Conversations with Jack & Diane
Broken Image
“Oh Diane,” Jack groaned, the pain in his head nearly
taking his thoughts. He squeezed her hand as he lay immobilized
on the hard hospital bed. “Tell me,” he struggled. “Tell me...”
“Tell you what Jack?” she begged, her blue eyes red with
crying. “Tell you what my love?”
“Tell me that the doctor lied. Tell me...Oh please Di, tell
me he lied.”
“About what Jack? Lied about what?”
“About the little boy...” he answered weakly, his voice
stung with grave emotion.
“What little boy Jack?” she asked, her face frowning with
concern.
“The little boy that dashed out into the street.” His
breathing was heavy, very labored. “The little boy! Oh Diane...!”
he cringed. His hands clawed at his eyes, his face contorted by a
pain other than physical.
“Oh my god Jack, did you run into a child?”
He nodded his head, unable to hold back the seering grief
that plagued his heart and soul.
“Oh Jack,” she tried to comfort, leaning forward, her face
against his clenching hands. “Oh Jack, I’ve warned you over and over
about driving drunk.” She held him, trying in vain to stop his
trembling.
“Diane,” he whispered. She leaned in toward him, her
chest tight with remorse as she beheld his sunken face. “I heard
it,” he gasped.
“Heard what?” she asked softly.
“I heard his bones snap as the car crushed into him. I saw
the terror in his eyes...” He clawed at his face again, as if he
wanted to tear his eyes from their vantage point.
“Stop it Jack,” she whispered. “Please stop it.”
“I can’t Di. Everytime I close these damned eyes I see his
precious face. He couldn’t have been more than eight. Oh god! Oh
God!”
“I’ll get the doctor,” she exclaimed. “Maybe he can give
you something to help you rest.”
“No!” he shouted, his body wrecked with the pain of it’s
broken spirit. “Don’t leave me Diane. I’m so cold sweetie. Hold
me,” he begged. “Please...” His eyes beseeched her, his voice but
a raspy sigh.
Diane held him as he wept for the little boy. She wept with
him.
“Is Becky here?” he asked, as if a sudden inspiration
guided his words.
“No Jack she’s not,” Diane answered. His body went limp
in her arms. “It’s almost dawn Jack. She’s at home, asleep.”
“Good...good,” he managed. “I just thought that...” His
voice trailed off.
“Thought what Jack? Tell me love.”
He raised his grief swollen face. “I just thought that
perhaps if I could just see her sweet young face, that perhaps the
pain would go away.” He sagged back against his sweat stained
pillow, barely able to breath.
Diane wiped the tears from her eyes as she slowly stood.
She looked down at her dear friend, a feeling of remorse gripping
at her like an iron vice. Her best friend in the world. A man she
could not imagine life without, had killed an innocent child while
driving drunk. How could she ever look upon him in the same
glorious light again? She knew her thoughts were selfish. But she
couldn’t help it. His thoughtless act had stripped her of her most
prized possession. Her respect for him. So caught up in her own
sense of loss was Diane that she didn’t notice the doctor as he walked
up next to Jack’s bed. It wasn’t until he spoke that she was rocked back to
reality.
“How you doing Jack?” he asked as he flipped the chart.
Jack didn’t answer. Diane walked over next to the doctor.
“How are the boy’s parents doing?” she asked, her
expression pained and pale.
“What boy?” the doctor frowned.
“The boy that died?”
“What boy that died?” the doctor inquiered.
“The boy that died when Jack crashed,” she persisted.
“The only thing that died when Jack crashed was a
telephone pole,” he assured Diane.
“What!?” she whispered loudly, too stunned to raise her
voice to a full shout. She recovered quickly.
“But Jack just told me that he ran into a little boy, and that
he died.”
“Hmmm,” the doctor responded, still engrossed in Jack’s
chart. He finished his writing and closed the little file, hanging it
back on it’s hook around the bed rail.
“He’s experiencing DDRS,” he told Diane.
“I don’t understand,” she squinted, barely able to stand.
“Drunk drivers remorse syndrome,” the doctor elaborated.
“It’s very common in a case like this. The guilt associated with the
event manifests itself into a delusional state. And the patient
believes that the odds, as they say, have finally caught up to him.”
“But he really thinks he killed someone. Aren’t you going
to tell him that he didn’t.” She stood with indignant firmness.
“Wouldn’t matter what I told him right now,” the doctor
tried to explain to her. “Presently Jack probably believes that he
killed that little boy which his mind has created for his delirium.”
He smiled at Diane. A doctor’s smile, cool and absent of mirth.
“Don’t worry, in a day or so he’ll realize the truth.”
Diane sat down heavily, in a chair next to the bed. “And
what happens until than?” she asked.
“Until than he could use all the support he can get,”
answered the white robed physician. He looked at Diane for the
first time. “Are you his wife?” he asked as he finished giving Jack
a sedative.
“No, I’m just a friend,” she answered. “His wife is out of
the country right at the moment.”
“Well right now he could sure use your friendship.”
“Yes, I suppose he could,” she whispered.
“It’s probably going to be a pretty rough night for him. It
might help if someone he cared for were close by. For when the
nightmares come.”
“Nightmares...” she mumbled, staring down at Jack, still
too stunned and relieved too think straight. “What nightmares?”
“Nightmares reliving the event he's created for himself. They
will almost certainly grip him through the night. Flashbacks are a
common response to this type of trauma. Having someone here to hold
him would be the best medicine he could get.” The doctor smiled
again. This time it was genuine and compassionate.
“Oh yes doctor,” Diane assured him. “I will stay here with
him..”
“Good.” He patted her shoulder knowingly. “Hopefully
the turmoil he’s experiencing right now will help him concur the
drinking problem.”
“Do you think it might?” she asked.
The doctor shrugged. “Only time will tell. If you need
anything just press that button over there.” He pointed at the
buttoned cord hanging down the front of Jack’s propped-up
mattress.
“I will doctor. And thank you.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine in a few days. Physically
anyway. He’s going to need help psychologically though."
“I’ll be here to help,” Diane offered without hesitation.
The doctor nodded and smiled. “Good,” he whispered as
he left the room.
Diane moved the chair up next to the bed, slowly resting
her face against Jack’s arm, fighting against the grateful slumber that
she so desperately longed for. She would sleep now, tomorrow the work
would begin.
The End...
Unpublished Works © 1997 GJB
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