Page 4 of Sparking Sara

“You’ve been in a car accident. It’s okay. We’re going to get you out, but we need to help your friend first.”

The woman is silent and her head slumps to the side as much as it can with the collar on. I think she’s passing out.

“Miss. Miss. You have to stay awake.”

I reach my other hand over the passenger seat and put down the visor so I can see her face in the mirror. I angle the mirror so she can see my eyes.

“Miss, stay with me. Look at me.”

Her eyes find mine, but they’re glassy. She’s in a daze. I momentarily avert my eyes from hers to see that she has a substantial head injury. She’s got a long laceration on the right side of her head where the car buckled in on her. My guess is that she’s got other major injuries like broken hips and legs, based on the fact that the side of the car has her squished in like a sardine.

I press my hand against her scalp to try to stop the bleeding, and when I do, I feel her head pulsating. I’m no paramedic, but that can’t be good.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She finds my eyes in the mirror and all I can see is my mother looking back at me.

“Sara,” she says with a weak and shaky voice. “Sara Francis.”

I turn my head and vomit all over the back seat of the car.

Chapter Two

The guys outside tell me they’re going to cut steel, so I remove my hand from hers just long enough to cover us both with the blanket.

“You’re going to hear a loud noise, Sara. Don’t be scared. It will only last a minute. I’m here and I won’t let go.”

She squeezes my hand when she hears the saw power up. Then her hand goes limp in mine right before she starts shaking. I think she’s crying, but then I realize she’s convulsing when I feel her tense up and lash against the headrest. I try to yell to the guys, but the saw is too loud. And by the time the saw cuts out, her seizure is over and I work my fingers under her collar to feel for her pulse.

“Lieutenant!” I yell over my shoulder after shrugging the blanket off. “She had a seizure. Thirty seconds. Pulse is getting weak and thready.”

“Try to keep her talking if you can,” he says. “We’re having trouble extracting the driver. It’s taking longer than we thought.”

The car shifts violently, and there’s some commotion outside. For a moment, I wonder if the chain snapped or the blocks failed and maybe we’re about to plummet over the edge. And suddenly, I know what it feels like to know you’re about to die.

I squeeze her hand harder, knowing neither of us should be alone if we go over.

Then the car jerks back. They’ve secured it again and are working feverishly to get to the driver.

I try to ignore my fear as I look at Sara again. “Sara? Are you with me?”

She looks at me in the mirror but doesn’t say anything. I get the idea that maybe she can’t speak, even though she could just a minute ago. I try to put more pressure on her wound.

“I’m right here. Keep looking at me.”

Her eyes look desperate—more desperate than I’ve ever seen anyone look—and I wonder if she thinks she’s going to die. Maybe she evenknowsshe is.

Her eyes start to close. I try to think of anything to say to keep her attention.

“Sara, open your eyes.” They flutter open. “You have to stay strong. I can tell you are strong. Do you know how I know that? Because your last name is Francis and the strongest woman I’ve ever known was named Francis. She was larger than life. Loving and kind, yet she was a force to be reckoned with. She was run ragged by her unruly twins, but she never let it get to her. She loved them and her husband fiercely. I can see those same qualities in your eyes, Sara. You are fierce and strong, but also kind. You have so much you want to accomplish that you haven’t done yet.”

Her eyes close again. “Sara … Sara, open your eyes.”

She opens them and wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“I know it smells bad in here. That’s my fault. I guess I have a weak stomach. You want to hear a funny story? When I was growing up, I was really good at baseball. I played on my school team as well as a travel team. Every coach wanted Denver Andrews to play for them. But I threw up a lot. Like at every game. Sometimes more than once. I would get so nervous when I went up to bat that before I walked up to the plate, I would duck behind the dugout and vomit out of sheer stress. Then I would hit doubles, triples, and even home runs.

“Sara, keep your eyes on me. That’s right. Look at me.

---