But somehow I never did stop loving Johnny. I think if there is a man—one man for a woman, who is what a man is, who is just the man—then Johnny was that man for me. And if he wanted me, I would take him back in a heart beat, even though I know we couldn’t stand to live together, that it would never work. That I would drink again and cheat. Just to make him feel something. Just to make him feel something towards me. But I would do it all over again if I had the chance—not just all the old mistakes but new ones, a whole new car wreck. I really would. Because at least with him it felt like everything meant something. Like you were part of a myth or a novel. Even though it was a horrible, ugly story, you were still part of it.
When we got there John wasn’t in the ER anymore and it took a while to find him. We had to go across a parking lot and into another building, to the second floor. I was almost running and Thora kept telling me to slow down. Odd that she should be the sensible one. But I couldn’t stand it. I needed to see him. When we finally found the room, I looked in. He was slumped back on the bed and a beautiful young woman was sitting by his bedside. She stood and motioned to go out into the hall with me. Thora went to her father and took up his hand, even though there were cords and IV’s coming out of it. We went out into the corridor and the woman hugged me, which made me extremely uncomfortable. Was she a volunteer of some kind?
“He was asking for Thora,” she said.
“And you are?” I asked.
“I’m sorry—My name is Sarah. I thought—never mind. I just thought he must have mentioned me. John and I are engaged.”
It felt as though he were still my husband and was cheating on me. Her face was splotchy pink from crying but she was still remarkably beautiful and so young. It amazed me that John had found a woman so young. I remembered even when I had first fallen in love with him, taking care of him, the keen awareness that he was older than me. And now, now he had found someone even younger than me. Now I was the old one. The one who was worn out and dry.
“My goodness, I can certainly see why you would have expected him to.” That is another thing about disaster—no matter the circumstances I find myself insufferably polite. “Well,” I said, “I’m glad to meet you now.”
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you.” She seemed sincere. I admired her for that.
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