Page 2 of Five Goodbyes

I let go of the wheel, grab Jasmine’s hand, and look directly in her eyes. Tears freely flow down her cheeks, and it hurts me to think of what she’s going to miss out on. She has so much to offer this world, and my heart breaks as I think of the pain she’s going to go throughas our plummet to the water is quickly coming closer.

She’ll never have children, never be the Director of the FBI, never be President of the United States, never again laugh at all of the thing’s life brings in the beautiful day-to-day moments. This can’t happen. This isn’t right. I need her to live . . . and I want to live with her. Not that I’ve ever wanted to die, not even close, but as a lifetime of realizations hit me, I know even more that I want to live . . . and I want to live with Jasmine right beside me.

A fraction of a second before impact I look out the windshield to see if we’re going to make impact at the front right corner of our car. I try to warn Jazzy before we hit the water . . . but the only thing I get out in time is . . . “Jazzy, ho—”

I’m cut off trying to sayhold onas we hit the water . . . hard.

My seatbelt rips into my chest and gut, my forehead slams into the steering wheel, enough to send stars across my vision, I may have blacked out, but only for a second. Just as instantaneously I hear a different kind of thud, all while glass shatters around us. Before the rushing water covers my legs, I regain my focus and look to Jasmine . . . she’s unconscious.

Chapter One

As water rushes across my face, I draw in a long breath. It feels odd to be so calm in such a life-or-death situation, but I push away feelings of worry as our vehicle is fully submerged. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe my years of training have kicked in, and taken over any unnecessary thought processes.

The weight of the car begins to overwhelm the small air pocket that’s formed in the rear seat. It isn’t lost on me that time is limited. I smoothly slide my hand down my seatbelt until I find the locking mechanism . . . and press it hard. Once my body’s free from the belt I brace my left hand against the steering wheel, push toward Jasmine, and use my right hand to unlock her buckle.

The first worry starts to form in the furthest parts of my soul as I struggle to get the seatbelt over her limp body. The pressure of the water on my ears is nearly overwhelming. We’re sinking fast and I’m struggling to untangle Jasmine and get her out.

My mind races as I try to come up with a plan while knowing time is more than critical. Jasmine’s head rolls with the movement of the car, her hair floating like a million pieces of string trying to escape its imprisonment. I don’t know how long a body naturally holds its breath to keep itself safe . . . but it can’t be long. My internal clock starts ticking down. What happens at the end of that self-created timer isn’t known, but I’d rather have both of us out of this car before finding out.

I’m still calm, the worry trying to climb up and overtake me . . . but still calm. I remove Jasmine’s arm from the belt, grab her shoulder, and pull us up and out of the broken window of my door. I scoot out feet first so I don’t lose my grip on Jasmine, and finally get us free. It takes too long to get oriented, figuring out which way is up, but lights above us give me a bearing. It’s not good . . . we’re far deeper than I expected. Fear starts gaining more control over me.

My legs finally begin moving, and I kick hard toward the surface. My chest is burning, crying out for oxygen. I continue to kick with Jasmine securely in my arms, but if feels like I’m not getting any closer to oxygen.

It’s an odd thing what our brains think in a crisis situation. I don’t think about letting Jasmine go and saving myself . . . there’s not even a chance of this happening. I don’t even consider the possibility that she may actually be gone. I start to smile, because why wouldn’t I, as my mind is filled with the stories we’ll have together as we grow old and grey. I think about taking our kids to practices and teaching them how to ride bikes. I think about being a grandpa and sneaking my grandchild candy when my own son or daughter isn’t looking, just like a good grandpa is supposed to do.

My legs continue kicking, my chest full of molten magma, and yet all I can do is smile because I know without a doubt I’m going to get to the surface and save Jasmine. She’s going to be fine . . . she has to be . . . because a world without Jasmine Anderson in it isn’t a world worth living in. I look down at the top of her head, her hair smoothly cascading down against the current I’m creating, making her look ethereal, like a mermaid of old . . . and it’s proof we’re making real progress.

I try to keep my body from convulsing . . . but I can’t stop the violent shudders that begin overtaking my body. I keep kicking my legs . . . but I’m losing the power to move . . . not the will . . . but the physical ability.

“Dammit, keep kicking,” I demand.

“There’s nothing left to give,” my brain replies.

“Just two more kicks,” I internally scream.

“There’s nothing left to give,” is echoed again.

“Shut up and keep kicking. I’m not going to stop,” I command.

Another violent convulsion rips my bones from my joints. I begin little flutter kicks. There isn’t enough oxygen in my blood stream for my muscles to continue. My eyesight begins to darken, but I don’t need to see to move upward. I’ll do whatever it takes to save Jasmine even if it costs me my own life. I’ll never stop trying to save her, to protect her.

No matter how much I argue with myself, the fight to hold my breath is lost . . . and I release it. A strange thing happens. I feel warmth on my face, a warmth that only comes from the sun. We’ve surfaced! We’ve made it.

My eyes open as I violently cough, sputter, and gasp for air. The release of my breath burns . . . and I have to admit that my body feels much worse than it did a few seconds ago. I’m sure it has something to do with blood pressure, the exchange of gases in my body, or something else I’m not smart enough to understand . . . but what I do know is that I’m still alive . . . for now. I move us toward the shore which is taking forever as I cry out her name again and again.

“Jazzy!” I spit out, demanding she wake up.

I’m trying to keep us afloat while positioning her back against my chest. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’ve admittedly never taken a course on saving drowning victims. This is the best I can come up with. Shaking her a couple of times doesn’t work . . . and I cough out her name again, “Jazzy!”

This probably won’t win me any favors when she wakes up, but I raise my fist as high as I can, while maintaining a tightrope balance, and hammer my fist down against her chest. If she’s knocked out this doesn’t matter, but if she’s inhaled water, I need to get it out of her. Nothing happens so I do it again.

“Come on Jazzy. Please come back to me,” I plead.

I hear a distant sound in the midst of me attempting to resuscitate Jasmine. I look up to see the bridge we flew off of, people leaning over the edge, screaming down at us, waving their arms frantically. It takes me a moment to realize they’re warning me. Pieces of the bridge are falling down only feet from us. The last thing I need to deal with is a manmade meteor shower aimed right at our heads.

“Seriously?” I say to the sky as I begin swimming faster from the area trying to make my head look like a bug splat on a windshield. I’ve got to get us to safety, and fast, and that can’t happen where we are.

The nearest landfall is about half a mile, I’m guessing, and I need to get Jasmine help. I can feel she has a heartbeat, though it’s weak. I start pushing myself as hard as I can toward the solid ground.

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