Life Is Not an Accident Read Free Page A

In the distance up ahead I saw something that I was going to crash into . . . and then I jerked awake. It was four fifteen in the morning. I sat up in my bed, thinking, What the hell was that?!
    Was that, somehow, a sign, a warning, and I missed it?
    Looking back, I’ve wondered if the fact that my Corvette keys were in front of my Yamaha keys that morning was also a sign I ignored. I definitely ignored the countless warnings about the dangers of motorcycles from people who cared about me. The last thing I heard before getting on my bike was Kevin, my mentor, telling me not to ride—and I hadn’t listened to him or anyone. I was in control. I was making my own decisions. I was being a man.
    And now here I was, flying in the air and spinning. In control of nothing.
    The impact when I landed was immediate, like an anchor being dropped into water. I was facedown. My chest was lying directly flat on the grassy area between the curb and the sidewalk; my legs lay outstretched on top of each other, almost disconnected from my body on the pavement at a 90-degree angle. My lower extremities were motionless as the curb pressed against my abdomen.
    I began screaming Kevin’s name over and over again. I was in so much pain and unable to move, from my midsection down. I was certain that I was paralyzed. With my cheek flush against the grass, I could see Kevin running toward me. As he got closer, I remember his mouth opening wide in shock, almost in disbelief at what he was seeing. All the color left his face as he stood over me, horrified. It looked as if someone had reached into his body and yanked out his soul. His expression was all the confirmation I needed about what I had done. I started crying and pounding my right fist against the grass while yelling, “I threw it all away! I threw it all away! I threw it all away!”
    Kevin yelled for help while pulling out his cell phone to dial 911. I started to feel the sensation of someone pouring a pitcher of scalding hot water from my pelvic area down to my feet. I went into shock as the pain began to override my senses. Kevin was holding my hand, telling me everything was going to be all right, but there was nothing believable about his tone. Everything was not going to be all right—ever again.
    I was inconsolable as I ricocheted from anger to sorrow and back to anger and then sorrow once more. It felt as if time had stood still. I hoped I was having another dream, just like the first one, and soon I would wake up. How could this be real?
    I had done this to myself. And the pain from that reality, as Iwould soon discover, would not be tempered by morphine, and would last long after my broken bones had healed. As I lay there on the ground, the lower half of my body now feeling like it was on a bed of burning embers, I couldn’t help but think that seeing that biker break his collarbone during one of my late-night rides was yet another sign I had ignored.
    â€œIt’s going to be okay, you’re going to be fine,” Kevin repeated, desperate to get me to calm down.
    I was slowly bleeding to death internally.
    I wasn’t even sure I wanted to live.
    Not long before, I had been lying in bed, gazing out my window at the turquoise waters of Lake Michigan as sunlight tickled the waves. I had a business meeting with one of my best friends in the world. I was going to hit the gym and maybe grab some lunch afterwards. Today was going to be amazing. Today was going to be perfect.

2
Imperfect
    B y the time the ambulance arrived, I had calmed down slightly, enough to try and answer the paramedics’ questions.
    Do you know your name?
    Yes . . . I am Jay Williams!
    Do you know what just happened to you?
    Yes, yes, yes . . . I just hit the damn pole and I can’t feel my fucking legs.
    So you don’t feel me touching your legs?
    I knew the medic had good intentions, but I was in so much pain that I quickly started to lose my patience with his simple