Targaryen Musings

Life Less Traveled

Game of Thrones, Door 1

Life Less Traveled

Word Count: 831


She sat on the bench, waiting for the bus. About twenty minutes more. Cars whizzed by. The traffic turned yellow, then red. She took a sip from her water bottle.

What next? It was a simple question - asked simply - but Schala honestly didn’t know. She was a senior in high school. Graduation was just around the corner. She loved her twelfth-grade Psychology of Communication class. The teacher was extremely patient when introducing topics and fleshing them out. There were only ten kids in the class, and everyone was required to keep a journal. Today’s question was simple – what’s next?

Schala always gave the standard answer. Get a job. Go to school part time. It’s what everyone expected her to say. Reality was different. She was the oldest of five. Her mom worked a job at McDonalds and cleaned houses on the side to make ends meet. Her father came around when he came around. Her mom hustled to make enough money to make ends meet. “Schala – finish school. I’ll make due. It’s important to me that you finish school.”

Schala helped out at the house, of course. She’d cook meals, wash dishes, make sure Adrian did his homework. They had a policy – turn the phone in when doing homework and you’ll get it back. Adrian always needed help with his homework. He wanted to go to play football for Alabama and get in the NFL. He had potential. He loved football. But homework? He struggled. At least he knew what was next.

Schala sighed. She didn’t want to get caught in the circle her mom was in. There had to be more to life than working and children. And she didn’t mean that the wrong way – she loved her siblings, but she wanted … more. Like Adrian.

An older woman, about forty, Schala would guess sat down at the bus stop. She wore a blue medical smock and a light overcoat. She fussed with her purse and blew out a long breath. “Say, do you have the time?”

Schala glanced at her watch. “It’s three-ten.”

“Bus comes at three-twenty, right?”

“Yes.” Schala paused. “Long day?”

“Yes. I work at the ER at Longview Medical. Are you a student?”

“Yes, at West High.”

The traffic light on the corner turned red. One car blew the light and to Schala’s horror, T-Boned a blue Honda that had entered the intersection.

The older woman shot up “Oh my God! Come with me – I need to see if there are any injuries!”

Schala glanced at the woman, to the traffic accident, back to her. What next?

The woman ran to the mangled mess of cars. Smoke poured from the engines, fluids dripped out of the cars. Bystanders stood stock-still as the women rushed forward. Schala flung her backpack over her shoulders and followed the woman. Scared? Yeah, she was scared, but the woman was the only one who seemed to know what to do.

“You,” – she pointed at a man holding his phone, “Call 911.”

He nodded and began dialing. Schala joined her. They both wiped smoke out of their eyes.

“Hey, that car’s gonna catch on fire!” A bystander yelled.

The woman and Schala glanced at the engine, then the woman looked at Schala. “I need your help. Trust me.”

Schala nodded. Adrenaline pulsed through her.

The woman tugged at the driver’s side door and it opened. The woman undid the seatbelt. Schala helped slide the driver, a man, out of the car. He was unconscious. Heat blasted them.

“Get out of the there!”

Schala glanced up – fire was seeping from the engine block.

“We gotta’ hustle,” the woman said.

Schala grabbed the legs, and the woman grabbed the man’s arms, and they inched forward. A second man wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans joined Schala and helped her. They raced out to the sidewalk. The car burst into flames. Two other men were pulling the driver from out from the other car.

The unconscious driver lay before them on the sidewalk, blood coming out of one of his ears. The woman put two fingers against his neck. “I’m checking for a pulse. Is he breathing?”

Schala put a hand on his chest. It was going up and down. “Yes.”

The woman looked at Schala and the man who assisted them. “I’m a doctor. The pulse is weak, can you see if he’s further hurt?”

Schala began feeling his feet then his legs, then his torso. “I think he’s okay.”

Sirens blared in the background.

“Thank you for your help – both of you,” the woman said.

“If it wasn’t for both of you acting so quickly, I don’t think he’d be alive,” the man said.

“I’ll stay with you until help arrives,” Schala said, wanting to see this through.

“Thank you.” The woman offered a small smile, feeling the unconscious man’s head. “He might have a concussion.”

What’s next? A doctor? A nurse? A paramedic? Schala smiled.