Saturday, May 30, 2009, 4:24 PM
Friday, October 3, 2008, 8:32 PM
All of his thirty nine years had been consumed by books and medical charts and school and patients and his fight to keep his family name above the grit of the world, like his father before him. When he was a boy he remembered his father remarking that there were different classes of people, there wasn't necessarily anything wrong with a lower class but they were lazy and lacked drive. He didn't know it at the time but the words his father had spoken that wet autumn day would be words that he would reflect greatly on in the coming years, words that his father leaned heavily on and that, he, in turn, would also lean on.
Every day he got up with a half hour to spare in order for him to walk to the hospital without having to use his car, he enjoyed the cool winter air and the freedom these walks seemed to bring. He passed neighbors' houses and waved at the early risers, when he came to the first block entering the small city he would first pass the bank where Mr. Dubose would be getting out of his car and unlocking the doors, they would share a brief nod and be on their ways. Next came the small diner where Mr. Landers' widow, Sue Ann, would be washing the windows, doing her best to keep her husband's business afloat, their talks were reserved for lunch when he'd come in to get his coffee and biscuit. The next business was the last on the right of the street just before he crossed the road.
Mr. Gerald Wilson owned a very small garage that barely survived the year before last. The sign proclaiming it to be Wilson's Auto-Garage was so dirty it could hardly be read and due to a particularly rough snow storm two winters ago it hung at an angle and, if the wind blew hard enough, would wave back and forth. Mr. Wilson would be sitting on the front step of the office portion of the garage eating his breakfast, whatever it would be for the day, and he'd always smile and tip his hat at Dr. Buchanan, a gesture that the doctor rarely, if ever, returned.
Doc knew Wilson from the towns' gossip and his own son's gathering at school. Wilson had four children, Dani, the eldest girl, Caleb, the eldest boy, Katy, the younger girl, and Lucas, the youngest. Timothy, Doc's son, had been in Caleb's class since the Wilson's moved to Seacrest nine years ago. He frequently spoke of the boy's discipline and what he overheard Caleb saying to his few friends about his family.
Wilson was a single father, his wife, Nancy, had left he and the children only weeks before they had moved to Seacrest. Even so, Doc couldn't bring himself to feel a bit of sympathy for Gerald Wilson. Had he been motivated and concentrated as a teenager his family wouldn't be the lowest of the low in Seacrest's population, it was a topic that Doc and his father spoke of frequently, without mentioning names, of course. As a member of one of the first families to settle in Seacrest Doc felt that it was a part of his duty and his family's duty to keep their town's reputation shining and when people like Gerald Wilson got involved things just didn't shine. Even Gerald himself could be evidence for that, he wore the same blue jumpsuit every day with his name poorly embroidered on the front lapel in burgundy, his hands were almost always covered in grease and his face was spotted with the sweat and dirt of a hard days work, a day that a college education would have prevented. When Doc made the turn in front of Wilson's Auto-Garage he quickly turned his eyes away from Wilson at the sight of this tipped hat and smile.
As nighttime rolled around Doc had just met with a woman and her husband seeking information on the birthing process of the hospital and he was now preparing to head home. He rose from his desk and put his coat on, buttoning it snugly. It was supposed to be quite cold out tonight and snow was expected around midnight.
Doc tried to walk faster to prohibit the cold from biting at his bones, Sue Ann had closed early and the bank was just shutting down but Wilson's Auto-Garage burned brightly on into the cold night. He heard the sound of metal clinking and an engine roaring and figured Wilson had probably received a customer in the form of a tourist passing through the city on the way to the coast. He shook his head and continued walking swiftly down the sidewalk.
Once safely inside of his home he shed his coat and hung it in the closet. He went to check on Timothy but instead of finding him sleeping in his bed he found an empty room. His voice rattled of of the walls of the hallway as he called out to his son and wife.
The silence was deafening.
His brow furrowed and he took the stairs two by two on the way back down. He took his cell phone off of the dining room table and dialed his wife's phone number. Relief bubbled inside his stomach when she answered but died quickly hearing the tone in her voice. She was crying and speaking so fast that he couldn't understand everything that she was saying.
"...been trying to reach you since.......accident......don't know if he'll make it.......hurry."
He flipped the phone shut as spikes of fear and devastation bolted down his spine and froze all contact to his bran for a fraction of a second. He made a dash for the garage, car keys in hand. The leather interior was comparable to lounging on an ice berg but in Doc's worry he either didn't feel it or didn't care enough to react. The only thing on his mind was his young son, lying in a hospital bed in Brighton fighting for his life.
The snow started early and stuck to the sides of the road where the grass was soon disguised enough to look like thin ice sickles. He'd nearly gotten to the city limit sign when the car lurched and then slowed to a creeping halt under a flickering street lamp. Tears flowed down his face and he screamed in frustration trying several times to unsuccessfully re crank the car. He sat in silence, resigned and numb. His boy, his only child, could be inches away from death and where was he? Trapped under a damned street light in a faulty car. In the turbulent tides of his mind he considered walking, he tried thinking of anything at all, in order to get to his son. He'd quickly ruled out walking due to the temperature, he'd freeze to death before he reached Brighton and, although he would willingly die for his son anytime his death at this moment would not help anyone in this situation.
He tried again to crank the car, which promptly sputtered and then went silent. A knock on his window drew his attention away from the failing car. He looked up into the hazy eyes of Gerald Wilson. He took a breath for composure and opened the door.
Gerald smiled, "Looks like you're havin' some car trouble, doc." For his part, Doc was silent. Gerald coughed. "Er, well. I was just showin' the Hornsbee's the way outta town, I could take your car back to the shop and give 'er a look if you'd like."
Normally Doc would take his car to a mechanic in Brighton who'd had professional schooling and a thriving business. In this case he just nodded numbly and took the keys from the ignition and handed them to Wilson, who took them without another word. He spoke quietly to the young couple waiting in the small sports car behind Wilson's tow truck and pointed several times giving them directions Doc supposed.
He watched Wilson load the car up with the help of Caleb, his eldest son. Doc hadn't even noticed Caleb's presence and wondered absently if he knew anything about the accident. On the verge of hysterics Doc took a few steps back and sat down on the curb, his head between his knees trying to calm his nerves.
The crunch of snow invaded his mind minutes later, followed by Wilson's voice.
"Say, Doc, D'you need a ride somewhere? Looked like you were headin' outta town, too. " Caleb had quietly taken the spot behind his father to the right. Doc looked into his eyes for a moment before answering.
"My son." He said simply. Caleb seemed to know what he meant and tapped Wilson on the shoulder, he murmured quietly to his father, who nodded his head and looked at the ground sadly. They exchanged keys, Caleb handing his father the keys to the beat up old Chevy the Wilsons relied on for transportation and received the keys to the tow truck.
"Take the car back to the garage and if the snow starts comin' down too heavy before I get back go ahead and unload her. I'm gonna take Doc on into Brighton to see his boy." Wilson directed and then nudged Doc up from his position on the ground and the group split into different directions.
Doc kept his eyes on the stars and the snow falling to the ground and tried not to concentrate on Wilson's humming of old hymns that Doc hadn't heard since he was a boy. He turned his eyes skyward once more and wondered if it had really been a coincidence that Wilson had decided to escort the couple out of town or if it was something else, something greater than them all. Doc had always leaned more towards science instead of any spiritual beliefs but it seemed nothing short of a miracle for Wilson to have shown up the way he did and at the time he had.
Upon reaching the hospital Wilson stayed until it had been confirmed that Timothy would be alright after a short stay in the hospital, he'd suffered a pretty hard blow to the head and lost a fair amount of blood but he'd been determined stable and moved to a private room. From Timothy's bedside Doc watched his wife hug Wilson and tearfully thank him for his help.
Shame boiled in his stomach and reddened his cheeks.
Some days later Doc appeared at Wilson's garage to collect his car. Caleb was sitting behind the rusting steel desk in the office when he arrived. Wilson was doing a few last tests on the car to make sure that every fault had been corrected. Caleb asked a few questions about Timothy which Doc answered happily, yes he was much better, yes he'd be returning to school, and yes he'd pass on Caleb's condolences.
During this conversation Wilson had quietly slipped into the room. Doc made the necessary payments and thanked both Wilson and Caleb as sincerely as he knew how for everything they had done.
The next morning Doc started off on his usual walk to the hospital.
As he came upon Wilson's garage he tipped his hat and smiled.
