By HEATHER CATHLEEN COX
Staff Writer
reporter@sbnewspaper.com
Heather Cathleen Cox
About four years ago, I met someone – let’s call him Soldier – virtually. At the time, Soldier was a 30-year-old officer in the Army. His story went something like this: He had not been overseas long when the woman he had hoped to marry sent him a “Dear John” letter and married someone else. Once her marriage failed, she and Soldier would continue dating or communication, off-and-on, for several years.
Simultaneously, a guy we’ll call Trouble, who I would date off-and-on for several years, and I had also nearly gotten married. Trouble and I were broken-up one Thanksgiving, when my parents seized the opportunity to “encourage” me to move on with my life, coaxing me to join a dating website.
For the single woman, eHarmony is a man store. To use the site, you’re required to fill out a questionnaire, depicting your opinions on basically everything. It’s’ a daunting process which requires hours of concentration.
After your answers are computed, site genies begin to daily fill your “shopping cart” with guys they deem potential dating prospects. You decide who to reel in or throw back while maintaining the option of collecting some for inbox decorations, while you otherwise ignore them. It’s kind of like man hoarding.
The virtual man hunting process and I weren’t really gelling. Maybe it was me, but some of the deliveries to my shopping cart evoked concern. Like, okay, out of billions of people in the world you pair me with not one but 45 squatty, balding dudes? And I’m paying for this?
The stamp of high quality was undeniable when I first saw Soldier’s eHarmony profile. I instantly responded when he “requested communication” with me, and we e-mailed back and forth for maybe a week. Eventually, we shared two incredible phone conversations of five hours each. I’d never talked so organically about so many important things with anyone, let alone someone I didn’t know. We agreed on issues of values.
Speaking to Soldier was enchanting, but there was a five hour drive between us, and Trouble was nearby. Pun not intended.
Shortly after meeting Soldier, Trouble and I decided to try to work on our differences, but the relationship hit rock bottom within a few months. In fact, things were so awful, I not only left him but also left town to visit my parents and clear my head. There in the Rio Grande Valley, for whatever reason, I called Soldier for the first time in months and explained everything.
Soldier said he still wanted to meet me, and he said he would drive to Austin when I returned from visiting the folks. Just to clarify, Soldier and I had probably known each other 4-5 months at this point.
So there I was, fresh cup of hot coffee in hand, jamming out to a mixed CD I’d burned specifically for the occasion (give me a break, this was early 2009), driving on a narrow country road about two hours Southwest of Austin. The road had four lanes, with two lanes of traffic going each way and no middle lane or significant shoulder.
A large work truck was driving in the lane to my right when a truck pulling a cattle trailer pulled out of a side road and cut me off. The trailer was about to fishtail when I panicked and slowed down. I swerved my tiny blue Eclipse, and life fell into slow motion. I lost complete control of my car, which was spinning rapidly in a circle. I saw blurred greenery then a bright white light. Finally my car stopped in the middle of the road, perpendicular to lanes of oncoming traffic. I felt numbly disoriented and wouldn’t realize until later that at speeds of 70mph, I had collided head-on with a medium-size SUV which had been driving at the same speed.
An off-duty fireman had witnessed the crash and reported to first-responders that the operator of the truck and trailer just kept driving. Reportedly, the two individuals in the SUV walked away from the accident but were transported to a hospital for treatment. Thank God, they were able to go home.
I also walked away from the accident, thank God, but not completely unscathed. I had a busted lip and every line of every rib was bruised from the inside out, with visible bruise lines of purplish-black pain. There was a solid bluish-greenish-black bruise across my chest and lap, in the shape of my seatbelt (thank God for seatbelt manufacturers). I had third degree burn marks on my hands, arms and face from the stuff that came out of the airbag. The flesh had literally disintegrated into my inner tissue.
I had a swollen black eye and would later realize that I was otherwise bruised in the worst of places, like in between both knees, where my knees had knocked together on the inside, but also on the outsides. My full cup of coffee had spilled all over me, which completely freaked-out the kind people who pulled over to stay with me until help arrived. They thought it was blood. People who know me well would probably believe I bleed coffee.
All joking aside, my car was totaled, I was battered and bruised, and I was a senior in college who was supposed to continue working three jobs while preparing for midterms and graduation. I was also supposed to meet Soldier.
In the ambulance, I kept telling the EMT: “This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. I have things to do.” The paramedic comforted me but firmly said, “I guess it will just have to wait, won’t it.” She informed my father I was being transported to Breckenridge Hospital in Austin, and I overheard her say that I was fortunate to be alive. (I wouldn’t know until years later, but this incident would be the catalyst for a brand new life.)
On a cold, stainless steel hospital bed in the Breckenridge Hospital ER, I was a scared little 24-year-old girl waiting for her daddy to come make things better. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and out of default – like they say, old habits die hard – I called Trouble who showed up quickly and stayed until my father could arrive. Although I was 24 and supporting myself, I kept Trouble’s visit a secret due to the volatile nature of our relationship and the fact it could/would have further upset my family.
My dad entered the chilly room where I was laid up in a neck brace, looking like the newest member of Fight Club. I was high on whatever pain meds the ER staff had put in the drip in my arm but still in excruciating pain when my phone rang. It was Soldier.
Well, I am all out of space for this week. If you want to read more, I’ll see you back next week. Same time and place.
Read this story in the Dec. 2 edition of the San Benito News, or subscribe to our E-Edition by clicking here.
Recent Comments