The turn proved to be too tight.  The huge divots in the lawn were proof of that.  At first big chunks of lawn were missing, as if a dog had spent all day looking for a lost bone.  Further into the grass the tires had found some purchase and bold muddy ruts were visible.  This is where the first and only casualty was found.  A garden gnome had been struck head-on.  He probably never saw it coming.  His remains lay strewn in the path of the automobile.  I followed the ruts further into through the grass towards the glowing headlights and the yelling.

“What in the hell were you doing?”  The indignant home owner was standing on the hood of a car that had just smashed into his house moments before our arrival.  The hood of the car currently occupied a space where his deck had previously met his back door.  “Can you even see straight, you old fool?  Does your ol’ lady know you’re out here?  Who the hell is going to pay for this?”

“You know this guy?”  I asked, looking surprised.  It is not often that you get a car vs. building.  It is even rarer to have the driver know the owner of the house.

“Oh, yeah!  I know this piece of shit.  He only lives one house over.  If his drunk-ass had slowed down for two seconds I would still have a deck!”

“Whoa, whoa,” I was trying to diffuse the situation, but it was hard not to laugh.  “Let’s see if he’s hurt first.”  I turned my attention away from the angry neighbor to the bearded man in the car.  “What’s up, old timer?”

There was no answer.  Just a belch.  As my eyes adjusted to the light the first thing I noticed was the amazing amount of food that was stuck inside his beard, the length of which extended to his chest.  What I saw must have been the remnants of at least five or six previous meals in various states of decay.  He was wearing overalls, of course.  Bare feet finished the ensemble.  He was having trouble speaking to me.  I was trying to decide whether or not he was indeed hurt or just drunk when I finally discovered the source of his aphasia.  An enormous hunk of soggy tobacco fell from his lips and came to a halt on his lap much like an ice cream cone landing upside down on the sidewalk.  Only then could he find the words to speak.

“Are you gonna give me a ticket or something?”

“We are sooooo beyond tickets, asshole!” His neighbor was still standing on his hood, yelling at him through the broken windshield.

“Sir, believe me, I know you’re upset.  But I have to attend to him.  He might be injured.  Do you mind stepping off his hood and back into your house for a moment?  We’ll come back to talk to you soon.”  I turned my attention back to the driver as his neighbor disappeared back into the house.  “You know where you are sir?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, don’t keep me in suspense.  Why don’t you tell me where you are.”

“In my driveway.”

The neighbor suddenly reappeared, “Bullshit!  You’re in my driveway!  Fuck, you’re in my deck!  Eat a dick, old man!”

“Hey!”  I yelled out, but it was cut short by my own laughing.  I couldn’t say anything more.

Thankfully my partner showed up on the other side of the car.  I could tell that he was laughing too.  He was shaking so hard I could see it through his bullet proof vest.  He couldn’t talk either.  He started rummaging through the stack of empty cans in the passenger seat trying to get to the patient to do something useful like hold c-spine.

“Sir,”  I had finally composed myself, “please go back in the house.  We’ll be with you in a minute.”  The angry neighbor disappeared again.

“Get off me boy!”  Now the driver was pissed.  I heard the clatter of empty aluminum cans.

“Come on, sir.  I need to hold your head still.”  My partner was making a lame attempt at trying to hold the patient still for extrication.  I heard some shouting and the clatter of more cans.  Soon my partner reemerged on the other side of the car.  “Fuck it,” he said, “he is refusing c-spine.”

“Just as well,” I said, “I don’t think he is really hurt.  He sure gave this Cutlass a beating though.”

Cops started to arrive.  The added light from their high-beams was welcomed.  However, the added amount of strobes was about to give me a seizure.  I looked away and back towards the patient.

“Okay, how many beers have you had?”  I asked.

“All of ‘em,”  he flatly replied.  I found this refreshing.  I thought he would say the requisite ‘two’.

My partner had a new purpose in life.  I heard him rummage through the cans as the officers walked up to the wreck.  “Fifteen!” he exclaimed as some of them spilled onto the ground.  “He’s got half a 12-pack left, man.”

“Did you see the gnome?” one of the officers asked as he was walking up.  “There’s just no reason for carnage like that.”

“The humanity,” remarked the other officer.

“Does he need to go to the hospital?” asked the first officer.

“Well, we are still working on that,” I said, “what about it old timer?  You want to go to the hospital?”

“What hospital,” he asked.

“Any hospital,” I replied.

“I told you to give me a ticket, and get out of here.  I’ve got to go home,” he said.

After a blood sugar check and a little paperwork, the cops had him in cuffs and were telling him to watch his head as he was getting into the back of a Crown Vic.  Our job was done.  I asked if the neighbor was hurt but all I got was hysterical yelling and insults so I figured we could clear with no other patients.  On my way back to the street I looked back on the garden gnome one last time.

Senseless.  Tragic.