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A Breathing Nightmare

Part One

By Gregory Dolan DiesPublished 5 years ago 4 min read
Matt on a happier day

A Breathing Nightmare

(This is not my story to tell, but I’ll do my best, people need to know)

I never bring my phone to bed, for any call in the middle of the night just plain sucks. No one has ever called me at 2:00 AM to tell me I’ve won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, nah, bringing the phone to bed is begging for trouble.

Going on seven years ago I got one of those calls from my little brother Matt, my eyes were foggy and until I heard his voice I wasn’t sure who was calling. I could hear the sadness in his voice before he spoke, eerily I listened as he softly cried.

“Mallory was hit by a drunk driver he began”, I was now wide awake. (This is the hardest story I’ve ever written, so please bare with me, writing through tears is a bitch) “She’s not doing well”, and with that he started bawling.

I was in shock, petrified, but I had to speak, “where are you, I’m on my way”.

“Cottage Hospital in Santa Barbara, I need you”, and with that I hung up and hurried to dress. I called my sister and woke her as well, we would both go up.

The drive was quiet as we faced our fears, Mallory was Matt’s only daughter, the female version of him. Smart, sassy, and was the core of an eclectic group of friends. We feared the worst and prayed quietly the entire ride. When we finally got there it was close to 4:00 AM and a few friends of hers were parked in the lobby, heads down , tears flowing.

I was met by hugs, holding up young men and women who needed a miracle, a thread of hope to hold on to. After several minutes I headed up the staircase to find Matt, his boys were there, as well as his wife Raeona, and only family was allowed up here.

He grabbed onto me like I was a life raft in a sea full of sharks, and his tears wet the shoulder of my sweatshirt. Officially the day was now December 7th but the drunk driver had hit her in the late hours of the sixth.

I pried him away from the rest of the group and my sister Kittie held Raeona on her lap, stroking her hair, calming her with word and prayer. I took Matt out front to smoke and gently waved away the crowd of friends that was growing exponentially by the minute. Mallory had been a bartender on Front Street in Santa Barbara for many years and as workers from throughout Santa Barbara had heard of the tragedy, young people flocked to the hospital.

I set Matt down on a small wall outside the hospital and he gained his composure a bit and explained what happened, until this time I hadn’t heard any details. As the story started to unfurl newspaper reporters and television crews popped up like weeds on a front lawn. I perp walked Matt back to the inner confines of The Cottage Hospital and gave these vultures nothing to print but a picture of my middle finger.

The perpetrator of this crime was the Top Aide to Congresswoman Lois Capps and he was drunk, then tried to drive away from the scene. This was front page news, top of the front page news. Raymond Morua was a self medicating vet who was attending a Christmas Party representing Lois Capps, and although it was later discovered this man already had two drunk driving arrests and a pay for play arrest on his record, Lois Capps didn’t seem to care.

He would ride next to her in parades dressed as Captain America , shield and all. (This is not a political piece, but I’d be remiss to not tell you Capps was a Democrat and as the story goes on I came to loathe her and her party)

The morning broke cold and drizzling and a few hundred friends and coworkers were packed inside the hospital waiting room. It fell on Matt and I to deliver any and all news to the ever growing throng of friends and well wishers, and the walk down the stairs stopped on the landing so all could hear.

We were upbeat on occasion and reported the inevitable at other times. Mallory was a fighter like her dad, but when I saw her I was gravy. Her brain was swollen and wrapped in gauze, she had broken bones and external bleeding, but she was breathing on her own. We were all grasping at straws hoping beyond hope she could beat all odds, but the chances were slimming with every tick of the clock.

The hospital staff was amazing as we rode waves of emotion and they set aside a room for the family and her closest friends found their way up. This was a harder ticket to get than The Beatles last concert. We waited and shared stories, staying away from the press.

December 7th is a date that will live in infamy, again, but this being a Friday a miracle did happen. Most bars on Front Street would remain closed this night, for the first time in history, for two reasons. Mallory and the fact every worker from Front Street was at the hospital and no one was leaving.

Because FB will never print the entirety of this in one sitting we will call this Chapter One, and I’ll pick up from here.

Crack Egg Out

fact or fiction

About the Creator

Gregory Dolan Dies

I’ve been around the block a time or two but due to a bad left hip I never get far, I just keep walking in circles. I’m an old rusty merry-go-round that will leave you cut and in stitches.

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