Page 6 of Road Rash

“What’s your name?” the nurse asks.

“Betsy-Grace Jones. Everyone calls me Jonesie.” Her voice comes low and scratchy.

“How old are you?” she asks next.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Good, good… how’re you feeling?”

“Head hurts. Tired.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Jonesie don’t bother to say goodbye. She closes her eyes and drifts off.

I wake every damn time the nurse comes in to check on her. The next morning, with the light filtering in through the window, I hear Jonesie. “Hey, Old Man,” she whispers. “What happened?”

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