I woke up in a white room with that smell, the smell of disinfectant, of cleanliness, of sickness, of old men and plaster of Paris. How had I ended up in hospital? What had happened? It was like I had lost my memory completely and it was just coming back to me, in flashes making me jolt and shudder, like electric shocks of dread and anxiety bombarding my whole being. A nurse approached me and asked me if I was ok and how I felt. I sheepishly inquired after what painkillers were available. Not that I was in much physical pain but I wanted out of there one way or another. I closed my eyes and was immediately transported back to an unnatural scene, houses were whizzing by me at speed, and the pub on the corner flew out of my vision. There was wind and noise, a lot of noise, traffic, trailing sirens, and fabric furiously flapping.
I opened my eyes to see my sister standing beside my bed wearing a uniform. I, at once, remembered that she was a nurse and that she worked in the Lourdes hospital. She looked at me with a worried expression, I felt sick. “What had I done?” “Mom was here” she said. I didn’t feel so alone now that I had a contact on the inside.
I was drunk, so drunk that I had lost the pattern of myself. I was sobering up fast though as we picked up speed. We had already gone from the traffic lights at Trinity Street, past Mothers bar and we were hurtling up the North road gathering momentum with every passing second. I had to decide whether to keep holding onto the bolt of the door of this huge hauler until we reached the next town, 40 minutes away on the motorway, or let go and run as fast as possible in the hope of absorbing the fall. I tried in vain to motion to the cars behind me but to no avail as it angrily juddered ahead. I could hear and feel the gear changes as the engine revved and the beating of my heart accelerated proportionately.
Sharon handed me two green and yellow capsules which I promptly necked without water hoping for some respite from these awful, ominous images I was being forced to relive. She began to fill me in a little; she said I had been involved in a serious accident on the main road out of town and that I had very nearly been killed. A visible shockwave of horror coursed through me, I grimaced, she flinched. After subtly drawing the screen around us she came to the bed and gave me a hug, I’m not sure if I cried but I was overwhelmed by a new sensation of utter desperation, at my lack of control over my destiny and helplessness, uselessness, of supreme shame. I was hardly able to stand, stupid on rum and had jumped on to the back of an idling juggernaut in an attempt to hitch a ride to my house less than one thousand meters away. Reaching fifty miles an hour, the last thing I remember was letting go
