Friday, March 20, 2009

How it all happenend: My side of the story

Three weeks ago I was at the Independent dancing to Extra Action Marching band. I love their music. I can't stop wiggling about when they are playing. I have almost memorized their set. Well, this time I stopped halfway through and sort of stood there, staring. I wanted to watch their non-verbal communication, watch them posture. I don't know, but I was all of a sudden very heavy. As soon as they stopped playing, my phone lit up and vibrated my leg. It was 11:11 and I was getting a phonecall. It was "Harrison Golden Boy" so I ran outside. He was not supposed to be calling me. He was in India with Holllis. I answered and his voice was shaky. He told me that Hollis had been in a very bad motorcycle accident and was loosing a lot of blood. He asked me if I knew her blood type so she could get a transfusion when the ambulance arrived. Luckily I was only a few blocks from my house, so I ran like that Jamaican sprinter that killed in at the Olympics. I got home and tore through my room. Hollis and I were sharing a room. She took my room while I went to Thailand and Portland, and we were going to share it for a few months because I didn't have a job (she took my place at Last Gasp) and she didn't have a place to stay. We were used to this sort of lifestyle because since I moved here we have had the most tremendous sleepover posse. Most days the week we slept over together, ususally at Jamie Bond's house, or mine, or Frannies. Sleepover crew. To get through the economic crisis we were going to be roomates with special text warnings if we wanted to get any action.
She had a few letters in the mail. I ripped them open to see if her parents names were on her insurance statement. I felt so bad, I didn't even know their names or where to start. There are a lot of Hawthornes in the world. I found a fanny pack with cards a paper, frantically searched for a sign, a name, anyone in Nashville's contact. Then I found her planner and looked in the back and it had her father's address. I called 411 and got their number with the information. I was racing the clock, and it had already been ten minutes since the Golden Boy's call.
It must be 2 or3 am in Nashville when it connected through. The person on the other line picked up with a heavy southern drawl. Oh yeah, Hollis tried so hard to not speak in that drawl, but it came out when drinking. Her father didn't know, so he gave me Heather, her sister's number.
I called her and she had one of those fancy phone services where it plays you a song while it's ringing. She didn't pick up so I called three more times in a row. I figured she would understand that it was an emergency. I forgot my bedside manners and went straight to the point.
"Hello Heather, sorry to disturb you so late, but my name is Eliza, and I am best friends with Hollis. She has been in a bad motorcycle accident in India and we need to know her blood type."
Luckily she is a nurse and knew to spring into action.
She called her mother, Diane, then called me back. That three minutes between phone calls was the longes three minutes ever. I am too full of adrenaline at this point to cry or do much of anything. She calls me back and I relay it to Harrison. In the background of the phonecall I can hear the ambulance siren. That's when it hit me as to how far away she was. The siren sounded different, but nonetheless tragic. I was glad to know she was in the hands of professionals. Oh gosh Hollis, why? She had even said something like, " If I die in a motorcycle crash in India." Don't be a prophet, Hollis!
I wanted to do more. I am a den mother of sorts, always being a medic or making herbal remedies for my sick or fallen friends. She was too far away for me to help Harrison. AHHHHH! This sucks!
I get on the computer, the one Hollis left for me to use, and I look up the consulate. I remember Harrison said they were in Pundicherry Tamil Namu state, so I tried to find the closest one. I sent out emails to them telling them the situation and that they would need a translator at the Hospital. I got an instant reply that said the office was closed at the moment. They had an "if this is a medical emergency" section that showed a couple of Hospitals in the area. I emailed each one and let them know that an American Tourist was on the way with a head wound from a motorcycle and that they needed a translator and possible money assistance.
Then I found a number on the consulate's website and called it. This was my forst international phone call I had ever made, and it turned out to cost like $150 bucks. Doesn't matter. I called them and let them know the situation, and told them they might need financial and language assistance at the Hospital. They took down Harrison's number, and Heather's as a representative of the family.
They called 20 minutes later and let me know they reached Harrison and would take it from here. Now it's about 1:00am and I have done all I can. Now what?
Cry. I cried so hard and loud and unregrettfully. I let out my grief and bewilderment.
Jamie Bond had come home and she was having a hard time too. She called her mom and her mother who is a Reiki Master and she said she would start to work on Hollis right away from her place in Northern California.
After I composed myself and chugged a bunch of brandy, I grabbed these golden mardi gras beads and used them as a rosary. I sat and meditated on Hollis, imagining her skull setting back to where it should be, reconnecting her meninges that houses her cerebral spinal fluid. I also imagined her being surrounded by small balls of golden light, like she was in a ball pit at Chuch E. Cheese. These balls of golden light were the positive healing thoughts I was sending. They began to merge together to form a full protective shield where she could float weightless while she was stabilizing and repairing herself. Then I was aware of Cindy Bond, I felt her presence and I felt the presence of her community. She was pulling energy from them whether they knew it or not. It was a neat moment or realization that someone else was there. That is when I realized that I could use Harrison as a connecting rod to her as well. I knew he was tight by her side, giving her his precious golden light, and I could use him to funnel more love to her, while giving him support in this most terrible moment.

1 comment:

KennethSF said...

Years later, when the people of Tamil Nadu recount the legend of the Golden Girl who visited them once, they would talk about the daring rescue mission undertaken by her guardians. They would describe how these magical beings (some in strange attires, others mounted on wheeled vehicles) sent millions of beautiful, bright energy bubbles from across the sea to keep the injured heroine afloat. Then the storytellers would add (after a dramatic pause) that the Golden Girl was brought home to safety on a bed of sunshine.

At this point, some of the listeners might ask, "This is just a fable, right?"

But you know this is NOT just a fable. After all, you were one of those magical beings that kept Holli out of harm's way and brought her back.