Role Reversal

I sighed and stared out my office window at work. The weather had gotten so badly so quickly. I flipped on my IKEA desk lamp as the sky turned a foreboding gray. This morning I drove to work with the windows down when it was both sunny and breezy, but now I saw rain pour onto the parking lot simultaneously in two different directions. It's a good thing I didn't actually buy that motorbike, I thought. Otherwise I'd be stuck at work because I wouldn't want to drive it home.

My phone began to play The Killers "Mr. Brightside" and I picked up Scott's call. "Hey babe, I don't get off for another 30 minutes," I answered.

"I laid my motorcycle down."

"You what?"

"It started to pour and my front tire hydroplaned, then my back tire hydroplaned. I was just about to steady myself when I hit a pothole. Instead I laid the bike down and slid about 20 feet. Right up to the red light. I was lucky I didn't slide into the intersection; that's a major road."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

He was supposed to say "yes." You're supposed to say "yes" when you've just been in a scary-sounding accident.

"I need you to come get me and possibly take me to the ER," he finished.

I buzzed my boss to tell her that there was an emergency and I had to leave. I had to fulfill my girlfriend duties, and I didn't mind, I just didn't think it would be three days into the relationship. In the rain and the rush-hour traffic, it would take me 30 minutes to cross town.

"That's fine. I tried to ride further. I made it to a tattoo parlor. I figured they had everything I needed: antiseptic, bandages, stuff to clean me up with and get me out of the rain."

In the SUV the coincidence hit me. I met and got together with Scott when I wrecked the motorbike and he took care of me. Two weeks later and he wrecked it and now it's my turn to take care of him.

So I was surprised when I got to the tattoo parlor and found him in the chair getting the back of his neck inked.

"I have so much adrenaline going through me right now, I'm not going to feel anything anyways!"

Oh my god. Oh my GOD. He just had an accident, bringing up ERs, he can't move his left arm, AND HE'S GETTING A TATTOO.

"Um, how much longer are you going to be?" I asked. I mean, I only ran out of work early to pick your body off the road, no worries on the tat thing.

"15-20 minutes," he responded.

"Well seeing as how we are only two blocks from my building, I'm going to go let the dog out."

"You don't want to stay and watch?"

"I would, but the dog..." Hell no I didn't want to stay and watch.

I returned, the dog freshly peed and I was out of my work clothes and into sweats. I got to examine Scott for the first time. His ankle was cut to the bone, he had a road rash stretching up his calf, his shirt was torn where his shoulder took the brunt of the fall, but the boy was grinning.

"Now we drink," he said.

"That sounds familiar," I smiled.

We recreated our first date by going to the same dive joint we went to after my accident. The first time we were there the place was packed and we were forced to sit in the corner at the back bar. This time the place was empty, but we walked around to the back bar and claimed the same barstools. And ordered the same drinks. This time the conversation was more comfortable and intimate.

We didn't stay as long as we did the last time. Scott's adrenaline was beginning to wear off and what he was gaining in pain, he was losing in patience. We stopped by a drug store and filled a basket with big bandages and hydrogen peroxide and made sure we were restocked on Advil. While we were paying, a guy behind us points to Scott's ankle, "Hey man, you're bleeding."

I picked up the basket and waved it at him, "It's why we're here."

Scott began to balk at me. He was in pain, but he wanted to do everything himself. He didn't want to stand in the shower while I poured entire bottles of hydrogen peroxide down him from his shoulder to his ankle. He didn't want to sit still while I rubbed Neosporin on the 10 cuts and gashes he had. He didn't want Band-Aids, he wanted the wounds to harden. In the end, he would only accept my Superman ones.

He doesn't have health insurance, and I checked his shoulder and nothing was broken or poking out where things shouldn't be poking out, so we decided to try and wait until the morning where he could just go to the doctor and not spend as much money (thanks American health care!). However every time he woke up in the middle of the night, he would cry out as he grabbed his shoulder. I didn't sleep well; I was afraid of rolling into him or accidentally knocking him. Every time he cried out I asked if I should get dressed and drive him to the ER, the closest one is on my street not two miles away, but he insisted on waiting until the morning.