I do not own anything you recognize…
I hate back roads.
I had just gotten off from work – I am a doctor at the local ER – and was driving home a little after midnight. That has nothing to do with my hatred for back roads. My hatred for back roads comes from the fact that at least twice – sometimes three times – a year someone is in a car accident on the road that I use to get home. And me, being the good civilian… well, not really – I am a Navy Reserve Doctor. Anyway, I, being the good person I am, just have to stop and help them. And that leads to another dose of the ER which leads to getting home at three in the morning, which leads to sleep deprivation.
Either way, I had just rounded a corner in my 1997 black Camero when I saw it. What a beauty. A 1967 Chevy Impala – navy blue, so it must be a sign.
It was wrapped around a tree.
Damn it. And I was hoping to catch the late viewing of the David Letterman show. There go the good times.
I pulled over and parked before hoping out. I popped the trunk and grabbed the first aid bag.
When I got to the beautiful car, I noticed two people. One blonde haired man was in the driver's seat. He looked to be a little older than me. He was passed out and blood caked his forehead. He didn't look too bad until I glanced below his shoulders. His arm was twisted at a rather disturbing angle. It didn't look broken but definitely dislocated and sprained.
"Sir," I asked. "Sir, my name's Sydney Russo. Can you hear me? I would like to help you."
Getting no answer, I went with my training and made the assumption that he would want help.
I opened the door, which practically fell off in my hands. Great and dandy.
Luckily, the man wasn't wearing a seatbelt. I grabbed him under the un-hurt arm and around the waist before securing my hold on him and pulling him out. He moaned in protest, still unconscious.
I laid him on the ground and put him in recovery position.
I went back to get the second guy, whom would be a little harder to get out since he was against the side of the car which was wrapped around the tree. He wasn't there.
There was no way he could have gotten out of that car. He was injured worse than his brother. A hell of a lot worse.
No stinkin' way.
I shook my head and turned back to the blonde. I had to focus on him.
Flipping out my cell phone from my pocket, I called 911.
"911. What's your emergency," the woman asked.
"This is Dr. Russo," I introduced myself.
"Syd, what's wrong?"
"Nicole," I said, realizing my friend was working tonight. "I have another car accident on Clinton Road. Can you send out a rig? I'll ride with them."
"Sure thing. Give me ten minutes."
"Thanks," I said, closing and pocketing my phone. I went back to my patient who was just beginning to show signs of waking up. "Sir?
Catch the pop references?
One: Clinton Road is a haunted road in New Jersey. Sussex County, I think. Or maybe it's Ocean County… Not sure.
Two: The navy blue Impala and Navy doctor. Hahaha… just had to throw that one in.
Three: The David Letterman Show.