Page 24 of Just a Distraction

“That’s cold!” he says. “It tickles!”

Once the firefighters get him nice and lubed up, they take a fine, chain looking thing and snake it into the leg hole, gently sawing back and forth as it cuts through the red rubbery fabric of the swing.

“I don’t need to stress what a delicate area this is, right?” Milo croaks.

“No, sir. We’re being as careful as possible.”

In a few moments, they’ve cut through the whole section. They ease the swing off his body, and he lets out an audible moan, rolling to his side, stretching his leg out and shaking it.

“Ow. My leg.”

An EMT opens both back doors of the ambulance. “Do you think you can walk over or should I get the stretcher?”

Milo curls up in the fetal position. “I’m fine.” His voice is muffled, his face in the grass. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“You need to be assessed, sir,” the EMT says.

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

I run a finger lightly through his hair. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Why don’t you want to go?”

“Because then I can’t deny culpability. It’s hands down the most embarrassing thing that I’ve ever done and being sent to the hospital in the ambulance? That’s just so much worse.”

“Milo, we all do stupid things sometimes. They need to check your veins.”

“She’s right,” the driver says. “You need an ultrasound to make sure there wasn’t any damage to any nerves or soft tissues.”

Milo sighs but then shakes his head again.

“Think of future Milo Junior and Miloette, your future daughter. Do it for the kids, Milo!”

He smiles and then bites his lip. After a swift nod, the EMT and driver each take one of his arms and lift him to standing and slowly help him walk.

“Do you want me to call a family member?” I offer. “One of your brothers? Or your parents?”

“Absolutely not,” he mutters.

By the time he’s gotten to the ambulance, he smiles. “Look! I can pretty much

walk normally. I’m all good. No need to take me in.”

They don’t respond and just help him inside.

“Can she ride with me?” he asks.

“Nope. She’s going to have to drive over separately if she wants to come.”

Before he can even ask me, I pipe up, “Oh, I’m coming.”

Just before they close the ambulance doors, Milo digs in his pocket and then tosses me the keys to his car.

“I’ll see you over there,” he offers.

I’m not going to lie, the short drive over is far scarier than anything else that’s happened today. I’m nervous I’m going to wreck his Jeep Wrangler. Once I arrive safely, I rush inside through the side door, feeling like I’m his next of kin.

This has all sorts of nineties rom-com movie vibes. But as I approach the emergency room desk, I manage to stay calm, and they let me in to see him in triage area three. His face lights up when I enter the room. Every detail feels indelible: the sharp sting of the hand sanitizer against my skin. The solidness of the chair I sit in next to Milo’s bed, the only one in the room. The smell of gauze.

The medical team takes their sweet time running scans to determine he’s not at risk for clots, or for vein or nerve damage.It’s fine by me. I actually like hospitals. Besides, Milo manages to make even this fun.

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