Back of the Hand

They were headed home from the beach when they saw the cyclist.

Donny Adams was just finishing his super-sized soft drink with extra ice, so he sportingly proposed to "nail the stupid jerk."

Donny was in the perfect position to do so, because he was riding shotgun. Kevin Haggerty was at the helm of his pewter Chrysler Sebring, and Dave Lawson and Jack Bruggelsdorf were in the back seat.

"Yeah," the others chorused, "nail the moron."

Donny had only done well in one class in high school - physics. He had a natural grasp of the laws of motion, and so he was coldly accurate in his calculations as he wound up for his backhand shot at the cyclist.

Dave Lawson, who was sitting behind Donny, hollered, "What are ya waitin' for -- hit the fruitloop!"

"Not yet," Donny said, crunching the numbers in his head.

"Don't worry," Kevin said, stomping the gas pedal. "He'll get him. Donny never misses."

"Yeah," Jack Bruggelsdorf said, "he's gonna vaporize that creep from Illinois."

They were in sought-after southwest Michigan where visitors from "the other side of the lake" were regarded by some locals as FIPs, or Friggin' Illinois People.

And the four local boys had just been to a state park overflowing with FIPs. They had been unable to find a decent parking place or a good spot on the beach.

They were sorely tested.

And none more so than Donny Adams who had actually tried to hit on a FIP girl in a thong and had been coldly rebuffed in the presence of his friends. So he was going to show the world, and now, with the magic numbers appearing on the screen in his head, he was winding up and flinging the cup full of ice at the invader from the other side of the lake who had the nerve to ride around his roads on "some fruitcake of a bicycle."

Only kids, losers, and fruitcakes rode bicycles.

"Go back where you belong," Donny screamed, backhanding the cup with all his might and concentration.

The cyclist, who was actually a woman from Kalamazoo, Michigan named Adrianne Brever, had been lost in thought when she was startled by the sound of a car racing closely past her. She had been thinking happy thoughts of how she had just passed the grueling test to become a certified social worker in the great State of Michigan, and so

Adrianne had not been monitoring her rearview mirror for passing cars.

Thus, Adrianne was so spooked that she lost control of her road bike and wobbled onto the gravel shoulder.

She was clipping along at 19 mph and had to pull the bike away from the deep drainage ditch rimming the road.

Adrianne Brever was a close-cropped triathlete who could beat any five men in her 30-35 age group, and so she beat the headlong plunge into the abyss and got her black Giant OCR1 back on solid asphalt.

She resisted the overpowering urge to flip off the fools in the car and waited for them to race off and harass their next victim. But she did glance over at the car and took in all the details, complete with model, make, and number and gender of occupants.

She was just storing all that for future reference when Donny Adams gave the "fruitloop from Illinois" his best back-handed shot. He had patiently waited while the idiot got "his" bike back on the road, and then he let "him" have it.

And Adrianne Brever got it right in the kisser.

Donny Adams might as well have flung a rock at the unsuspecting cyclist, because the weight of the ice and the velocity of his throw turned the cup into a lethal weapon that broke Adrianne's jaw and nose on impact and snapped her head sharply to the right.
This time there was no stopping the speeding bicycle from racing right off the road and into the ditch.

The last thing Donny Adams and company saw was, as Donny said so many times later, "the totally hilarious sight of that stupid jerk from Illinois goin' into the friggin' ditch like some stunt man in a movie or something."

Except Adrianne Brever was no stunt man in a movie.

She was just a law-abiding 32-year-old single lady from Kalamazoo who had come over to the lake for a day of cycling, running, and swimming in the sun.

She knew she was badly hurt before she flipped over on her back with her feet still clipped to the pedals. She knew it was going to be bad and that she wouldn't be able to use her cell to call for help.

And she was right.
And Donny Adams was halfway out of the car and looking right at "him" as "he" came to a whirling stop in the drainage ditch.

Donny pumped his fist in the air and chortled: "FIERCE!! Far friggin' fierce! Go back to Illinois where you belong, you stupid fruitloop, and stay there."

Kevin Haggerty pulled his partner in crime back in the car and hollered: "Hang on, we're outta here!!"

And they were and without seeing a single eyewitness to their little escapade along that remote stretch of Heartline Road in rural Harmony County, Michigan.

The last thing Adrianne Brever heard before blacking out was the sound of that pewter Chrysler Sebring - yes, she was absolutely certain it was a pewter Chrysler Sebring with a new blue-on-white Michigan tag, with some letters and the numbers 7-3-4 on it - roaring eastward on Heartline Road.

"Yes," Adrianne gasped, "Heartline Road."

And with that, she faded to black.

Betty Bruggelsdorf slid the church bulletin under her son's nose, and said: "Jack, did you hear me?"

Jack Bruggelsdorf looked up from his Frosted Flakes and grunted an acknowledgement that he had indeed heard his mother mutter something about the youth group at church "organizing a benefit for that poor lady from Kalamazoo who had that terrible bicycle accident on Heartline Road."

Jack had heard every last syllable of his mother's little public service announcement, and now, as he glanced down at the church bulletin, he could see that the youth pastor was appealing to all the teens of Duneland Shores Bible Baptist Church to "rally 'round our Samaritan sister in distress" by hosting a spaghetti supper to raise funds to help her and her family pay her mounting pile of bills from the "healthcare industry."

Being the late bloomer that she was, Adrianne was between school and a job and thus was without health insurance, and the great State of Michigan had all but eliminated Medicaid, and her family was in no position to help, and so, since her single-bike accident had occurred in Harmony County close to the lake, good Pastor Dave Daniels had taken it upon himself to rally the youth of Duneland Shores Bible Baptist Church in her support. He was forever sending them on "mission trips" to such "heathen lands" as Rumania and Bulgaria, so why not spread a little Christian charity closer to home?

"I told Pastor Daniels you'd help out," Betty Bruggelsdorf said, watching her son's reaction.

Jack's first and only thought was that he had been in the backseat.

I didn't throw that friggin' cup, he thought, or drive off after that - well - that lady with the stupid short haircut went crashin' into the ditch like some stunt rider in a movie or somethin'. Wasn't my friggin' idea - well, not really - and I sure as hell am not to blame.

No way!

If anybody should be makin' spaghetti at Duneland Shores, it should be Donny and
Kevin, because Donny threw the cup, and Kevin was-

"What did you say, Jack?"

Jack glanced at his mother and realized his thoughts had leaked out through his mouth.

Bad habit.

Bad, stupid, friggin' habit.

"Jack?!?"

"Yeah, I'm right here, Mom. What?"

"I said: I told Pastor Daniels you'd help out with the spaghetti supper for that poor woman. Should I have told him you're not available? Because, if you don't want to do it, then-"

"No, I'll do it. Sure. Why not? What else do I got to do with my life?"

"Do I have to do with my life. Not - I got - but - I have."

"Whatever. So it's Friday night - right?"

"It's right there in the bulletin."

"Right," Jack said, making a big show of actually looking at the bulletin his mother had set before him.

"I told Pastor Daniels you'd get there early to help get set-up and everything. Is that okay?"

"Like how early?" Jack was thinking that Donny and Kevin had proposed a little marijuana-enhanced fishing trip on the big lake in Kevin's old man's boat Friday afternoon, and he sure didn't want to miss out on that. Not when the perch were really biting and Kevin had just scored some seriously wacky tobaccy.
"I told him you'd be at the church by two."

"By two?!?" There went the "Merry Juana" fishing trip.

"Is that a problem? It's not like you've been able to find a job this summer, and . . ."

"All right. I'll be there at two. It's just that I was going to go fishing with the guys, and the perch are really biting, and I thought - you know - I'd help put some food on the table by catching a whole mess of fish. That's all."

"Well," Betty Bruggelsdorf said, handing Jack the phone, "you can call your friends and invite them to help you make spaghetti Friday. Won't do any of you a bit of harm."

Jack regarded the phone as though it were a steaming pile of horse pie and swallowed hard. Then he dialed Donny and prayed for his voice mail.

He got Donny instead.

Donny, of course, had caller ID so he answered with: "What do you want, dill weed?"
Jack smiled at his mother and said, "Hey, uh, I was wonderin', um, if maybe we could make a slight change in plans for Friday afternoon and-"

"What are you talkin' about, man?!? Kevin got his old man to let us use his boat, and he scored this dynamite weed, and the friggin' perch are bitin' like maniacs out there. No way you're gonna change the plan."

Betty could see and hear where this was going so she took the phone and said: "Donald, this is Mrs. Bruggelsdorf, and what Jack is trying to tell you is that the teens at our church have organized a benefit supper for that poor woman from Kalamazoo who was injured in that bicycle accident on Heartline Road, and that he wants you and Kevin, and David to join him in helping out. You can go fishing on Saturday."

"No," Donny said, louder than he meant to. "I mean, Kevin's dad needs the boat on Saturday. I mean he's going out with his friends on Saturday. Friday afternoon is the only time Kevin can use the boat, and, Mrs. Bruggelsdorf, the perch really are biting out there. I mean-"

"Is your mother there, Donald?"

"No, I mean, yeah, but-"

"Would you ask her to come to the phone, please?"

Donny exhaled and said, "Sure. Hang on. I mean, please hang on, Mrs. Bruggelsdorf. I'll get my mom."
And Donny got his mom, and Betty Bruggelsdorf wasted no time in enlisting Elaine Adams' support. She had been wanting to get Elaine, who was a single mother, to join Duneland Shores Bible Baptist Church, now here was her perfect chance.

And Elaine Adams had been wondering what to do with her increasingly unruly oldest child, and now here was her chance.

"Oh, this is a great idea, Mrs. Bruggelsdorf. Donald has been looking for ways to be of service in the community, and what better way to begin? Right?"

"Absolutely. And please - call me, Betty. And perhaps you'd like to help out too. I know you work for the catering company, and we surely could use someone to help make the spaghetti sauce and cook the noodles and - well, you know what's it like."

"Do I ever? Sure, I'll be happy to help. I get off work at 3 on Friday so I'll head right over to the church in my kitchen clothes."

"Wonderful. You'll enjoy working with us. We're not the most organized bunch, but we do like to have fun, and this is such a good cause. That poor woman."

"I know," Elaine Adams said. "It's been all over the newspapers. It's a wonder she even survived. I guess she was in that ditch for the longest time before that farmer happened to see her as he was driving by on his tractor. And now - what - I guess she's got piles and piles of medical bills."

"Yes, and no one to pay them. She doesn't have insurance, and her parents are elderly and - well, it's such a common story any more, isn't it?"

"Tell me about it," Elaine Adams said. The catering company had a health plan but it only covered "catastrophic conditions" and certainly no dental or eye care. And Elaine's mouth was a "dental deficit" meaning that she had had to defer virtually all treatment and thus was left to live with chronic toothaches.

"Well," Betty Bruggelsdorf said, "I'm just delighted you and Donald can help us out on Friday. We are blessed to have such a caring community."

"Yes we are, Mrs. - ah - Betty. Absolutely. Donald and I will see you Friday at the church. Thanks for calling."

Betty Bruggelsdorf signed off and said that Jack should then call his friends Kevin Haggerty and Dave Lawson and enlist their support.

Being the proverbial deer in the headlights, Jack had no choice but to obey.
And those two calls yielded the same results as the first: that the perpetrators would prepare spaghetti for their prey.

The first thing Adrianne Brever remembered after her "accident" was the doctor with the beautiful brown skin leaning over her face and saying: "We didn't think you would live."
In fact, Adrianne thought she had died and gone to heaven or some place with tinkly New Age music when she regained consciousness. Has a nice beat to it, she thought. Like a gentle rain in the night.

"Did you say it's raining?" the doctor said.

Adrianne blinked and ran her tongue over her lips. What a sensation.

She tried to speak but could not form the words. She knew the words, but then she did not know the words. She just knew that a man with beautiful brown skin was smiling down on her.

She hoped he was Saint Peter or a benevolent Hindu deity or-

Adrianne could not give voice to what she was feeling and seeing and wondering.
She could not roll her head or count to ten or recite the alphabet.

So she just blinked her eyes and smiled.

"Ah," the good doctor said, "you are coming around. And now your recovery begins."

And so it did.

Because Adrianne's injuries were to the brain, body and heart, she had to start from scratch. She had to be taught how to scratch her nose and sip through a straw and to ask for medicine when the pain became too severe.

They gave her the best possible medicine America could offer, and it came with a hefty six-figure price tag.

And when Adrianne was well enough to actually carry on a coherent coversation, a Mrs. Penfield from Patient Accounts came to see her at her bedside and started in by saying:

"Our records show that you don't have insurance, and that your family is not in a position to help you with your bills. And you don't qualify for Medicaid or any of the state programs that still remain, so we need to talk."

And what a talk.

And in was in the middle of that traumatic conversation with the relentless Mrs. Penfield that Adrianne Brever was delivered from her financial afflictions by the timely appearance of a hospital volunteer who just happened to be a faithful member of Duneland Shores Bible Baptist Church.
"Coincidences," that good lady would say later, "are God's way of maintaining his anonymity."

So, to the minds of the faithful at Duneland Shores Bible Baptist Church, it was no coincidence whatsoever that a stranger from Kalamazoo named Adrianne Brever should be wheeled into their community room on a Friday afternoon and be introduced as "our sister in distress."

Adrianne was astounded to see a hall full of complete strangers hail her with hearty "God bless yous" and adoring smiles and pats on the head.

She had barely advanced to the middle of the alphabet in her rehabilitation, but had absolutely insisted on being brought to the church that was holding a benefit on her behalf.

Adrianne had been raised Catholic but hadn't darkened the door of any church since her freshman year in college. God, if he or she or it existed, was for the old folks to figure out.

She didn't have the time or the inclination to make sense of some allegedly almighty being who had created the whole, entire universe out of nothing and now was steering the stars and controlling the destiny of each and every soul on earth.

If six billion plus people could even have souls.

Adrianne wasn't sure, but she was sure now that these people in this church by the lake had nothing better to do on a Friday evening than cook up a whole big mess of spaghetti on her behalf.

Adrianne wanted to say thank you and to hug each and every bright and beautiful human being before her, but all she could do was mumble like some babbling baby and gesture with her left hand.

Those were the only motor skills she had regained so far.

So be it, she thought, as the nice man from the hospital wheeled her around the hall so she could thank every one with her eyes and left hand.

Every one wanted to touch Adrianne and to give her God's blessings and to say how much they loved her and had been praying for her night and day.

Adrianne, the confirmed old agnostic, couldn't get enough of it.

This was better than any old Gestalt or group therapy or "modalities of recovery" that she had been exposed to in graduate school. It was one big, warm, fuzzy group hug, and she felt her body, mind, and - yes - soul knit a stitch of recovery with every passing pat and smile.

If only I could talk, she thought. If only I could tell them.

And then the nice man from the hospital wheeled her to the kitchen where they were making the spaghetti and she saw him.

HIM.

The kid in the pewter Chrysler Sebring who had flung that cup at her and caused her whole world to collapse in one insane, blinding blink of the eye.

"Him," Adrianne tried to say. "It's him."

But it just came out as the excited babbling of a brain-damaged bicyclist with insurmountable medical bills.

Donny Adams watched HER wagging her tongue at him in horror and wanted to dive into the spaghetti sauce and hold his breath until she disappeared.

But his mom was right there beside him saying: "Say something to her, Donald."
Donny looked at his confederates in crime - Kevin Haggerty, Dave Lawson and that jerk Jack Bruggelsdorf who got him into this in the first place.

They all looked back at him as if to say: "You threw the friggin' cup. You apologize. Or whatever."

But Donny Adams didn't have to say anything, because Adrianne Brever had found the power within herself to wave her left hand in the only direction it would go - backwards - and say: "7-3-4."

That and nothing further.

But those three numerals were sufficient for the biblical scholars of Duneland Shores Bible Baptist Church to come up with the appropriate chapter and verse.

"Mark 7, chapter 34," Youth Pastor Daniels proclaimed. "'Then Jesus looked up to heaven and groaned, and said to him - the deaf man - Ephphatha! That is - be opened. And immediately the man's ears were opened, his speech impediment was removed, and he spoke plainly.'"

Pastor Daniels motioned for everyone to gather 'round the woman in the orthopedic wheelchair and commanded, "Lay hands upon our sister and let us pray to Jesus to heal her and to open her mouth so she can speak God's praises."
Adrianne watched the healing hands descend upon her and then felt a jolt of pure, white energy course through her entire body, mind, and - yes - soul.

The healing power of God was upon her, and she looked upon the boy who had put her in this place and she said: "thank you."

And then she asked to be taken back to the hospital because she was tired and in need of rest and recovery.