Sammy
“I can’t believe you, I really can’t,” Mandy Jenkins snapped, her temper flaring after an evening of drinks with her friends, most of them fellow students.
“I’m sorry, babe, I am, but you know I don’t like it when people start talking about that sort of stuff. It annoys me,” Sammy Westford answered, never taking his eyes from the road.
Mandy had woken him and begged Sammy pick her up from the bar she was in because she had drunk way too much to drive and didn’t want to have to take a taxi back to her place because her roommate would get angry with her for coming home so late. Mandy had been unlucky enough to make friends with a devout Christian called Emma Wilkinson during her freshman year at university and had never been able to shake her off since. Although Mandy herself had been raised to be a rather devout Catholic, her parents to their credit understood her decision, or simply recognized her stubborn streak and allowed her to go her own way, find her own path.
That being said, Emma was a good friend, one of the best Mandy had ever had; even if her strong religious views and firm standpoint on sex before marriage had made for some rather interesting conversations when Sammy and Mandy had first started dating.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Sammy. You fucking embarrassed me in there tonight. I mean, Jesus Christ, would it kill you to try and behave around my friends just once?” She gesticulated with her hands. Sammy didn’t have to take his eyes from road to know that she was mad with him. She was drunk, and therefore, she was mad at him, although he would admit that on this occasion her anger, although a little excessive, was justified.
“I don’t want to argue, Mand, you’re a bit drunk, and those guys took the piss, and only because I don’t have a college education or drive a fancy car. I work hard to make my way, and you above all people should know that I enjoy what I do. I’m proud of who I have turned myself into, so don’t get angry with me or take their side...not tonight.” Sammy wasn’t angry with her. Mandy didn’t go out often, and seldom did she get drunk, but whenever she did it was always the same routine. She would call him up, he would go get her, and then they would argue about how he was rude to her friends. It was a cycle that stemmed from the main difference between them; their backgrounds.
Sammy was a twenty-two-year-old construction worker; someone who came from a family of borderline degenerates, someone who was never given much of a chance in life. His two brothers were petty criminals, and his sister lived on benefits in a house provided for her and her four children while she chased child support payments from the four different fathers.
His parents divorced before he was even born. Sammy was the baby of the family, the youngest by quite some way, and it was his conception, in fact, which had placed the final lid in the coffin of their relationship, with his father questioning his mother’s fidelity. The question was never answered; his father always preferred to pose such important questions with his fists or other handy appliances rather that with his tongue. Sammy called him his father, but in truth he was only the father of Sammy’s sister who was conceived while his mother was engaged to another man (who, for the sake of the record, was not the father of either of Sammy’s brothers).
Sammy never knew his own father, and he in turn escaped his family as soon as he graduated high school. Although he had the brains for it, he knew with a strange levelheadedness at an early age that he wouldn’t benefit from going to college. He liked the idea of working with his hands, and so he packed his bags at the first opportunity and moved to a different city – away from his family in Denver – and began a series of cross-country adventures before finally landing in Baltimore, where he had been ever since, living just outside of the main city in the suburb of Edmonson.
He had moved around a lot, living in rented accommodation, moving from city to city, working construction for whatever company was hiring, before he was finally offered regular work with Whiting-Turner Construction, whom had now been his employers for two-and-a-half years.
Mandy Jenkins couldn’t have been more dissimilar to Sammy if she tried. Her family were rich; her father a doctor, head of cardio thoracic surgery at Johns Hopkins while her mother was a stay-at-home mom, dedicated to her children, never moaning, always willing to spend her time aiding them in whatever they needed, from conversations or advice through to simple transport, something that would have never crossed Sammy’s mother’s mind. She was too self-obsessed to even notice Sammy had moved out of the house until three weeks later. The first phone call to check on his whereabouts came three weeks after he had left home, just as he was about to pack up his bags and move for the second time.
Mandy had one brother who, while only in first in his year at Stanford, had already been headhunted by some of the largest law firms on both coasts, not to mention a few from abroad. Mandy herself had chosen to follow her father into the medical profession, choosing dentistry. It was in a bar near the University of Maryland where she just begun her second year that Mandy met Sammy.
Their meeting was unremarkable, although over the years, as their relationship developed, so did the embellishments they made to their tale. It went from a case of being squashed together at the bar trying desperately to order drinks, only for Sammy to turn around and sacrifice his turn so that Mandy could order, to them finding themselves trapped against the bar and unable to get back to their respective groups (which was as close to the truth as the tale ever got), to something far more interesting – versions of which included Sammy climbing onto the bar and walking across it, jumping to the floor only to sweep Mandy into his arms and walk out of the bar with her.
Their story became a game to them; they took it in turns to create the most embellished version possible just to see how many people believed it. The one constant was the mutual instant attraction.
Despite having next to nothing in common – different background and varied interests – they made it work. Sammy was a fan of action movies, particularly those from the 80s and early 90s, while Mandy was more interested in the old Hollywood pictures, and of course a good romantic movie. Sammy read sports magazines and the occasional comic book, while Mandy had developed a taste for the classic English authors such as Thomas Hardy and the entire Brontë family. Yet, despite it all, something between them clicked. The only thing they shared was a mutual indifference to any one style of music.
They had been together just over a year now, and they had learned everything about each other. Sammy had been slow to open up, and still hadn’t told Mandy everything about his past, or his family, but she knew that and was happy to wait. Mandy’s parents had reserved their judgment of him, listening at first only to the background tales of his youth; however, after having met him a few times, they both admitted he was one of the good guys.
They argued, of course, but most of the time it was over silly things, as is the case in any relationship. Their current interaction wasn’t so much of an argument as more of a drunken conversation after an incident between Sammy and Nathan Woodrow, a student friend of Mandy’s who was infatuated with her and determined to try and score points against Sammy every time they met.
“Why not tonight, Sammy? What’s the problem with having this conversation tonight? Do you think you can take me home and get some action from the drunk girl?” She slurred her words, slashing the air with her hands.
“Listen, Mand, I am sorry. That guy is a cock, and just the thought of him makes me want to slap him in the face with a brick. I’m sorry, but it’s true. He baits me every time and I always fall for it, because he’s an ass, and he wants you, to take you from me. I don’t want to fight about this, so let’s just go home and we can talk in the morning when your head has cleared a bit,” he reasoned, staying calm as best he could. Sammy forced himself to keep his focus on the road, not even allowing himself the chance to throw her so much as a sly glance.
“That’s just like you, Sammy...never talk it out, just let Mandy cool down and she’ll give it up anyway. You never want to fight, you never argue back. Well this time I’m not letting it go,” she snapped, and there was a tone of pure frustration in her voice that made him believe her.
“Come on, Mandy, I don’t like fighting. You know what I saw my parents go through, not to mention the string of step-fathers I’ve had. I’ve seen what arguments turn into,” he said, trying to steer the conversation in a new direction.
“Well you can’t hide from everything, Sammy. You were happy enough to fight with Nate back there.” She threw back the catalyst that had caused the fight in the first place, just in case he had forgotten.
“Drop it, Mand...Jesus, just pipe down and let me get you home alright?” Sammy found his patience slipping. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and although he knew he would never hit a woman no matter what the circumstances, he could still feel rage building deep down inside him. He forced it down: an argument was the last thing he wanted, and he would avoid it at all costs.
“Why, are you gonna ignore me, sleep on the sofa, wait until morning, and hope it’s all blown over?” She continued to push, somehow intent on making a big deal over a snide comment that Sammy made when he arrived – despite the fact that Nate had been throwing his own snide remarks around about Sammy the entire evening or close to it – and his refusal to sit down and have a drink.
“No, I was going to propose, you silly mare. I busted my balls getting everything set up the way I wanted before you came home,” Sammy blurted it out, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.
He had been planning the best moment for several weeks, the ring purchased a few months before, just in case the opportune moment arrived early. He had spent the bonus he had been given by his boss on a bottle of expensive champagne and a punnet of strawberries, coupled with scented candles, and a plan for a hot bath scattered with rose petals. Only for Mandy to call and say she was going out for drinks instead.
“What?” Mandy’s mouth stopped after that one word, her mind all of a sudden sober, as if the previous sentence had blown all of the windows out of the car, letting the cool night air and steady rainfall wash the alcohol away.
“That’s right, I had this whole romantic evening planned, and everything was perfect until Nathan got in the way,” Sammy began, but stopped himself; he had finally turned the corner in their disagreement and didn’t want to go throwing any more fuel onto the fire.
“You were going to propose?” Mandy asked in a moment of clarity so stark and sudden that it slapped the remaining haze of her drunkenness and all thoughts of arguments out of her mind.
“Yeah,” Sammy answered her, not certain that an answer was needed.
“Were,” Mandy repeated.
“Am.” Sammy finally understood the previous sentence. He reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a small velvet box. “I had much bigger and better plans for this, you know,” he said, passing Mandy the box, which she took with hands that trembled from nerves.
“This is one hell of a way to win an argument, Sam,” Mandy answered, laughing. The smile that was stretched across her face, even in the darkness of the car, was answer enough.
“Well, think of all the fights we can have in the future,” Sammy joked.
He took his eyes off the road and looked at her just for a second. He felt a sudden need to see the sparkle in her eyes, even if they were bloodshot from a night of drinking. She still made his heart skip a beat, the delicate outline of her features, the way she poked her tongue out between her teeth when she smiled – a real smile, that was – and the creases around her eyes when she laughed, her smooth skin, and full lips that gleamed in the halogen amber haze that was cast down by the streetlamps.
Mandy giggled at him, and turned her head as if embarrassed, then sensing the weight of his gaze she turned and looked at Sammy. Her face was youthful, and Sammy never stopped wondering how he had managed to keep someone who looked as amazing as Mandy and had the brains to match. She opened her mouth to speak, to answer his question at last; despite the certainty of its affirmation, a yes was still the necessary prerequisite for the occasion. However, what came out was a blood-curdling scream better placed in a scary movie.
“Sammy,” was the only discernable word that came out. Her face was frozen in a look that was somewhere between the height of orgasm and sheer horror, color drained from her face, as if the blood had packed up and left before whatever unspeakable event was about to unfold could occur.
Sammy turned to look and wasted half of his remaining time with Mandy wondering what the hell she saw. Part of him thought it was a meteorite, or for longer odds, a UFO. The night sky filled with bright orange sparks that flew across the horizon, tumbling without grace. It was only when impact was imminent that he realized what it was. A Mercedes, he wasn’t sure of the model – not that it mattered when the car in question had become a fireball.
“Jesus Christ. Mandy, hold on!” he yelled, grabbing the steering wheel and trying to find the brakes with feet that felt as though they were glued to the floor. Sammy’s leaden left foot rose and tried to find the brake that his right foot refused to touch, but it was too late. The noise was tremendous as the Mercedes, having lost control at a high speed, toppled head over tail towards them, somersaulting like an obese gymnast.
Instinctively, Sammy reached out trying to grab hold of Mandy’s hand. All he could hear was his heart as it thundered in his chest while his brain failed to function on a clear or understandable level. Even Mandy’s screams were a mere whisper, a distant murmur, as though she were trapped in another room or at the end of a long corridor.
The automotive torpedo impacted Sammy’s car on the edge of the hood, causing minimal damage. It was the sudden change in momentum that caused the car to flip over.
“Shit!” Sammy cried out as he felt the car begin to tip forward.
Despite the speed with which it all occurred, everything felt as though it happened in slow motion. The change in the weight of the car, the crunching sound of the hood, engine and undercarriage being crushed, the strange, stomach-churning sensation as the car left the ground, flipping over like a disc in a game of Tiddlywinks. Beside him, Sammy heard Mandy scream, her seatbelt forgotten by her intoxicated mind. She fell forward as the car flipped and she fell into the windshield, her head hitting hard enough to crack the glass. As the car continued its first of many cartwheels Sammy saw a bloodied smear mark the glass as his girlfriend’s head bounced free, her body falling against the roof as her head then made contact with the dashboard. Mandy’s body followed a similar trajectory as the car, her legs crashing through the glass of the windscreen as the roof crumpled against the road surface. Sammy heard something snap; a burning pain thundered through his body. He didn’t have any time to look – not that he could see anything anymore; every image had blended together, his world awash of darkness and fire.
The car flipped once more, the roof flattening even further, and Sammy’s fastened seatbelt wasn’t enough to stop his head from colliding with the driver’s side window. His neck whiplashed with a loud crack and a burst of pain shot into the center of his brain. He tasted blood in his mouth and couldn’t breathe; his chest was crushed, both lungs punctured. He also had a compound fracture in each leg, the femur protruding at about mid-thigh level. Finally, the car came to a stop, landing upside down in the middle of the road, the engine somehow still revving angrily, the rear wheels spinning, while the aroma of spilled fuel began to fill the car.
“Mandy,” Sammy coughed, blood spurting from his lips. Looking over to the passenger seat, pain surging through his body, Sammy tried to find the woman he loved. Sammy groped desperate to find Mandy, even as his wheezing breaths began to shallow. He sweated and shivered simultaneously, and the pain began to dull as Sammy’s body shut down. He lost control of his bodily functions not long after the car began its second rotation.
The seat next to him was empty; Mandy had fallen out of the tumbling projectile in stages as it had flipped its way along the road. Her head had been the first to come away, cut through as the car descended from its second flip; she had already fallen halfway out of the window when the road came crashing down again, snapping her neck and sending the head rolling down the road like a gruesome bowling ball.
By the time the car came to a stop, several fingers and her left arm had been scattered along the road like the lost items that can be seen lying beside any highway; a shoe, a book, things you often wonder how is it possible to lose while within a car. By sheer chance, the rearview mirror was still in place, and although cracked and missing several large chunks, Sammy could make out what was left of Mandy’s body further down the road, a fit of spasms racing through her dismembered torso as the rain pelted down, washing the blood from the road as if the world were wanted to hide it.
His head grew dizzy, the gargling sounds of his breathing lessened, and with it the depth of each inhalation became shallower. Yet Sammy refused to give up. “Mandy.” He struggled to make any sound, and was surprised at how strong his voice sounded.
Sammy received no answer to his cries, the still night air broken only by the steady ticking sound of his car engine. The summer storm that had been threatening all day made its move, and the rumbles of thunder drowned out the emergency service sirens. Lightning cast a stark, brilliant flash on the horizon, highlighting the blood and oil covered road, glinting in the open eyes of the head that lay between the two lanes, boxed inside the dividing lines. The blond hair that crowned it was fanned out like a wedding train.
Sammy was long dead by the time anybody arrived at the scene, his face frozen in a twisted image, as if the last thing Sammy had seen had been was Death himself as he leaned in to claim him.