Owen's Story

Owen was admiring the Christmas lights when he ran into the other car. As he sat on the fender of his Lexus, phone pressed to his ear, the owner of the offended vehicle ranting in the background, Owen wished he could find some quiet corner to curl up and sleep.
“Hey Wendell, I won’t be able to make it to band practice tonight… No, I had an accident… No, a car accident... I’m fine, the other one was parked. Thanks, I’ll see you Sunday.” Owen muttered something under his breath as he hung up.
At least Owen had still been in the neighborhood, he hadn’t been going as fast. Still, running into anything at 25 miles per hour hurt. Owen’s lip had just stopped bleeding, and the pain in his right hand had faded, but he doubted the air bag powder would be coming out of his clothes anytime soon.
Owen enjoyed Christmas lights. He liked putting them up, stringing them around a tree, hanging them from the eaves. He had a definite appreciation for a well-hung string of lights. This appreciation led to rubbernecking, which had in this case led to him losing concentration and not noticing that he was veering towards a motionless two ton piece of metal.
Only a few weeks ago someone had put a rock through the Lexus’ window and stolen Owen’s iPod. It’d been hassle enough replacing the window. Owen had no idea how his parents would deal with replacing the front bumper, especially since this time the damage was completely his fault.
Red and blue lights appeared around the corner as the fire department arrived. “You all right kid?” one fireman asked as he jumped from the truck. A paramedic hurried over to check the cut on Owen’s lip, shined a flashlight in his face, and otherwise attempted to ascertain if the boy was injured. The owner of the other car, still in his bathrobe, was now complaining to a policewoman. The officer’s partner came over to Owen to ask about his insurance, and Owen went to unlock the door with his throbbing right hand.
Reality started to fade in and out. The policeman seemed to be speaking from three miles away at least, and a woolen bag seemed to have dropped on Owen’s head. In a moment Owen was at the church, at practice. He heard the choir singing, then looked over to see Jason yelling at him, shouting something in his direction.
“Hey, HEY, HEY!” he bellowed in Owen’s ear. Then Owen saw a medic standing over him and shivered as reality returned.
“Looks like you have a broken wrist son,” the man said. “Only a hairline fracture, though…” Owen felt something probe the damaged limb and nearly passed out again as a wave of nausea rippled through his body. “…probably need a cast,” the medic finished.
“How long will it take to mend?” Owen asked, grimacing.
“A month at least.”
Owen gazed at his wrist and nearly cried. Already it purpled, swelled, looked like something you’d find in a meat market garbage can. He attempted to twist it, but it hurt too badly. Now Owen really did start crying: he was supposed to play bass this Sunday, his first time.
“Don’t worry son, it’ll hurt like the devil for a while, but when it heals, it’ll heal clean.” The medic nodded knowingly as he stood Owen on his feet and walked him to the ambulance. Still talking, the man wrapped up the injured wrist in a bandage and fitted Owen out with a sling. “I’ve seen a lot worse breaks than this that’ve come out just fine. You’ll heal alright, it just takes time.” The medic handed Owen a Tylenol and a cup of water.
As Owen knocked back the painkiller, a policeman walked around the scene of the accident, camera in hand. Neighbors drove past, gawking, leading Owen to ponder the percentage of rubberneckers whose rubbernecking led to an actual accident. He saw one driver who nearly collided with a police cruiser.
Now the world started to blur again, and Owen was vaguely aware of his father arriving to pick up the car. Then Owen was lifted onto the medical stretcher in the back of the ambulance. The vehicle jerked into motion, and Owen looked over at the medic who’d bound up his wrist. “I guess I won’t be playing my bass for awhile,” he said. The medic’s kindly brown face smiled. “Maybe not for a week or so, but you’ll be able to play with the cast.” Owen nodded, then turned to stare up at the ceiling.
Three weeks ago, Owen had been in Jason’s office, listening as the music director had told him the good news. “Your theory’s improved a lot over the past few months. How would you like to start playing the end of the month?” Owen liked that a lot.
From then on it had been a matter of making sure he practiced the songs and worked on his technique. But Owen had cleared the biggest hurdle: he was playing, and that was what mattered.
Singing in the choir was great, but not a practice, not a service had gone by that Owen hadn’t wished he was up front, playing the bass. He’d mimic Corbin or Mark, oftentimes distract himself from singing as he watched the other bassists perform.
Now Owen wished that he hadn’t been so fixated on those Christmas lights. Two years of trying to be a responsible driver, and he’d blown it all away. More importantly, he’d let his parents down: they owned his car, and trusted Owen to do right by it.
Once they reached the hospital, the medics rushed Owen out of the ambulance into the emergency room. First the doctors X-rayed his arm to confirm the fracture, then the orderlies lifted him onto a cart and wheeled him to the operation room. There a stern looking woman put his wrist in a cast, hurriedly asking him what color he wanted, then got green when he asked for blue.
As the woman wrapped his wrist in garish green, Owen’s thoughts turned towards home. He wondered how his parents were doing, how angry they were at them. When the policeman had asked for Owen’s version of the accident, Owen had simply said that he took his eyes off the road. He didn’t mention the Christmas lights, he doubted that what he was looking at was important. At least he hadn’t been doing something really stupid, like changing the music on his iPod.
He could imagine Dad walking into the hospital, his mad face on. Dad never got angry, and when he did he never lost his temper. But he would use a low and even tone of voice that made you wish he’d yell and scream. Anything would be better than that quiet disappointment.
Mom might be easier to deal with, but who knew? Maybe she’d take pity on him, maybe she’d be angry. If Owen had broken something a little more vital than his wrist, maybe he’d have more luck.
Honestly, Owen mostly hoped neither of them would say anything at all—which was a nice thought but completely impractical. He’d have to face the music sooner or later.
After the cast set, an orderly walked Owen to a waiting room. “You have someone coming to pick you up?” the receptionist behind the desk asked.
“Yeah, my dad should be coming in a little bit,” Owen replied, sinking into a chair and adjusting his sling. He picked up a magazine but found it too awkward to hold with one hand, so he put it back. Fidgeting, Owen wondered how long Dad was going to be. The clock on the wall read 9:00 pm; practice would be over by now. Owen thought back to last week’s practice. He’d been working all week on a particular bassline, and that practice had paid off. No less than three others congratulated him afterwards on his playing. A flush of pride came to his cheeks as he remembered their praise.
But what is it that you want out of this? Owen asked himself, suddenly thoughtful. The praise of men or the satisfaction of doing your best? He knew the answer but was almost afraid to admit it.
Dad arrived. Owen could see his head over the reception desk, and heard him talking to the woman on the other side. Owen stood, walked towards his father.
“Owen,” Dad said, his eyes grave. “How are you feeling buddy?”
“I think my pride’s hurt more than anything,” Owen conceded.
Dad signed something, then led Owen out of the building. “So you’ll be wearing that cast for a few weeks, looks like,” Dad commented.
“Just a few,” Owen replied.
“Are feeling all right? You hungry?”
“I suppose. I just want to get home right now.” Dad nodded. He opened the door for Owen, who clambered in.
“Do you want to tell me about the accident?” Dad asked.
“Not much to tell,” Owen muttered.
“What’s that?”
“I said, there’s not much to tell!”
“Oh.” Dad was quiet.
“I was looking at the Christmas lights, didn’t notice I’d swerved off the road,” Owen said at length.
“I guess you’ll know not to do it next time,” Dad said.
“Unfortunately.” Owen was silent for the remainder of the journey.

Sunday was quiet, at least by Owen’s standards. He sang in the choir, watching Corbin play the bass the whole service. Jason came up to Owen after service.
“I hear you’ll be out of that sling next week. Will you be ready to play next Sunday?”
Owen nodded. “I still wish I could have played this week,” he said, looking at his cast. “This is the first time I’ve ever broken a bone.”
“We all have those times, don’t worry about it. It’s part of learning to be responsible.” Jason nodded. “See you on Tuesday then?”
“Yeah, see you then.”