HE FORGETS NOT HIS OWN by Edward L. Woodyard

He Forgets Not His Own Part Four

Scott McCulloch drove the Bimmer across the state line into Iowa. It was still dark. It would be another hour before the canopy of stars would gradually surrender to nascent light from a waking sun. Maya shifted in the backseat, her head now resting on her coat against the rear passenger window, while Kevin barricaded the front passenger side door, his head drooping off his shoulders onto his chest but still being covered by his hoodie.

It was quiet inside the Bimmer; the most noticeable sound being the steady whirr of its tires or an occasional swish from the backdraft of a passing semi-trailer, sporadically pushing the Bimmer toward the right shoulder when the truck was exceeding the speed limit. Scott was thankful that spotting their headlights in his sideview mirror warned him to grasp the steering wheel tighter to allow him to maintain control as the semis passed him at more than one hundred miles-per-hour.

During lulls in the interstate traffic, Scott had pondered his earlier conversation with Kevin, prompting him to remember the last time he was home, especially what he had said to his father when he had stormed off eight years ago. Two days later, on his flight to San Francisco, Scott had calmed down, even though uncertainty in his life was making him contradictory, both unsettling and exciting him. Even if the adrenaline from his anger had subsided, it was still too early to retract what he had yelled to his father. He felt that any immediate apology would be self-serving and dishonest; there had been a truth in his anger. He had made his decision and he would live with it – but so would everyone else in the family. It had not been what he wanted, but it was what had happened. He was well aware that his actions had consequences. He had to accept what he had done and to make the best of it – or make the best as he could of it.

As the Bimmer started out across Iowa, Scott remembered being midway through the flight to San Francisco after that "Thank-less-giving" and being on his third bourbon. Staring out the window at the plane's wing, he had wanted to recall the last time he felt that his father truly loved him, when he hadn't disappointed Sam McCulloch somehow.

He thought of the ride in the ambulance hurtling to Brattleboro, Vermont, when he was being monitored by a woman paramedic, his worried father sitting beside him, gently touching his arm which was under a heated blanket and attached to wires and tubes, trying to keep Scott calm. The paramedic was in constant communication with a hospital in Brattleboro, every five minutes announcing the digital numbers on pulse and blood pressure monitors to a nurse on the other end. It was almost an hour to the hospital's trauma unit and no one would answer the question which Sam had asked when a doctor at the ski area had first called for an ambulance: was Scott's injury life-threatening?

Scott was fifteen and a terror on skis, especially when carving deep turns through a giant slalom or downhill course. He had hit an aerial jump in a terrain park and was literally flying through the air when he realized that he was off-balance and tried to straighten himself out, swinging his arms desperately to correct his fall. He knew that no matter what he did, when he hit the ice pack on the backside of the jump, it would be extremely hard – and he would be hurt. He didn't realize how badly he was injured until he shook himself out of a sudden stillness and saw his helmet next to him, his bindings released, one ski scraping the ice and another one ten feet up the mountain behind him. Once he finally stopped sliding, he kept his body calm until he could stand up, but he felt immense pain in his lower abdomen. He had to find his father in the lodge at the base of the mountain.

Julia had already left Vermont to drive back home; she was teaching the next day and the other kids were tired so they had left for home after breakfast. Scott had insisted he wanted to get in a full day of skiing so, he and Sam skied together most of the afternoon, but Sam was getting tired himself, deciding to wait at the lodge for Scott to take one final run of the weekend. When he saw Scott ski erratically toward him, Sam knew something serious had happened.