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Crossfire

Niles Reddick

    We had a great dinner at Mariana’s Italian Restaurant?salad, pasta with pine nuts, some red wine. We wanted the bread dipped in olive oil and pepper, but the pasta had enough carbs, so we passed. Earlier, we’d cleaned teeth all day and joked with each other we’d all have to go home and floss and brush to make sure we didn’t have a piece of pasta or salad wedged in molars.
    We took Poplar North out of midtown to our condos in the suburbs, where the crime rate was much lower. I stopped at a light next to an older red Chevrolet and I hummed along to Dolly’s “Eagle When She Flies” on the radio when it sounded like my car was being pelted by hail. I heard the sounds, looked to my right, and saw the teen with an automatic weapon pulling the trigger and rapid fire riddling a black Ford stopped in the South bound lane with bullets. It all happened so quickly that by the time I realized what was happening, my shoulder was burning, my stomach hurt, and I felt sick. I laid across the seat, dialed 911, and must’ve passed out.
    I don’t recall the police, EMTs, ambulance ride, the ER, or even the surgery. I woke in a hospital bed, oxygen mask on my face, IV in my arm, and machines beeping. I pressed the button and the nurse came inside, touched my hand, and asked how I felt.
    “What am I doing here?”
    “Honey, you were caught in the crossfire of a gang. They got the ones in the dark car and two of them are dead, but the others in the red car are on the run. They were driving erratically down the interstate with their lights off, and when an old man behind them flashed his lights at them, they turned around, leaned out the window, shot out his tires, and his 4-Runner flipped multiple times, broke his neck, and he was killed instantly. He was on his way home from reading to nursing home patients, according to the witnesses on the news. Interstate and Poplar were shut down for hours.”
    “Do my parents know?”
    “They are in the waiting room.”
    When they came in, they looked so tired, so relieved. Dad kissed my forehead and Mom held my hand.
    I couldn’t help but wonder about the teen who shot me, how he went bad so young, and the poor man who’d simply been killed trying to do a good deed, but I needed sleep. Two surgeries, six weeks recuperation, some therapy for my shoulder, and I’d be back to helping save teeth in no time at all.

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