Golden Age, Episode 8, Part 3
People always talk about where they were when they first heard about The Correspondent. She came out of nowhere and tried to make a difference. Some saw her as a beacon of hope, others as a sign of how far down the slope we had come. I never paid attention to all of that. I was too busy. Too busy working to pay my bills, too busy trying to figure out life. I was seventeen when it started. I was The Correspondent. This is my story.
My mom was less pissed off than I thought. She didn’t get to the hospital until the following morning, because she had to find someplace for my dad to go. He didn’t like the hospital, which is understandable considering the last time he was at this hospital he almost died. I was awake, sore, and eating breakfast when she came in the room.
I could see the scowl on her face fade away when she saw me in the hospital bed. My arm was in a cast, completely immobilized from a fracture of the humerus, My leg was in a brace, waiting for surgery of a torn ACL, and I had stitches going across my nose and eyebrows, giving me a permanent scowl.
Seeing my mom, stole away my bravery. I had told myself that I would put on a brave face when my mom arrived, play it off like it is no big deal. But it was a big deal. I was hurt and all I wanted was a hug from my mom. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed and gave me a fierce, careful hug. I wanted to tell her not to worry about hurting me because I was on so many pain killers but only sobs came out.
“What were you doing?” she asked, once I got myself under control.
“I was reporting another crime downtown, just like I had done numerous times, and was ambushed,” I swallowed more tears as I remembered the crash, “I was trying to run away,” I couldn’t keep the tears at bay any longer. I broke down, shaking.
“Your going to be ok,” she said, rubbing my back.
After that she avoided asking about the crash.
I had other visitors that day. Detective Mendez came by to investigate. He brought me a plush flower from the gift shop and a card signed by some of the officers I knew. It was nice. I held it together and answered his questions, giving him the whole truth, knowing that he would edit his final report to not mention a costumed vigilante.
When Mendez was finished with me it was time for surgery on my knee. I was officially out of commission. Someone else would have to take care of the bad guys for a while, because it wasn’t going to be me. When they came to get me for the surgery one of the orderlies pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking his messages.
His phone looked just like my Acme Phone. A flash of memories hit me. The bad guy had been using an Acme Phone. He had used it to call the ambulance. I forced myself to relax and commit that to memory as they wheeled me down to the operating room.
Dylan Reed has always been interested in a good story. Raised without a TV he spent a lot of time with books and loves reading. Dylan has been a professional entertainer, studied commercial diving, and loves random trivia. He brings all of this and more together in his stories.