I Wish I May, I Wish I Might by CD Novak

Accidents happen. Sometimes the outcome is a surprise, opening a new door. Sometimes the outcome sucks. Usually things fall in the middle.

What is it you need for your life to become more idyllic? Money? Fame? Solitude? It’s always something. At least for must folks. And it’s usually money. No one ever seems to have enough, even though no one can define the right amount.

Teller Martin and his wife Jen had been a couple for 18 years. They had three great kids in middle school or high school, all doing well.

Life was grand. If you didn’t look to closely. Especially at their finances.

Graham was now a junior and 17 years old. In four months he would start his last year of high school. Which meant college was now firmly and grandly on his horizon. Katie was only a year behind him. Thankfully Cole was a bit further back.

It didn’t matter. Teller and Jen had no money put away for college. They had instead a huge stack of bills that made everything a struggle. Entrenched in the middle of America’s middle class, they had no clue how much money they needed to muddle through life. But they understood what they had wasn’t enough. Not even if the kids went to the nearby state college.

Martin stewed on this frequently. He had no education after high school, to his own chagrin. He had graduated eighth in his class with a GPA of 3.91. But he hated school, hated studying. In fact had he studied at all in high school he likely would have been first in his class. With an IQ of 152 (though he was unaware), everything came easily for him. 

It was just that he hated school. He couldn’t wait to get out. Now he drifted about as an adult, working at a job for two, three, maybe five years. Then boredom would settle in and he would meander downstream and try something else. As a result, he never lasted anywhere long enough to reap any larger rewards.

Jen was stable. She sported a two year degree. It got her in the door for good jobs. But it had never been enough to carry her to the next level anywhere.

The Martin’s made $65000 a year before taxes. With three kids, two dogs and mortgage, two auto loans and a pile of credit card debt, they barely broke even payday after payday.

It’s kind of the American way.

“Jen,” started Teller one Saturday afternoon. ”Let’s go for supper tonight.” Because their money was tight, they seldom ate out. Jen was surprised, understanding that going out was something her husband requested when his mind was troubled. He needed to talk.

“OK.” There was nothing else to say.

They rode in near silence to Magnani’s, the local Italian place. It was a shared favorite, with good food, friendly staff and not too expensive. The car radio hummed just loud enough to hear Bob Seger crooning “Down on Main Street”, Martin’s personal favorite from a guy he really liked. He hummed along, as usual, because he didn’t know the words. He never knew the words.

The drive was short, twelve minutes from home. It was early, just a bit after 5:00, so the restaurant wasn’t busy yet. In another 30 minutes the wait would mushroom, and people would be told 25 to 35 minutes. But Martin knew all this and planned accordingly.

Seated quickly, Jen requested some wine and the couple decided to share a bottle.

“Let’s splurge a little tonight,” said Jen. “We do that so seldom. Martin smiled at his wife nodding. Life was not splurge worthy very often. Tonight wasn’t his idea of the right time for this small extravagance, but what the hell. 

They sipped the wine, a nothing special red that was a little on the sweet side. Cherry Kool-Aid with some alcohol in it. They both preferred this kind of wine. It went down easily. 

 A basket of warm garlic toast was quickly wolfed down and another arrived, unbidden. It wouldn’t survive to the end of the meal. But Magnani’s would offer a doggy bag filled with four more slices to take home. It was sort of a trademark. The Martins’ always said yes to this.

‘Jen, I’m a little worried,” said Martin. Jen knew this meant he was really worried, because her husband seldom shared his concerns, letting most of the detritus of life blow away in the breeze. She mostly admired this trait. It seemed to make things easy for her already easy going guy.

“About what, babe?’

“We have three wonderful kids. And I know you want more for them they what we have. I do too. But Katie and Graham are knocking to the door to college. And we have no way to help them pay for it. If they borrow money they’ll be saddled with debt before they even become adults and will take it to their graves.”

Jen looked at Martin, concern evident in her now furrowed brow.

“I wish more for them,” he continued. “But I got no clue how to get it.”

Jen sighed. “Me too Teller. I want so much for our kids.” She grew silent.

A big plate of spaghetti and meatballs came out, along with a large dish of lasagna. More wine was poured. Would there be anything else? Not at the moment, thanks. They ate in near silence.

“Oh lordy, that was good,” said Teller, pushing back slightly from the table. Two thirds of the lasagna was missing, but it required no police work to see where it went. Jen had managed to heat about half of her spaghetti. Lunch tomorrow was set.

“We need to figure this out somehow,” said Martin on the drive home. The sun had set ,and the evening air had grown grey, now accompanied with a light drizzle. Headlights glared on the wet pavement

“Maybe we need to talk to Parker Newburg.” The accountant. He did their taxes every year, but they seldom saw him otherwise. Beyond this, Martin had only wishes and dreams, and no fairy godmother to make them come true.

“I’ll call him Monday,” said Jen. They drove in silence, even the radio now off. Martin continued to rack his brain, sure there was an answer staring him in the face. He just needed to see it.

Four blocks from home, Jen turned to her husband. “I have an idea…” she started. She didn’t get to finish her thought.

An old pick-up piloted by a 15 year old girl driving illegally, rushed through a stop sign. The truck, going an unsafe 40 in a 25, t-boned the old Buick Le Sabre, flipping it up into the yards of two homes, upside down.

Several emergency vehicles descended on the scene, including two ambulances. The young girl was found stunned, but more or less unhurt. A cell phone with a half completed text was in her lap. “Treated and released” it would say later in the local paper. She spent more time at the Emergency Center waiting to be treated than she did under a doctor’s care. 

The Martins were both badly hurt, Jen having fared much worse. It took the rescue crew 35 minutes to free her from the wreckage. By then her husband was already being seen by a doctor. A broken leg and arm, dislocated shoulder and lots of bruising would leave him in pain and misery for several weeks. He got the better of it.

Jen Martin had a broken back and pelvis, severe whiplash and internal bleeding. A large lump on her head testified to head trauma. A concussion for sure. An MRI was needed and quickly to see what else. She spent three weeks in the ICU. Wires and tubes snaked every which way, nurses rushed to fill doctor’s commands, often before the doctor had even barked. Blood was dripping from IV bags into her system as fast as it could go. Three surgeries located bleeders and lots of injuries.

The only saving grace was she was unconscious for all of this. She never felt a thing.

Teller Martin was released from the hospital after three days. A surgery of his own to set his mangled leg left him in a wheelchair. He asked to be rolled to Jen’s bedside.

The days watching her were long and arduous. He slept fitfully, when he slept at all. He ate little, when he ate at all. He spent a lot of time out in the waiting area, whispering with friends and family. The news was uncertain. If Jen could fight through the worst of her brain trauma, she had a real chance to do well. But no one ever told him how likely this was. They simply smiled and said “we’ll just have to see”.

Day 21. Teller’s injuries had healed to a point where he seldom thought about his own state of affairs. His appetite had improved. He had graduated to a walker. It was awkward, but he made it work.

“Jen,” he said, sitting bedside, cradling her hand in his. “I’m going to the cafeteria. It’s lunchtime. Do you want anything?” He didn’t expect an answer, but he still hoped for one. Nothing today. He’d try again though. He tried every day.

He ate in silence, the cafeteria almost empty, the lunch hour over thirty minutes ago. The food was OK, actually pretty good for a hospital. Sometimes he noticed, sometimes not. Today he didn’t notice.

It took him ten minutes to eat, and he sat and contemplated for ten more. Needing to take a restroom break, he finally arose and began his trek back. Because he moved slowly with his walker, a full ten minutes lapsed before he made his way back to IC #17. To Jen.

From up the hallway he could see something wasn’t right. Something had happened. Jen’s room was a flurry of activity, an alarm was beeping, and people were rushing in and out. Someone was barking out orders, medical commands that he mostly didn’t understand. But one stood out, one was crystalline-“CLEAR”.

Shocked, he slowly made his way. The maelstrom blew for twenty minutes as he sat in the ICU front desk area. Sweat pearled his brow and his now full stomach felt as if he had eaten several meals instead of a light lunch. This was bad. You didn’t need to be a doctor or nurse to see this.

Finally the commotion waned. The attending staff quieted as if in slow motion. Martin got up and inched to Jen’s door. The crowd in the room was still busy, now moving in near silence.

“Time of death 13:27.” The doctor stripped off his gloves and threw them in the trash, the act almost violent. Teller Martin’s eyes welled until he couldn’t see anything but blurry shapes, shifting like ghosts.

Jen was dead.

Time passed at lightning speed some days, never moving others, in the aftermath of Jen Martin’s passing. There was so much to do, and Teller was interested in doing none of it. He just wanted it to be over. He didn’t understand it would never truly end.

After two weeks some checks came in the mail. Insurance payouts. He would have to talk to Parker Newburg. An appointment was made. One more thing Martin didn’t want to deal with, but he had no choice. Someone was going to pay for his wife’s funeral and so far, no one else had volunteered.

“At least you’ll have a little financial security,” said Newburg. “There’s plenty here to pay off your mortgage and still have a chunk left.”

Martin seemed not to hear, his attention elsewhere. His grief was still so fresh, it was hard to put on socks and shoes every morning. This was impossible to deal with right now.

“Tell? You with me?”

“Sorry Parker, yes, I’m just…struggling. Trying to process.”

“I understand. But you will have a nice little nest egg left even after you pay of your obligations. Any ideas what you wanna do with it?”

“How much?”

“200 grand, give or take.”

“No ideas. What do people do? Surely you been down this road before.”

“Invest, sock it away for retirement. College. Your kids are going to college?”

“Yes, it appears.” Martin started to cry. Warm saline eased down his cheeks.

“You OK?” asked the accountant.

Martin shook his head. “I will be later. This is too much right now.”

“Wanna reschedule?”

“No. Let’s just get it done.”

Seven pm. Teller Martin parked in front of his television. NCIS was starting, his favorite show ever, and one he and Jen had watched together every Tuesday night. He turned on the tube and dialed in CBS, then hit record. He pushed a button and the screen went back to black. No TV tonight. Even that was hard.

In dim lamplight, he sat and pondered. His mind drifted back to Parker Newburg. All his debts would be paid off. $80000 would be dumped into his retirement account, giving him around $82000. And $40000 each for college for the kids.

He sobbed hard at this last thought. Happy that his kids could get through most or all of college without getting saddled with a massive amount of debt. But his thoughts drifted away again. His sobbing turned dark.

Jen was dead. Almost as if he had wished it. Her death had managed to wipe out nearly all of his concerns about his financial problems. Because he had wished for it.

BECAUSE HE HAD WISHED FOR IT!!

Because he had wished…