Sometimes The Bear Eats You

Two stories were written for the 750 Word Project 2023. Each one will appeal to a different audience. This one has no sex. If you are interested in something with a little sex, check out The Siren in High Heels. Please vote if you enjoy either of the stories. Comments are appreciated.

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You might have seen me weaving in and out of traffic on a bike, taking chances no sane person should, to deliver packages sooner than any mail service. I was an adrenaline junkie. I got my kicks mountain climbing, parachute jumping, whitewater kayaking, basically anything that got my blood pumping. I even put toe clips on the pedals of my bike to allow me to go faster.

A reckless driver changed all that when he made a sharp right turn without signaling. My bike slammed into his car and flew over the sidewalk into a brick wall. I woke up with casts on both wrists and hooked up to an IV drip, unsure of my surroundings.

"Hello David. My name is Dr. Morris and you're in Mt. Sinai Hospital."

"Doc, I don't remember anything after the accident. How did I get here?"

"Someone who saw the accident called 911. The EMT that arrived determined that you needed immediate medical attention and this was the closest hospital."

"Okay, now give me the bad news."

"You were unconscious when you were admitted. Your ribs were badly bruised and both wrists were broken. The IV drip will help you to manage any pain. The good news is that those injuries will heal in six to eight weeks. The worst injury was to your right leg. It was mangled terribly from the collision with the wall while your foot was trapped in the pedal clip. I'm sorry David, but I had to amputate it below the knee."

I'm sure my screams were heard throughout the hospital. In my mind, my life was over. I lost more than a piece of my leg in that accident. I lost my confidence. The fact that I was dependent on others until the casts came off only added to my depression.

The hospital fitted me with a prosthetic leg and assigned a psychologist and a physical therapist to aid in my recovery. The psychologist was definitely the more sympathetic of the two. The physical therapist pushed me hard. "Can't" wasn't in his vocabulary and I still hear the words "do it again" in my sleep. It took a while but the two of them convinced me that I could keep my active lifestyle although I'd have to cut back a little on my mountain climbing.

My next challenge was financial. I needed to find a job soon. A judge determined that the driver of the car in the accident was responsible for all medical expenses and loss of income but only during my rehabilitation. After listening to my problem, the psychologist reached into her desk and pulled out a business card. According to her, Thomas Reade might be the solution so, with my consent, she set up a meeting.

When I arrived at the address on the card, a receptionist checked to confirm my appointment with Mr. Reade and then directed me to his office. I gently knocked on the door and opened it.

Nervously I asked, "Mr. Reade?"

"Come in and take a seat, David. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks."

"David, I hire people to work at a pharmaceutical call center. The job involves listening to the concerns of people who use certain drugs and answering their questions. If you agree to work for us, we provide all the training necessary. The starting salary isn't great but there are health benefits, annual raises and chances for promotion. Would you be interested?"

"Yes, but I have one question. Why me?"

Mr. Reade paused before answering, "David, were you ever in the military?"

"No."

"Well, I was. I was a Major in the Army, stationed in Afghanistan after 9/11. I learned firsthand that war changes people and so, after over twenty years of service, I retired from the military. I wanted to take my life in a different direction. The career that I envisioned would involve helping people who needed a new start after suffering a hardship. This company gave me that opportunity. David, I was informed of the nature of your injuries but I can assure you that the job is not being offered to you out of pity if that's what you're worried about."

The look in his eyes told me that Mr. Reade meant every word he said, so I accepted the job. With that, Mr. Reade smiled and as he held out his hand to shake mine, I finally understood everything, even Mr. Reade's connection with my psychologist. His hand was prosthetic.