It was a regular car trip, just a friend driving another friend around. Music blaring, screaming at each other to be heard over it, laughter loud and joyous. We were just going home, well, technically, I was driving him home. After a vigorous game of basketball, at which I lost, again, I conceded to driving home. Loser always does regardless of whose car it is.
Lucky enough it was my own truck, and having Brian driving isn't always the greatest thing. He's not as bad as AJ, but he gets very close to being worse sometimes.
Rolling to a stop at the four-way stop sign, I waited for my turn, and after the driver on the right pulled out and turned left I eased my foot down and started out. I was in the intersection a second later when so was the next driver on the right. I swerved to the left, trying to prevent the collision, but it was too late. The front smacked into another car, while the other driver was parked in Brian's side.
The jarring of it all snapped my neck back painfully, and I could feel a hot throbbing just below my head. My hand roughly rubbed it, hoping to take it away as I turned to see how Brian was.
Getting a look at him, I could feel the blood drain from my face. He was pale and ashen, his hands gripping tightly onto the handle protruding from the dashboard. The door was pushed in, and Brian was awkwardly positioned. His upper body pushing into the c.d. holder between their two seats with his legs and feet twisted the other way.
"Brian?" That couldn't have been my voice. It was squeaky and shaky, and damnit I knew I was way passed puberty and voice changes.
His head turned slowly, and I saw his eyes glazed over and glassy looking. Before he opened his mouth, he cleared his throat, "I can't move my foot, Nick."
The calmness of him scared me, I was sitting there, okay, not stuck or anything, panicking; and he was evidently trapped and as calm as ever. My gaze quickly went to his feet, and I couldn't control the gasp that flew from my mouth. The door had not only been pushed in, but it seemed like it twisted and crushed his right foot, trapping it to the floorboard.
"Call nine-one-one, Nick." Brian murmured quietly, his eyes closing. "Check on the others too."
Nodding numbly, I grabbed at the cell phone perched on the dashboard and started dialing quickly. Words flew out of my mouth without thought as I got out of the truck and check on the other two drivers. Cars were parking around us, taking in the site as if we were a circus act or something.
Forever had passed before the cops, ambulances, and even the fire department showed up. I watched in some half-crazed comatose feeling, as they had to cut the door off my truck, whole the passengers of the other vehicles walked out of theirs. It was unfair, Brian wasn't driving, wasn't doing anything, and yet he got this.
The way his shoe looked was gruesome, blood started staining, and seeping from the incisions the metal had slashed into it. My eyes were transfixed on the sight, I couldn't tear them away and nearly fell down with Brian when he tried putting his weight on it and stumbled.
A medic hauled him onto a gurney and wheeled him over to the ambulance. Removing the ice pack from my neck I followed him into it.
Looking down at my best friend, I could see he was getting worried about his injury now. With the medic cutting off the rest of his sneaker and sock, I could vaguely feel Brian crushing my hand in his.
His foot was horribly distorted, there were several deep gashes, and bone shards jutted out gruesomely.
My selfish mind popped up several questions, the main one being; how's he going to dance?