Second place, prose: 'Birthday Gift'

Judge's comment: This piece, written in the present tense, creates such a feeling of immediacy, of being in the saddle seat of this adventure. Throughout the story, there is a juxtaposition between peace and chaos, tragedy and celebration. The Birthday Gift is indeed a gift to the characters in the story and to us as well, the readers.

Recalling, as in a dream, the vast road ahead. Pristine sky, so blue it ricochets from the inside out. A string of motorcycles leads the way, we turn onto the rustic road. Mark rides last, he watches over us as we enter the curve.

Exhilarating spring day - all conditions picture perfect. I lean in as the road unfurls, my Yamaha's sapphire tanks sparkle. Too late, uneasy, my wheels angle down. Desperate to fix, overcorrect, bike slowly falls. My gloved hands release the grips! Air born, lift from the saddle of my motorcycle, sail a meter or more, flying ... light as air, then slam hard. Seismic crash, crunch against the gravel shoulder of the road. Cycle's liberated, fleeing, racing on its side down the blacktop.

Everything dissolves to black.

Over and out.

I hear a voice, Mark's voice. Buddy, wake up, open your eyes! Obedient, but lids are heavy. Open first one ... then the other. Too bright sun. Focus. Concern creases his brow; he hovers over me.

Sky's still blue. Cloudless. Outstanding. No dream now.

New face jolts. Police? No, uniform's wrong.

Sir, he asks, do you know where you are?

No! Not a clue! I giggle, try to raise my head and look around. Who are you?

Whoa ... easy, sir. His hand steadies my head, I'm Jay. EMT. Here to help.

What day is it, sir? Jay asks.

My wife's birthday! Proud of myself, smile.

All right! Jay, calls out, he's oriented in time, not place. Be good to this guy, it's his wife's birthday! Cheers and good wishes float my way.

Have you ever flown in a helicopter? another asks.

Oh, my God. What have I done? In a whisper, No.

Hands maneuver me to gurney, then over to a Medi-vac 'copter. Where'd that come from? Pain's exquisite, radiates up my side.

Paramedics, that's who they are! So pushy. They keep barking at me: Stay awake! Talk to me! Breathe! Owww. Ouch. Straps lock me in place as the sound and rhythm of the blades explode around us. Surreal. I hear a phone crackle. Another report called in. Crisp, professional voice responds. Leaving the scene of the accident, ETA fifteen minutes.

Estimated Time of Arrival ... Oh my God. What's happening?

Inside Medi-vac, the interior's green. Everything looks green. Two use scissors, sharp as knives, clothes fall away. Others check monitors, do IV. Our pilot guides the helicopter up and away. All zeroed in on their own task at hand. Mask smells odd, stinks, breathing hurts. I hear them name trauma center?

Jay's call connects, my wife's en route to the hospital.

No rush, drive safe, the Paramedic urges.

Bj's birthday, my honey's birthday, plans fade. No dinner, no show. Birthday song's stuck in my head.

***

Dozing, waking, tubes, beeping ... beeping, I'm all rigged up. Soft landing. Doors slide open, I'm out, staff's in motion. Rolled to Cubicle #8, check IV lines, someone mentions pulmonary unit? Staff takes vitals.

Check, check. Argh. Neck brace, stiff. Hate this - can't move!

S'ok. I'm alive. Distant chatter, sleep consumes me.

What was that? I hear down the hall, Are you the missus? Next, Bj's quiet response, I am. Happy Birthday! A cheery chorus of voices! Picture smiling faces at the front desk, along the corridor. I see her! Here she comes, want to reach for her, but can't move. Oh! See daughter Leah's here, too.

Can't move.

Young aide pushes patient along, my Bj must halt. He pivots, says, Happy Birthday! Really? Did his patient wave? ER nurses do a choreographed dance, sweep in and out. All wish my wife a happy birthday. I'm wide awake now, eyes follow her rounding the end of my bed. She's struggling, lashes wet with tears, then her face is close, nearly next to mine. Breath is sweet. Her warm hand holds mine, I need warm, presses soft kisses on it. Leah leans in.

Hear plaintive voice, I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm sorry! It's me.

What? She says, You're here! You're alive! Please, no apologies, everyone's thrilled.

Beaming, she says, ER staff is giddy, your bike club friends feel only relief! No apologies.

Leah sneaks in a kiss.

Happy birthday, sweetie, I whisper to BJ. True to form she lightly pats my hand as a laugh escapes. You're kidding, right? Best birthday ever! Her fingers squeeze my hand again. I love it. You can talk. You're alive. Best gift ever, sweetheart. Everything's good.

ER Doctor, hustles in, big toothy grin on his face.

Heyyy, you look great! He points my way as he grabs the chart.

You're awesome! You're in awesome shape!

He turns to Bj - You! Happy birthday! he booms her way. Happy birthday, right? You know we call that ride a donor bike, he says, checking monitors. Except your guy made it! He was all geared up - head to toe.

Bj's expression is a marvel; kaleidoscope of emotion.

Doctor removes, tosses the damn neck brace in one graceful move. He nails it - right into the trash. Undoes my gurney straps. Gone. Thank God.

My vest! Anxious, I scan the room. Where's my vest? Clothes in shreds, pile up on a chair. I was awake as shirt, jeans, briefs, socks were shorn away in a flash with crazy, crooked scissors

Leah is on it; I watch her search corners.

She fishes out my vest, holds it on high. It's all here! Look, barely scuffed!

I recall. One paramedic, sharp eyes, carefully pulled the laces, then gently removed my vest from me. Slipped it off without a hitch. So grateful. Every inch, each patch, is a treasure for me. Keeps in mind my time at Ground Zero in 2002 as a counselor.

Your 911 patches are all here! My daughter calls out, holds vest up, just right for me to see. Sigh. Not one patch missing from either NYC Police or Fire Department.

All here to Protect and Serve, Dad. New York's finest love you! she says.

Every last patch survived. Like you, Daddy.

Amazing. Slid on my side and back hundreds of feet. None torn away. My sweethearts lean in for kisses from both sides. Darling girl hangs onto vest. She studies it, brushes her hand across the emblems. Only a few are frayed, she says softly. Unseen hands kept you aloft, Dad. Kept you safe, brought you back home to us.

Clumsy, swipe at my own tears.

I believe.