CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dominic had to work, so after I was discharged from the hospital, I spent most of my days alone in my room at the back of the house. The California sun was almost nonexistent in that room as I lay there on my mattress on the floor, staring at the ceiling for hours, imagining shapes.
I was on pain meds and my right arm was in a sling. Broken ribs are extremely painful. It’s a kind of constant ache as the bones and nerves knit themselves together again, and when you need to take a deep breath — as we all must do eventually — it becomes a thousand times worse; when you inhale, it’s like being stabbed.
The right side of my face was scarred from the impact — I didn’t know whether I had struck the windshield, the dashboard, or the steering wheel, but I’d smashed myself on something unyielding. My guess was the scars were a result of the flying glass pieces from the windshield as well as from hitting my face against it. I wondered if it would look any better in the future or if my face was scarred permanently.
I was nineteen years old, all alone in this big country that was still both new and mysterious to me, and trying to recover from a very serious car accident. Being surrounded by family members and friends was a thing of the past now as I found myself feeling lonely, scared, and uncertain, not knowing what the future held.
Those days in Seaside, immediately after my accident, were some of the most difficult and depressing of my life. While most nineteen-year-olds in the Monterey area were living with their parents and had a supportive circle of friends and extended family nearby, maybe attending Monterey Peninsula College, I felt all alone in the world, without family or any support. Barbara, Dominic, and some of the other people I knew tried to cheer me up but for a while I was in a tough spot, mentally, physically, and emotionally.
They say time heals everything. I think time might not heal everything, but it heals most things. Within a couple of weeks, I was slowly starting to feel better. The young body is remarkably resilient, isn’t it? As a middle-aged man, I look back at my ability to bounce back from things with a kind of wonder. I was soon able to get out of the house a little bit, and I started hanging out with the boys in the neighborhood, drinking a lot of forty-ounce bottles of King Cobra beer and enjoying a lot of deep conversations about the world and life in general, the best my broken English allowed me. That emotional support helped bring me back to life as much as any medicine.
I had developed a strong interest in black culture when I was a kid back home in Turkey, having been influenced by many black icons growing up, and my Seaside days definitely helped me become more familiar with the reality of it. I experienced some of my most genuine friendships there and enjoyed a lot of laughter, despite life’s difficulties. Many times, broke as we were, it felt like humor was all we had. A few years ago, I visited Dominic and we spent some time catching up. He told me that his neighbor from across the street, a guy named Johnny Boy whom I had really liked and formed a friendship with, had passed away, and it made me very sad.
My manager Paul at Safeway informed me that corporate policy meant they had to let me go — the accident had caused me to miss too many days of work and I had only been an employee there for a few months. But they said they really liked me as a worker, so they rehired me right away. I didn’t exactly understand how all that worked at the time, but I was grateful to have my job back. Safeway also covered some of my medical bills as well, which was very helpful.
I was back at work again, bagging groceries, after three months. My face was scarred, and my right clavicle was deformed and sticking out, which was uncomfortable at times, but I still had my full range of motion and most of my strength was back. One night, right before closing time at midnight, I bagged groceries for a customer who was lively, friendly, and joking around with staff. He gave me a high five and thanked me as he left.
“Do you know who that was?” one of my coworkers asked me.
“No idea.”
“It was Reggie Jackson, the legendary baseball player.”
It was an honor to meet him.
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