[Written in May ’07]
Yesterday I got to meet Don’s mom for the first time. She lives in New Hampshire but spends her winter months with her hubby (who I haven’t met and have been told that’s a blessing) in South Carolina. So we all pile in the car and head up to her condo complex which is actually a seasonal “resort” of sorts. Everyone has golf carts to tool around in and there are signs posted that state you can’t go over 5 mph. Granted a golf cart doesn’t exactly do 180 but I’m here to tell you that they can damn sure do better than 5 mph, particularly on a hill.
Don’s mom has two golf carts and we “kids” had a wee bit too much fun with the pizza, beer, and yes, I even participated with a *gasp* Mike’s hard lemonade. I was definitely tipsy when we started out on our joy ride. I pile in the front seat with his younger sister Rose who can’t drive a car much less a golf cart. Don and his nephew Bobby decided to bumper surf on the back. His older sister Chris and her boyfriend Tommy (who contributed to my already stunted mental condition with a good contact high whenever we were downwind) took the second one. Let the games begin!
We spent a good 20 minutes playing tag with the golf carts, then Tom tried to run us off the road and I ended up eating a good chunk of pine needles. They disappeared and now we had a little game of Hide ‘n’ Seek going on until they ambushed us. We were off and running. Rose had that little son of a bitch pushing a good 15 when we hit the hill heading for the beach which is entered by a pretty good gravel decline. She whips the corner almost on two wheels and the next thing I know a body is flying off the back of our cart and hits the ground with a really ungodly sound. I don’t know who screamed louder – me or Rose. All i know is my only thought was “I just found the love of my life and now he’s dead”. The entire rest of my lonely existence played out in my brain in a matter of seconds.
Don rolled about four times. He must have practiced this because he had his arms up and saved his face. Now he swears he was just trying to save his beer. Which he did. He got up, albeit a little woozy, but fuck if that Bud wasn’t still firmly gripped and nearly crushed and he’s still drinking from the damn thing. His elbows were a mass of blood and gravel and his forearms looked like road kill. I was completely speechless. And pissed. I couldn’t even talk to him for the tears I was choking back for scaring the living shit out of me. Rose was a wreck and I was in total shock. He swears I will look back on this and laugh but when i got up this morning and saw his bloody bandages and purple bruises I thought there is no way I’ll ever laugh about this.
I have two fears in life: losing my son and losing Don. Throw whatever else you have my way but don’t take away what’s dearest to me. Even on a joyride. What a buzzkill that was.