave this meeting, the ‘Unknown Caller’ call was not enough motivation to sneak out of the room. Since I started to use my mobile phone exclusively, I inevitably began to receive telemarketing calls, one of the downsides of my decision to cancel my land line. I pressed a button on the phone that stopped the vibration and sent the call direct to my voicemail.
Five minutes later, my wish to leave the meeting came true. An administrative assistant poked her head into the conference room, locked eyes with me and motioned with her finger to follow. I grabbed my notebook and scurried from the conference room, eager to find out what saved me from another hour in the dark conference room listening to Brent moan on about pie charts and production trends.
There are times when you look back on a moment in your life, and realize the magnitude of the event and how it changed your life forever. Some of these moments remain as vivid in your brain as if they occurred yesterday. In other instances, the memory becomes more of a blur. This moment was one of the latter, but somehow I knew right then my life would never be the same. While I recall little, I do remember the words: wife, Joanie, horrible and accident.
Chapter 3
The ambulance raced past traffic, sirens wailing and lights flashing. While the paramedic in back with the unconscious woman worked at a frantic pace, Ben Shields knew that every valuable second between now and reaching the hospital could mean the difference between a miracle and a dead accident victim. The paramedics had reached the accident scene believing they had a D.O.A. on their hands. The dead on arrival cases were routine. A sheet and a blanket covered the body, requiring the paramedics to enclose the deceased in a body bag and take the non-emergency route to the county morgue. Mentally, it was much easier to disassociate yourself with the deceased. You never had the opportunity to save their life; you were transporting a body.
Upon arriving, Ben’s first thoughts were D.O.A after seeing the pile of mangled metal that was once a sleek, beautiful sedan. He was amazed to discover the unconscious driver still had a pulse. Years of training and accident simulations prepared Ben for moments like this. Part of his mental justification for leaving medical school early was that by becoming a paramedic, he was involved in medicine and had the opportunity to save lives without the years of schooling and high malpractice rates. Today, he had a chance to save a life.
Ben and his partner rotated between driving and attending to the patient in the back of ambulance, and he understood his driving role today was no less important. His partner worked to stabilize the patient, take various readings, anything within reason to give the patient a chance to reach the hospital’s talented surgeons. Ben’s role was equally vital, balancing efficiency and safety while he navigated the busy traffic. At the accident scene, the paramedic team worked in rapid silence, loading Joanie onto the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. Ben raced down the interstate, reaching 90 miles an hour, mindful of the vehicles in the lane next to him may not see his flashing lights or hear his wailing siren. One accident on this bright, sunny day was enough.
Normally, Ben erred on the side of caution, trusting his partner had the situation in back under control. This time was different. He didn’t know her name was Joanie, but he knew he transported a woman hanging on to life by a single thread. He also noticed she wore a wedding ring and what looked to be expensive clothes. Ben was married, and his motivation to reach the hospital increased by the thought of this patient having a husband out there, and just now receiving the message that his wife was involved in a major accident. This was not a way for anyone to die, not like this.
Chapter 4
Did the elevator move this slowly all the time? I rode from the fifteenth floor down to the parking garage every day for over three years and never before noticed how long it took. My aggravation with the speed of the elevator grew toward anger when I thought of where I parked my car. Every day I parked it at the far end of the parking garage surrounded by empty spaces, many of them closer to the door. And my reasoning was not out of concern for protecting my precious vehicle from the random door ding, as some idiots do with their new car. I liked familiarity and consistency. I knew that at the end of every day, my Honda Accord sat in the exact same spot. Also, I calculated that walking an extra hundred or so steps twice a day contributed to my exercise plan and weight loss goals. As silly as it sounded, I was pretty proud of myself over little things like this.
My black-and-white, logical and methodical way of thinking failed me. I didn’t consider that parking in the furthest spot from the door caused a delay of several valuable seconds in an emergency situation like today. I started the car and glanced down at my phone to see eight full minutes had passed since that incoming call I ignored. Would these precious moments be the difference between arriving to the hospital in time and missing a chance to see Joanie alive one more time? I stopped my negative thoughts. I had no reason to believe Joanie was in a dire situation. ‘Major car accident’ could mean a lot of different things, right? Maybe it was the number of cars involved that gave it the major notation. Joanie might have a broken bone and some cuts and bruises. As I sped toward the hospital, I started to feel a sense of relief, that maybe this wasn’t as bad as I originally thought.
The feeling lasted about three seconds until my brain landed upon a new thought. Joanie never, ever was without her mobile phone. If she merely suffered minor injuries, why didn’t she call me directly to let me know everything was ok? I dialed her number, programmed into my phone as “Sweetie”, and awaited her cheerful answer.
I slammed the Accord’s steering wheel hard enough to hurt my hand as her voicemail picked up. This was not a good sign and there was nothing I could do about it. Compounding the problem, traffic slowed to a crawl. At this rate, thirty minutes will go by before I reach the hospital and over forty five minutes since the call from the hospital.
I started to process the options in my head. Should I remain on the highway? Find side streets and a potential shortcut? My frustration grew as I realized there was nothing I could do but sit and stare at the bumper ahead of me. Later, I looked back on this moment and wondered why I restricted my thinking to law-abiding options. Why didn’t I race past the stopped traffic along the shoulder, honking my horn and flashing my lights? Why was I afraid of breaking the law? What was wrong with me? Maybe I was concerned that other drivers got upset by someone illegally bypassing the traffic. How could my logical, follow-the-rules mentality win the battle over the emotion and anxiety of knowing Joanie might be dying in some emergency room five miles away? Many questions still needed answering, even at 28 years old. I did not know what awaited me at the hospital. I also did not realize that I was at the starting point of a new journey, one both frightening and exciting, and a journey that helped me answer these questions.
Chapter 5
Ben found himself thinking quite a bit about his patients in the few minutes of transporting them to the hospital. As in today’s accident, he often doesn’t catch the name of the injured patient. It’s rare to hold a personal conversation with them at all. Either because he is so busy attending to the injuries to talk, or as with the woman in back of the ambulance today, the victim is unconscious. Nevertheless, Ben found himself thinking about this woman riding along with him to the hospital.
He deduced if happiness in marriage had a direct correlation to the size of the diamond ring, she was a very happily married woman. Ben could tell she drove a nice car prior to the full size pickup all but tearing it into two pieces. And while her clothes were ripped and blood-stained, Ben could tell by the fabric it was a nice suit. Ben guessed she was a successful businesswoman, happily married to some rich lawyer, doctor or business executive. They probably lived in a refurbished condominium in the Marina district or maybe the Russian Hill neighborhood of San Francisco, an area Ben could never afford on his salary.
The hardest part about Ben’s job was dropping a patient off at the hospital. He wished he could stay and assist the emergency room staff. Under normal circumstances, he never found out if the patient survives or dies, as he races to the next emergency call. In a few of the more serious cases, he made a point to stop back by the hospital to check on the patient’s status. He promised himself to stop by the hospital later tonight and hopefully learn that her life was saved. It didn’t give Ben the same satisfaction as being the doctor in the emergency room, but there was still a feeling of fulfillment in his job that he contributed to saving this woman’s life.
The ambulance pulled up to the emergency room doors where once again, Ben felt the pain of handing off another patient, not knowing what the outcome might be. He said a silent prayer to himself as an unconscious Joanie was wheeled in through the automatic sliding doors, still on the verge of death. Ben looked down at his watch and noticed his shift was complete for the day. Without putting another second of thought into it, he tossed the ambulance keys to his partner and followed the stretcher in through the hospital doors to see if he could help this woman in any way.
Chapter 6
I hate hospitals. Everything is so white and sterile and there is an indistinguishable smell in the air, a cross between death and whatever cheap cleaning solution is used to sanitize the floors. I avoided hospitals like little kids avoid lima beans at the dinner table. I never went to the doctor when I was sick, and rarely took medicine. My only knowledge of an emergency room was what I saw on ER. My initial thought as I burst through the doors was that the television version was not very much like real life. A number of people sat around in a comfortable waiting room reading magazines, staring at the floor or glancing up at a television on the wall showing CNN with no sound. There were no nurses, no doctors running around, no stretchers, no alarms, and no blood, nothing close to the chaos I was used to watching. I even looked back through the automatic doors to make sure I was in the Emergency Room entrance.
I found the information desk and in a frantic voice asked which room Joanie Saunders was in. The much too polite desk attendant looked at her computer for a few seconds and responded in a monotone voice, “It looks like patient Saunders is currently in surgery up on three….but sir, you can’t go up there!” The last part faded away as I ran down the hall toward the red exit sign, marking the door for the stairwell.
I rushed up to floor number three, and entered an even more subdued atmosphere. There were no patients, nurses or doctors anywhere in sight, rather a series of doors and hallways. I continued down the hall, trying to figure out where I was going. I didn’t make it far before a large arm across my chest stopped me in my tracks.
“What are you doing? You can’t be here without scrubs and a mask.” I looked over to see a large man, well over six feet and outweighing me by at least fifty pounds, dressed in a paramedic uniform. He ushered me back toward the elevators before I could find my breath, winded from my sprint around the hospital.
“My wife, I think my wife is in surgery. She was in a car accident; I got the message at work. Traffic was bad, the elevator was slow, and Joanie didn’t answer her phone. Is she ok? Do you know her? Can I see her?” The words stumbled out of my mouth. “Please tell me how my wife is doing.”
The paramedic put a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, “Sir, your wife is in the hands of very talented doctors who are trying to save her life and there is nothing you can do to help up here. I recommend you wait downstairs in the waiting area; this might take awhile.”
Chapter 7
There were other people sitting in the waiting room when I arrived, but my thoughts were too focused on Joanie to even acknowledge their existence. A few moments later, the paramedic who ushered me off the surgery floor brought me a cup of coffee and introduced himself as Ben. “I was there, at the scene of the accident,” he said after a few moments of silence.
I couldn’t think of an appropriate response and instead mumbled, “Thanks for the coffee.”
“I’m not even on the clock anymore, but I wanted to make sure she was going to make it. I wanted to pray for her, you and your family.”
Ben’s mention of family sparked my brain into thought. I didn’t think to call Joanie’s family and I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to dial the number. “Ben, I appreciate your concern and anything you may have done today to help save her life. Right now I need to get in touch with Joanie’s family and I would rather have some privacy.”
“Of course. Sorry sir, I mean, I wasn’t trying to impose. I just thought…never mind. I’ll get out of your way. I promise I will continue to pray for your wife and I hope she comes out of this alright.” Ben turned and walked away before I could muster a response. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t religious, but even as I sat there in the waiting room, I figured anything helped Joanie at this point, even some prayers from a stranger.
I picked up my phone, dialed a number from memory, and Joanie’s brother answered on the first ring. “Brian, hey it’s Travis.”
My tone must have given away my purpose for calling. “What’s up Trav? Something wrong?”
“It’s Joanie. She’s been in a bad car accident and is in surgery right now,” I calmly replied. “It’s bad, Brian. The doctors won’t give me any information at all. Can you call your folks for me? You all should get out here as soon as possible.”
I always had the feeling Joanie’s parents blamed me for her ending up in San Francisco and not in her hometown of Houston. I didn’t want to get on the phone with her father so he could berate me for having his only daughter 2000 miles away and on the verge of death. Joanie’s parents believed the primary purpose for getting married was to start having kids. And also to live within a ten minute drive so the kids were closer to their grandparents. In this instance, calling Brian first was taking the easy way out.
“Oh god! That’s horrible!” said Brian. “Do you know anything? Is she conscious? Is she going to make it? I’ll get in touch with everyone and be on the first plane out there. I’ll keep my phone with me the whole time, so if you get an update, please call right away and I can relay the message. I’ll get back in touch after our flights are all scheduled and let you know.”
I ignored his questions. “Hurry, Brian. Get here as soon as you can.”
Chapter 8
I tried to take my mind off the surgery while I sat there in the waiting room by looking around at the other people around me. There was an old man sitting by himself in the corner, staring straight ahead. I thought he must be waiting on his wife or something similar. Across the room was a group of three, perhaps a wife and two daughters waiting on the results of their husband and father. The three of them were smiling and chatting about something mildly humorous, possibly awaiting less serious surgery results than myself. One of the daughters was wearing a tattered University of California, Berkeley baseball hat, typical of many college kids. A familiar look, it reminded me of Joanie’s Tulane University hat.
The test booklet blurred my vision as I looked at the last question. I glanced at my watch to see I still had an hour left in my Organic Chemistry final exam. I was sitting here in the same chair for three hours, agonizing over my most difficult class of the final semester in my sophomore year.
Organic Chemistry was my hardest class for two reasons. First of all, my major was Chemical Engineering, meaning most of my classes were more oriented to problem solving and open-book tests. Organic Chemistry tests were more an exercise of memorization rather than problem solving, my intellectual strength. Memorization required long hours of studying and library time, a weakness of mine, especially going to college in a city like New Orleans where the bars never close and there’s always a party going on somewhere.
The second reason Organic Chemistry was so difficult was that it included primarily pre-med students. These were the students who spent five or more nights a week studying in the library, rather than looking for the bar with the best drink special that night. The pre-meds were ultra-competitive, as most needed a 3.5 or better grade point average to have medical schools consider them. Since the class was graded on a curve, my expectations for a good grade were limited.
After a few more moments of thought, I decided to skip the last question as it was not worth the effort. I calculated that the value of the question didn’t impact my overall grade for the class enough to worry about it. I would still receive above a 3.0 grade point average for the overall semester, right in line with my cumulative GPA. And besides, it was a sunny 80 degree New Orleans day and I knew my roommate, Will, was waiting for me at the bar for a celebratory beer. It was an easy decision.
I got up from my chair and walked to the front of the room to hand in my test. I noticed a few disgusted looks from other students as I walked out early with a smile on my face. The rest were going to spend the entire four hours going over their answers two or three more times, those pre-med geeks.
The Boot was a typical college bar on the edge of Tulane’s campus. It was right on Broadway, also the home of the school’s sorority and fraternity houses. The place was always lively at night with a mix of frat boys, sorority girls and the freshmen and sophomore students living on campus. Every year there was a new rumor that they sold the most beer of any bar in the United States, a statement made by college bars across the entire country. The Boot was a great bar to meet up with friends before a long night of bar-hopping, or a late night last call for a burger or order of cheese fries. During the day, however, The Boot was empty except for the bartenders and cleaning crew preparing for another busy evening. There were a small number of tables out on the sidewalk, ideal for a pitcher of beer on a sunny day and watching the coeds walking by. To my enjoyment, Will secured a prime table right outside the door, facing campus so he could see everyone walk past.
“How’d the test go?” Will ventured, as I sat down across from him and filled a frosty glass of Abita Amber from the pitcher he was already working on.
“Brutal. I’m glad we’re done for the year and don’t have to pick up another book until the fall.” We clanked our glasses to celebrate the end of our final exams and each took a healthy swig of beer. “What about you?” I asked. “Didn’t you have your Econ final this afternoon?”
“Nope. I ran into my professor last night at the bar and we negotiated a grade,” responded Will.
“What? How in the hell did you manage that?”
“I already had an A- going into the final, and I asked him if he was willing to give me a B for a final grade if I didn’t take the final, one less exam for him to grade.”
“And he agreed to it?” I asked, bewildered at the thought of this agreement.
“No. He said that a B was too low and knew I would do better than that. He offered me a B+ instead. So I bought him a shot of Jose Cuervo and we shared the last of a joint while we watched the band’s second set!”
“Only you, Will. Only you.”
Will was the type of guy you could never hate. Tulane University was a private school and had two types of students. On one hand were students on some significant financial aid, like me. On the other hand were kids with parents who could afford to pay more than thirty thousand per year tuition before room and board. Will was of the latter type. He came from a wealthy family outside of Dallas, and never took one minute of his college years seriously. I often jokingly thanked him and his family for supporting the tuition of people like me.
When I met Will, as my randomly assigned roommate prior to our freshman year, I was doubtful we would get along. I was raised in a hard-working blue collar family while he was born with a trust fund. I was raised in the Midwest and went to public high school. He was raised in the South and went to a private school with school uniforms and attended debutante balls. Even after hours of explanation, I never did figure out the point of a debutante ball. It seemed more like an opportunity for the parents to show off to their friends how much money they had and how big a party they could throw.
I was reserved and quiet; Will was outspoken and loud. I liked football and baseball, he liked golf and tennis. My first impression when we met was that he was an arrogant, stuck up rich kid, the kind I avoided in high school, but it didn’t take long to realize how wrong I was about him. Will was one of the nicest guys you could meet. He wasn’t the type to have a best friend, although he seemed to know everyone on campus. He never joined a fraternity, as many of us had in our freshman year; however he was always invited to the best parties. Things came naturally for Will; friends, money, girls and grades. It was easy to be envious of him, but impossible to hate him.
Will was smart enough to do anything he wanted, but he always did the absolute minimum work required to get by. His parents insisted he maintain a 3.0 GPA to keep funding his education, and sure enough, Will always ended up between a 3.0 and 3.1. He drove a brand new car around campus, and gave up the keys if I needed to borrow it since I couldn’t afford a car. There was an unspoken rule between us that he bought me dinner every so often. I never argued since I knew it was his parent’s money, always in endless supply. I never asked, but I think he bought dinner because he liked the company and wanted to enjoy some of New Orleans’ finer restaurants. I never once thought he bought me dinner because of my inferior financial situation.
Will started to tell me about a party that night at the Beta house, one of the shadier fraternities at Tulane, when something over my shoulder caught his attention. On instinct, I turned my head, anxious to see what stopped him in mid-sentence. It was that gorgeous girl from my organic chemistry class, Joanie, who was walking our way after finishing the exam. I was aware of her since my freshman year, seeing her around campus now and then. Finally, this semester I was fortunate enough to have a class with her. The unfortunate part was never finding a way to talk to her. A few times I timed it right so we were leaving class at the exact same time. Instead of striking up a conversation, the best I could muster was a smile and a brief hello. Hitting on girls was not one of my personal strengths.
Her smiles remained etched in my brain for days. It wasn’t so much her looks (don’t get me wrong, she was a combination of natural beauty and elegant sophistication), rather her mannerisms, body language and facial expressions leaving me with a total and absolute crush on her. She wore a ragged Tulane hat with her sandy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore the right amount of makeup to accentuate her beautiful blue eyes, but not enough so anyone accused her of putting too much effort into showing up for class. Her clothes were always a bit loose fitting, as most college kids wore those days, keeping her fit body mostly hidden. A pair of flip-flops completed the wardrobe, pretty common in the late spring heat of New Orleans. I even noticed her finger and toenail polish always was a matching color.
But it was her smile that transcended even her own beauty. It wasn’t one of those Hollywood-type smiles; nor was it the hanging out with friends after a few beers camera-grin. If a picture was worth a thousand words, Joanie’s smile was worth at least five thousand, an entire conservation in just one look. She held her smile for what seemed like two full minutes, long enough to send a shiver through your body. I always wondered if her smile was so overpowering that it left me speechless in my efforts to start a conversation with her. In reality, I think I was content seeing her smile and worried more about messing up any conversation and ruin the moment.
Joanie was flashing one of her patented smiles as she walked toward our table and for a brief moment, I feared the smile was directed at Will rather than me. It wasn’t a deliberate decision that day to strike up a conversation. Maybe it was liquid courage from the beer. Maybe it was the feeling of complete relaxation that my finals were over. Or quite possibly, fate intervened on that warm Friday afternoon, as I opened my mouth with no hesitation.
“So, how did you do on the organic chem final?” I asked, leaving her name out of the question since we had not yet formally met.
“Hey Travis. Um, I think I did ok. I’m happier that I’m done with exams for the year, these last two weeks were killing me.” She knew my name! I was astounded that out of thirty-plus people in our class she knew my name. It was such a surprise to me that I did not even have an appropriate response to her comment, leaving a brief period of uncomfortable silence.
“Hi. I’m Will, Travis’ roommate,” offered Will, trying to save me from embarrassment.
“Joanie. Nice to meet you, Will. And I guess it’s nice to formally meet you as well, Travis,” sarcastically extending her hand to me. Will seemed surprised as I shook her hand and offered a smile that was no match for the grin on her face.
“Trav, you have class with a beautiful girl such as Joanie here, and it takes you the entire semester for even an introduction?” Will had no intentions of saving me from embarrassment as my face turned the color of a ripe cherry. I didn’t possess the quick wit of my roommate, and I wasn’t about to trade insulting comments with someone like Will, so I turned my attention back to Joanie.
“Joanie, we’re celebrating the end of finals. Why don’t you join us for a beer?”
Before she could even respond, Will jumped up from the table and remarked, “Great idea. I’ll go grab another glass from inside.” Will was helpful when I was trying to engage in conversation with a girl, especially in drunken bar situations. He was a good wingman and today I was grateful Will was my friend and roommate.
Joanie took her backpack off her shoulder and dropped into an empty chair, smiling all the way. I took the opportunity to admire her while waiting for Will to return with an empty glass. She had barely noticeable freckles across her upper cheeks and nose, and not a blemish anywhere on her skin. Her beauty increased as I now had the chance to look at her more closely.
We fell into conversation about the exam and its questions, not even pausing as Will returned with a glass and a full pitcher. The conversation continued on naturally between the three of us, touching on common-ground subjects around campus. I learned that Joanie was originally from Houston, was a pre-med Psychology student, and planned to volunteer or find an internship back in Texas for the summer before her senior year.
Chapter 9
After thirty minutes or so, and what seemed like five minutes, Joanie announced she needed to run home and meet her roommates so they could go shopping. The comment came out of the blue, as if she remembered something and the tone was that of a sense of urgency around getting home. I asked her about it later and she admitted her roommate was waiting on her the whole time, expecting her home right after the exam. She didn’t even have time for a beer, but something inside of her gave into the invitation from us.
She thanked us for the beer, flashing the smile I would soon fall in love with, stood up and walked away. Will and I kept our eyes on her, watching her until she disappeared around the corner. A few seconds of silence followed as we met eyes. I knew what he was thinking as well, what an amazing and beautiful girl Joanie was.
Will was the first to break the silence and hit on the exact thing running through my mind. “Dude, why didn’t you ask her out? Or ask for her number? Or ask for anything? You totally played it off like you weren’t interested. She was into you.”
“C’mon Will, she was just being nice. And plus, she was suddenly up and out of here in like thirty seconds. I don’t think she’s into me.”
“No, man. She dug you.” Will’s comments stung like a shot to the gut. Why didn’t I ask her out? It was the end of the year and I had nothing to lose. I probably wouldn’t run into her again until the fall since most students vacated the campus by the middle of next week. What a chicken-shit I was.
“Trust me, Will, I wanted to. I’m not like you, though. The words don’t flow like they do for you. I kept thinking about how I could maneuver the conversation into going out with her, but it didn’t happen and I ran out of time.”
“That’s exactly your problem,” snapped Will. “You think too much!”
Will steered the conversation back to the Beta fraternity party later that night. He explained that the fraternity violated multiple university rules over the past couple years, related to hazing their incoming pledges, and for throwing illegal parties. The national fraternity recently revoked their charter, the last blow and ultimately closing the fraternity permanently.
The Betas planned one final blowout party for that night, a party for the ages. The Betas were a group of unknowns; not jocks, not geeks, not the cool crowd, and not even favorites with the ladies. However, they were famous for their parties, and the intricate themes and work that went into the preparation. Will heard rumors they were charging ten dollars per person, unusual for a fraternity party at Tulane where most parties were free. The rumors also included talk about them providing more than alcohol to the patrons; mainly mushrooms and ecstasy, the new designer drug those days, replacing cocaine as the drug of choice for college students who wanted a jumpstart to their night.
A party such as this at any other school doesn’t last ten minutes, except in New Orleans. The Betas hired two off-duty city cops to patrol the party, well aware of the many illegal activities taking place inside. Considering this was New Orleans, a city with a long list of corruption history, hiring off-duty cops to patrol a drug-infested college party did little to surprise me. Likewise, I was not surprised that Will had the complete inside scoop. He thought this might end up being the party of all parties, even for a school like Tulane; in the same city hosting both Mardi Gras and Jazz Festival each year.
I wasn’t the type to partake in drugs beyond alcohol and the occasional joint, but normally a party of this nature got me excited about attending. However, the missed opportunity with Joanie that just played out was still in the forefront of my mind. Nevertheless, I agreed to attend the party with Will. “Sure, man. Let’s check it out tonight.”
“Yes!” screamed Will, holding up his palm for a high five. “I promise it will be a night you will never forget.”
The music could be heard two blocks away, providing energy to the otherwise calm, sultry nighttime air. We rounded the corner and laid our eyes on the source of the beat. A Reggae band, playing Bob Marley covers, jammed away on their instruments on the roof of the Beta house’s front porch. Because the fraternity house was closing down in the next week or so, any upkeep on the property was ignored. There were a few broken windows, shingles were missing from the roof, and the porch the band played on looked ready to come down with every drum beat. People later swore the porch was shaking violently throughout the concert. Down below on the ground, where a parking area existed days before, palm trees strung with white Christmas lights surrounded a group of boisterous college students holding red plastic beer cups in their hands. The trees, no doubt, were illegally cut down by members of the fraternity from nearby yards, city parks or anywhere else palm trees existed in and around New Orleans. There was probably a shopping mall parking lot out in suburban Metairie with a little less foliage these days.
“Wow, would you look at that!” Will was excited by the tropical beach theme. “Ready to rip it up?” And before I could respond, Will took off in a half jog, half skip toward the crowds of people.
I decided to let Will do his thing outside with the crowd while I explored the party on my own. Skirting the crowd outside and walking up toward the door, I noticed one of the off-duty cops getting paid to monitor this little get together leaning against the house near the entrance. He seemed much more interested in the cleavage and tight asses of eighteen year-old freshmen women than anything else. His stare followed a pair of hotties as they entered the house behind him and then looked back at me with a wink and a sly grin. Rough job he had, I thought to myself.
I entered the main room of the house and to my surprise, found the entire floor covered in sand. Not a small covering, but enough sand to dig your feet into, right up to your ankle. The members of the fraternity were wearing flowered surf shorts, shirtless with white shell necklaces, and wearing Ray Ban sunglasses. Of course these were the Betas and many were not an attractive site without their shirts. It was clear they started the party long before the guests arrived and were past the point of giving a shit. It looked like most were drinking all day, and their imbibing was not limited to alcohol. A young looking guy approached me wearing a blonde wig, a grass hula skirt and a string bikini top made from coconuts; a freshman pledge made to wear the silly outfit. If the fraternity was closing in a few weeks, why did someone still go through the pledging process? Oh well, that was the personality of the Betas.
“Here you go. Cup is for the beer, and this ticket is for downstairs. Some dude named Will paid your ten bucks.”
“Thanks,” I replied, wondering how I could repay Will for his generosity over the years. He often paid for things such as this, little things he thought I didn’t notice. I’m sure I owe him a few thousand dollars for all his charity throughout our four years of college.
My curiosity over the little red ticket led me downstairs, where the atmosphere was quite different than the floor above. Black lights illuminated the empty room aside from a large set of speakers. A sea of people moving to the beat of techno music filled the open area. The walls were all spray-painted with bright colors in a non-artistic fashion, glowing from the black lights strategically placed throughout the room. I looked over to my left and noticed a door with the sign ‘Ticket Redemption’ taped upon it. Next to the door was the second cop, looking a bit more serious than his partner out front.
I walked up to the cop, showed him my ticket, and he ushered me into the small room, not much bigger than a closet. There was a desk and two chairs, one of them occupied by a guy looking like he hadn’t showered or shaved in a month or so. His scraggily beard fell down a few inches from his face, surpassed by his hair, thick dreadlocks draped over his shoulders. I couldn’t tell if he looked like that on purpose or if he was another pledge following through on some silly rule the older members came up with. He looked up at me with small, dilated pupils and gestured to the chair for me to sit down.