Ruthful Success

Stunned of what I heard, I forgot what I was doing and dropped everything. Reacting without thought I, quickly, slammed down the phone, as my heart seemed to have dropped to my feet, as I sunk in despair. I didn’t give the woman a chance to say another word, I grabbed my purse and keys that was setting in the chair next to this phone where I was standing and ran straight to the door flinging it open. Terrified and anxious about what was said, closing the door behind me was of no interest or thought as I darted in desperation to my old dingy-blue sixty-four VW. Excited to jump right in I became frustrated, frantically, fighting with the keys to open the door. Finally, the key slipped, perfectly, into the lock and I unlocked it, opened the door, and made it into the driver’s seat; but that was only one relief. Now sitting behind the steering wheel I took a deep breath and prayed that the car would start right away. Normally, I had no problem with the thing getting me to where I wanted to go; but I had to go through a ritual of pumping, praying, and talking sweet to it until it got started. To my surprise, the first time I turned the key it cranked right up as if it was more ready to go than I was. The Ol’ Blue Goose had a mind of its own all right; because, it only would start when it wanted to, at least it seemed that way. Ready to go I, quickly, without hesitation shifted into first gear, smashed on the accelerator, released the clutch, and skidded right out the driveway, down the street, rushing as fast as I could to the hospital. My thoughts were so crazed, I believed the car just took over, and the Ol’ Blue Goose got me there in just minutes. I parked the car in the Emergency Parking Lot that was so jam packed I thought I would never find an empty spot; but I did. Rushing in the door of the hospital, the doctor met me at the emergency counter. “Are you Marjorie Johns?” “Yes, I am”, I answered in desperation as the words in my head just blurted quickly out of my mouth. “What happened, and where are they?” The doctor was trying to calm me down by giving me gentle pats on the back of my shoulder with his hand “I know, I know”, he repeated while he politely pulled me to the side walking slowly and speaking calmly. I, finally, calmed down a bit; but the tears kept flowing down my face like raindrops. I was so nervous; I sat down on a chair nearby because I was shaking like leaves trembling on a tree being blown on a breezy day. Then, the Doc started talking again, still softly, “I’m so...sorry Ms. Johns, they’re dead”. The tears I was shedding began to stream even faster down my face than before as I listened, in sorrow, while he was telling me about what he thought in conjunction with the police report, might have happened. He said they were, apparently, walking from the market because there was a small grocery bag of items on the ground nearby. My parents always found some reason to go to the store every morning after breakfast. It was something they just did. Anyway, he told me it appeared as though they were crossing the street and were struck by a hit-and-run driver. He sat down in the chair next to me for a moment and we talked a while before he left me. His words were comforting allowing me to feel more relaxed. He was very sympathetic and gave me a cup of hot black coffee from the vending machine nearby, directed one of the nurses to give me a room where I could rest a bit before viewing their bodies, instructed her to contact him when I was ready, and he would come back and get me.