Savanna

Two days. I've been going out of my mind for two days. I went to work yesterday, allowing the students to occupy my mind while there, but the moment the bell rang to mark the end of the day, my mind went right back to that freeway, to those brown eyes looking up at me.

Baby...

The tortured sound of his voice woke me up from a dead sleep the first night. The second night, I tossed and turned, hearing the impact, that terrible sound of screeching tires and crashing metal, over and over again. Today, I called in sick, too sleep-deprived to manage my class knowing their level of energy would far surpass my own. I threw some lesson plans together and emailed them to the office so I wouldn't have to make the commute just to drop them off, but now I'm pacing my living room, stewing without really knowing why.

Why can't I move past this? I was only a witness. It shouldn't have affected me this strongly. I stopped to help, gave my statement and went home. That's what's supposed to happen when you're a bystander. You leave and move on with your life.

But those eyes...

I see them in my sleep. They haunt my dreams, those deep brown eyes. I don't even know this man's name or where he's from, but his image haunts me. I know nothing about him, and yet I'm heartsick over what happened to him.

It's a strange feeling, this worry over a person I've never even truly met. His life and my life collided in the strangest of circumstances, perhaps never to intersect again. Yet I think seeing him almost die in front of my eyes irrevocably changed me. No longer will I take that commute for granted. It has brought an unwelcome perspective on the fragility of life.

The day drags on as I try to nap, get some housework done, catch up on the mundane aspects of life. But my mind is never far from the rider. I find myself wishing I asked which hospital they were taking him to. Not that they would have told me--I'm a complete stranger to this man. I have no right to know a single thing about his condition.

But I can't stop thinking about him. My thoughts are consumed with his image. If only I knew where he was and how he was doing...

I scour the local papers on the internet for information, trying to see if someone had posted something about the accident. There's nothing. Not one morsel of information. It's as if the accident never happened.

I check my phone for the zillionth time to make sure it's fully charged in case Officer Sheridan finally calls then huff a laugh and run my hands over my face. This is crazy. I'm acting insane, it's time to put the accident past me and resume my day-to-day life.

I force myself to head to the grocery store.

An hour later, as I'm putting the eggs in the refrigerator of my small kitchen, my phone rings. It's an unknown number. I usually let those go to voicemail and check them later, but not this time.

"Hello?" I say as my heart races.

There's a brief delay, some static, and then a smooth voice comes on the line. "Good afternoon. Is this Savanna Moore?"

Hoping beyond hope that this isn't a telemarketer, I identify myself. "Yes, this is she." My heart continues to race as I take a seat, suddenly feeling out of breath.

"Hello, again. This is Officer Sheridan. I was the officer on scene of the accident you witnessed on Monday."

"Yes, yes. I remember. Thank you so much for calling, Officer Sheridan. Do you have any information on...the...rider?" My voice hesitates on the last few words, not knowing the man's name and not wanting to refer to him as the victim.

Officer Sheridan clears his throat. "Of course, yes that's the reason for the call." He pauses for a beat before continuing.

I feel my anxiety and dread rise, worrying about what his hesitation might really mean. "Is he...?" I can't finish the question, but I have to fill the silence.

"He's in critical condition at this point, but he's still alive. As we assumed, his injuries were quite extensive. However, the doctor believes he will eventually recover with only a few ongoing side effects." Officer Sheridan pauses again, clearing his throat for the second time. There's an odd tension in his voice I can't interpret.

"Oh." I don't know how else to respond. I feel relieved that the rider is likely to make a full recovery, but the limited information leaves me with more questions.

The officer continues speaking before I can ask any of them. "I'm really not supposed to give out much more information due to privacy laws, but because you were a witness on record, I am allowed to call to thank you for your assistance and let you know that the injured party should recover." He pauses, leaving me feeling a mix of emotions I can't quite name. "But...," he says, pausing.

It's that "but" that gives me hope of learning more. "But?" I whisper.

"I can see what I can find out later and call back sometime soon."

I should feel relieved knowing that the man will recover, and that Officer Sheridan will try to tell me more when he can, but relief is not the emotion I'm left with.

"That would be helpful, yes thank you." I hear the mute tone of my voice even though I tried to sound thankful.

"Do...you...not want me to call back?" the officer asks.

"Oh! Yes, of course I do. It's just that I've been going out of my mind over this whole situation. For some reason it's really affected me." I confess my worry to the officer and feel foolish as soon as I do. I sound like a crazy person, fretting so much over someone I don't even know.

"Ah, well, of course you are." His voice is soothing. "Not many people would even stop, let alone feel such concern for someone they don't know. I think that's a sign of a compassionate person."

My face warms from the blush no doubt creeping over my skin. "Thank you, Officer Sheridan."

"Please, call me Chris," he says.

"Okay, Chris."

He pauses for a moment before continuing. "I have an idea. Would you like it if you could pay him a visit? Once he's out of ICU, I might be able to take you with me when I make the routine follow-up to my report."

I draw in a sharp breath at his offer. I hadn't considered trying to see the rider, but at Chris's offer, I know I won't be able to sleep well until I pay that visit.

"That would be unbelievable. I can't thank you enough for everything you're doing."

When he speaks again, Chris's voice is quieter, seeming to have lost that professional tone he spoke with when he first called. "Maybe we could stop for dinner afterward. If you'd like."

Oh. My heart thunders. Is he asking me out? I must be completely out of practice if I can no longer tell when someone's hitting on me. It's been a long time since the opposite sex showed me any interest. Well, interest that I noticed.

I shake my head and give a mental huff. The cop is not asking me out--he's only trying to help because I've been so concerned about this accident. He already said that he hasn't seen many people show this kind of worry over a stranger. He's just showing me a kindness in return.

I realize I've stayed silent for too long. "Sure," I finally say. "That sounds great."

I hear Chris take a deep breath before he speaks again. "Good." His tone is definitive. "I'll give you a call to set everything up in a day or two. I need to close out the report soon, anyway." He seems relieved, and I have to admit that I am as well.

"Can I ask one more question?"

"You can ask anything you'd like." This time, his voice is quiet, lower than before, and for some reason, it sends a strange tremble through my system.

"Oh, great." I momentarily lose my train of thought, confused by this exchange. "Do you, um, know his name?" My voice sounds so small as I ask, feeling ridiculous for being this consumed by a stranger. But my need to know is so much stronger than my embarrassment. I know I'm crossing some kind of line here, asking the cop for this information. I'm playing on the fact this officer has been so nice to me.

"Yes," Chris says, clearing his throat, "of course. Hang on--I'll check my report."

The line goes quiet for almost a full minute before he returns.

"According to his driver's license, his name is Brax Henderson. I hope that helps. I've got to go, but I'll give you a call soon." The line goes dead.

I stand there feeling as if my heart has dropped. The name Brax is unusual, and yet when I picture those brown eyes, I sense it fits perfectly.

I realize knowing his name hasn't brought an escape from my obsessive need to know. It's only deepened my draw to this stranger. To Brax.